a silky blonde cloud down past her shoulders. ‘What can I do for you this morning?’ She pointedly took her seat behind her mother’s desk, forcing him to move away from the window to the other side of the desk if he wanted to look at her while they talked.
His mouth twisted at her brisk, businesslike tone. ‘It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,’ he misquoted drily.
Silke quirked blonde brows enquiringly. What was the man talking about now?
He sat on the side of the desk, bringing him dangerously close to Silke, his hands out of his pockets now—a fact Silke took care to avoid looking at. ‘How much do you want, Silke?’
She frowned. ‘You’ll receive the agency account when the bills go out at the end of the month—’
‘I’m talking about you, Silke,’ he cut in harshly. ‘How much do you want to get out of my uncle’s life?’
Maybe her joking advice to Jackie about calling the police wasn’t such a joke after all; Silke felt like doing Lyon a physical injury at that moment! How dared he offer her money in that way? My God, arrogance didn’t even begin to describe this man!
‘Don’t look so outraged,’ he drawled tauntingly. ‘This way you get the money but no aged husband.’
Silke was shaking so badly at this further insult from this man that she had to grip the edge of the desk so that he shouldn’t see the visible trembling of her hands. No doubt Henry was right, and Lyon’s own experiences with women pursuing his wealth rather than him had tempered his own outlook on life, but it didn’t give him the right to judge her by those other women’s standards.
‘Name your price, Silke—and then we’ll negotiate something a little more reasonable,’ he ground out forcefully, looking down at her coldly.
She swallowed hard, breathing deeply. ‘You couldn’t afford me, Mr Buchanan—’
‘I don’t want you!’ He stood up abruptly, moving sharply away from the desk.
Silke looked at him frowningly, at the nerve pulsing in his cheek, his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Don’t you?’ she finally said slowly, knowing even as she said it that he did want her, that Lyon was physically attracted to her himself!
It was there in the angry flare in his eyes, the thinning of his tautly held mouth, the way his hands were clenched at his sides. She had thought him cold and arrogant, but she could suddenly see a raw, pulsating passion in the dark grey of his eyes. He didn’t want to want her, but he most certainly did!
‘You little—!’ He moved too fast for her, Silke being still dazed by her own realisation, and before she could even offer a word of protest he had pulled her up out of her chair and into the hardness of his arms, his mouth coming down on hers with forceful intensity.
Maybe the physical attraction had been there between them from the moment they met, burning just below the surface of their antagonism, but the moment their mouths fused together it was like Guy Fawkes Night and the Fourth of July all rolled into one, sensations coursing through Silke like she had never known before, every part of her feeling alive, singing with heated desire.
Lyon’s mouth moved against hers savagely, leaving no room for anything but response, Silke clinging to the broad width of his shoulders, revelling in his hands roaming restlessly across her back as he moulded her body to the lean length of his, her breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples taut and thrusting with urgent need.
And then his hands—those incredible hands; she could picture how they would look against her back, and she quivered at their lean strength against her—those hands gentled to a caress, moving beneath her jacket to touch her through the silky material of her blouse, his mouth becoming less savage, moving slowly against hers now, the tip of his tongue lightly caressing their softness before dipping inside the moistness of her mouth.
Silke felt as if her senses had been invaded: feel, taste, touch, Lyon’s body feeling hard and demanding against her, the tautness of his hips provoking an excitement within her she could barely contain. And as one of those hands touched the sensitive tip of her breast she could only gasp in wonder. Lyon took advantage of her fully parted lips to thrust his tongue further into the warm cavern of her mouth, possessing her fully.
She knew that if Lyon hadn’t been holding her so tightly she would have fallen to the carpeted floor at his feet, her legs feeling shaky, her body hot, engulfed in flame, her hands clinging to the broad width of his shoulders. She wanted him as much as he wanted her!
It was impossible to believe! She had met this man only yesterday, had felt antagonism towards him from the first, hadn’t so much as looked at another man since James had let her down so badly, and now this—! Lyon Buchanan, of all people. She didn’t want to want this man either!
‘What—?’ Lyon looked slightly dazed as Silke pulled abruptly away from him. ‘Silke...?’ He frowned down at her darkly.
She backed away from him, her eyes deep green pools of pain, her hands clasped tightly behind her back so that he couldn’t see their trembling. This man already had a power over her she wouldn’t have believed possible, and she had no intention of letting him see how deeply she had been affected by his kisses, his touch, his... Oh, God, she had to get him away from here, from her!
‘I think you should leave, Lyon.’ God, was that huskily uncertain voice really hers? ‘Now,’ she added hardly.
He had recovered more quickly than her, his eyes coldly assessing as he looked down at her, a derisive twist to his lips. ‘We haven’t finished our negotiations—or have we...?’ he added mockingly. ‘I don’t think my uncle would take too kindly to knowing that I could have had you here in this office this morning if I had wanted to. Do you?’ He arched mocking brows.
She didn’t doubt that Lyon would have taken great pleasure in telling Henry exactly that! And, if she had been the one about to marry his uncle, how destructive that would have been. But she wasn’t, and, far from wanting to correct him on that assumption, she now looked forward to letting him find out the truth for himself. Arrogant, arrogant... She couldn’t think of an expletive strong enough to call this man!
Her head went back proudly, her eyes flashing warningly. ‘I think I’ll risk Henry’s reaction,’ she challenged.
Lyon’s eyes narrowed ominously. ‘Are you that confident of his infatuation for you?’ he rasped.
Silke gave him a pitying look. ‘I’m that confident of the fact that he’s a man, and that you’re a—’
‘Careful,’ he warned, dangerously soft.
She shook her head derisively—as much towards herself as him; how could she have responded to such a man? He was everything she despised in a man: arrogant, self-assured to the point of condescension—in fact, too damned sure of his own power!
‘I’m sure you’re perfectly aware of my opinion of you,’ she scorned.
His mouth twisted. ‘It wasn’t so apparent a few minutes ago,’ he drawled challengingly.
This man used every weapon at his disposal! ‘Do you know what I hope, Lyon?’ There was no way she could continue to call him Mr Buchanan after the intimacy they had just shared. And they had shared it. She didn’t know what excuses he was making to himself for his own
