if she wasn’t very much mistaken, she had just jumped right out of the frying-pan and straight into the very heart of the fire.
CHAPTER TWO
‘ME?’
THEO’S response to Skye’s shocked exclamation was as calm and relaxed as he could make it, though any real control was the last thing he felt capable of.
He should never have touched her.
His body still burned at the thought of it; his brain had almost melted in the burn of the fierce, erotic heat that had flooded every inch of his body, making him hard and hungry in a second. He still ached from the sudden ebbing of the blazing tide, the effect of the cold night air that had hit him as soon as they had left the bar.
He should never have touched her, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the way that she had responded to him.
He’d thought she felt it too.
If she hadn’t, then what the hell had she meant by the way she’d reacted—resting her head against his shoulder, leaning back into him?
But now she was behaving as if she thought he was a demon from hell and not at all the person she’d been hoping for
‘You were expecting someone else?’
‘N-no—not exactly,’ she stammered. ‘I—it’s just—I never thought that you’d be the one to come to my rescue. I should thank you,’ she added, too belatedly to smooth his very ruffled feelings.
‘Think nothing of it.’
A wave of his hand dismissed her stumbling thanks. Theo was well aware of the way that the frustrated demands of his aroused body were distorting his mood, making him feel bad-tempered and edgy. And what made a bad mood inflnitely worse was the way that, seeing her face full on now, in the light from the doorway, he found that the promise suggested by her back, her profile, indoors, was more than fulfilled by the reality.
She was gorgeous. A pale, oval face. Stunning light coloured eyes, with incredibly thick, lush lashes. A full, soft mouth seemed just made for kisses, and the thoughts that imagining that mouth on his own skin triggered off were so X-rated that he was glad of the shadows in the street, the darkness of the evening, that hid his response from her.
‘And I should introduce myself.’
Her hand came out, stiffly formal.
‘I’m—Skye…’
The hesitation before her name and the way that she didn’t add a surname told him she didn’t want to trust him with the full details of her identity. Fair enough, that was fine with him.
‘Anton,’ he growled, knowing he was forced to take her hand, but making the contact as brief and brusque as possible before letting it drop.
He didn’t want a repeat of the cruelly demanding sensations he’d experienced before, especially when it seemed that this Skye was determined to be on her way as soon as possible and there was no chance of taking things any further.
‘Anton.’
The way that she echoed the name he had given her made him wonder if she really knew, or suspected, it was not genuine.
He didn’t give a damn one way or another. Even here, in England, the Antonakos name—and, more importantly, the Antonakos fortune—was so well known that the realisation he was a member of that family was enough to create an interest where there wasn’t one, to put a speculative light in the eye of anyone he met.
And, in his experience, women were the worst offenders. Along with the name Antonakos, they saw the prospect of a meal ticket for life; a future of luxury and ease, if they could just play their cards right.
As he was not at all sure what sort of cards this Skye, whoever she was, was about to play; he preferred to keep his own—and the truth of his identity—very close to his chest.
Not that she seemed in the least interested right now. Those pale eyes were scanning the street, looking up and down the road.
‘Are you looking for someone?’
Suspicion made him voice it. Damn it, had he got this all wrong from the start? He cursed under his breath at the way that thought made him feel. He didn’t want her to have been really waiting for anyone. He had assumed that the lover she had claimed was imaginary—had wanted him not to exist.
The truth was that he wanted this woman for himself, and right now he was prepared to do whatever it took to get her.
‘Was that boyfriend you mentioned real after all?’
‘Oh, no.’
The shake of her head sent the red-gold fall of her hair flying around her face, tiny drops of rain shimmering in its depths from the drizzle that was falling.
‘No, I made him up in the hope they would let me go. I wasn’t looking for anyone—just a taxi.’
‘I can give you a lift anywhere you want to go.’
‘A taxi will be fine.’ It was the vocal equivalent of several steps backwards and away from him. No physical action could have put more of a distance between them.
A black cab was approaching and she lifted a hand to hail it, but too late. It swept past in a spray of water from the puddles filling the gutter, spattering her skirt and legs with mud.
‘I can give you a lift anywhere you want to go.’
The way he repeated his exact words of just moments before brought Skye’s eyes to his face in a rush. Meeting the glittering darkness of his gaze, seeing the way that the muscles of his jaw were drawn tight, she knew a sinking sense of realisation.
She’d insulted him with her refusal. He was angry too, something that told her how much her rejection had meant to him.
‘I—was trying to be sensible,’ she managed.
‘Isn’t it a little late for that now?’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, the situation you got yourself into back there—’ His dark head nodded towards the noisy, smoky bar. ‘That was hardly the action of a sensible person.’
The deliberate emphasis on the repeated word goaded her, as she was sure it was meant to do, sparking her temper and bringing her chin up, eyes flashing angry fire.
‘I didn’t exactly ask for that!’ she snapped. ‘It just happened!’
‘I only offered you a lift in my car.’
The resignation in his tone had a hard edge to it, one that warned her of the way his temper was fraying at the edges.
‘I’m sor—’ she began, but he ignored her and rushed on angrily.
‘I was brought up never to let a woman risk being on her own, if I could
