Читать книгу Threat From The Past - Diana Hamilton - Страница 5

SILENCE. A silence so thick, so intense, that for a moment Selina thought the world had stopped.

Then the shaded green glitter of Adam Tudor’s eyes stroked her from head to toe, swept slowly up again, lingering on every taut detail of her body, making her cringe inside at this blatant sexual appraisal. But she endured it. Stoically endured this insult, refusing to betray by the merest flicker of anger or disgust that she was aware of what he was doing and so tacitly admit to a compliance of sorts.

The gleam of his gaze rested on the wide, soft curves of her mouth now and she fought to control the betraying shudder of her heated body. Horrifyingly, she felt the muscles at the pit of her stomach tighten as if struggling to contain the flare of flame-hot excitement within, felt her warm breasts peak against the soft covering of cashmere, felt as if his long-fingered hands had followed the path of his caressing eyes...

‘Incredible.’ The single word hung sultrily on the still, apple-wood-scented air, and she moistened her lips, saw the way his own softened into shocking sensuality as his eyes followed the involuntary gesture, and fought to find the strength to defeat the bastard.

He moved further into the graceful room, his very presence an invasion, but she held her ground. He had to be shown that she wouldn’t back away and his single utterance had to refer to her earlier statement, and she reinforced tightly, ‘Incredible that you’ve been shown the door? You’d better believe it. You’re not welcome. There’s nothing for you here.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’ The deep, sexy voice, enriched by just a hint of amusement, enfolded her, compounding the unwelcome frisson of awareness that invaded her body as his eyes lingered once again on her mouth.

He was thirty-seven years old and, for the past twenty of them had obviously been fully aware of his effect on women, she reminded herself caustically. And, just as obviously, would have no hesitation about playing on the susceptibilities of the female sex when it suited him.

Well, she wasn’t an empty-headed bimbo and was taking his loaded comments at face value. And when he told her, ‘But I came to see Martin, initially, that is,’ she was able to inform him coolly,

‘He’s not here. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.’

‘I wouldn’t class meeting such a delectable virago as a waste of time.’ He had the audacity to grin at her, moving closer so that she could actually feel his body heat, could judge the space that separated them down to the last quivering centimetre, and she had to grit her teeth and force herself to stand her ground as he cupped her chin in one warm, dry hand, green eyes gleaming down into seething gold as he asked softly, ‘Now I wonder why the lady’s so uptight?’

He was using his blatant sex appeal to walk right over her and it was just too much! She despised him, doubly so, for that. And she jerked her head away, out of his hateful dominion, setting her glorious hair flying around her head and her eyes impaled him with the bitter strength of her enraged emotions as she spat out, ‘I would have thought that you, of all people, would know the answer to that!’ But she had promised herself she wouldn’t lose her temper and she tacked on, allowing an edge of ice to rim her voice, ‘As I’ve told you, my uncle’s not here. Please leave.’

‘I can wait.’ The infuriating, slight shrug of those wide shoulders beneath that expensive suiting flicked her on the raw, doubly so as he strode calmly over to one of the armchairs and sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of the blaze from the fire. The time had come for a little plain talking. She wouldn’t mince her words, but she wouldn’t lose her temper, either.

Following him, she planted herself firmly in front of him and said, on a controlled intake of air, ‘Martin won’t be back tonight. Probably not for days.’ And that much was the truth. But no way was she going to tell him why. If he knew where he was he’d be out of here like a shot, making his demands over a hospital bed!

‘Where is he?’ For the first time she began to see the man he really was. The teasing eyes were now as cold and still as glacial lakes, the formidable features unreadable, a mantle of power cloaking the superb male body with tensile strength. Whatever he wanted, whatever he had come for, it wouldn’t be peanuts.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she lied, her mouth lifting in a small, utterly insincere and worthless smile as she sank with unconscious elegance into the chair opposite the one he had taken.

‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was a quiet, cool statement of fact and her eyes glinted at him across the dividing space. She didn’t care what he believed and felt a reckless excitement welling deep inside her because playing games with this devil could be dangerous.

‘Suit yourself. But you’re going to have a long, long wait.’

‘Again, you’re lying,’ he stated with smooth contempt, his words accompanied by the slightest lift of power-packed shoulders. ‘Did you pass my message on? Stress the importance of my seeing him tonight?’

‘Yes.’ The word was a bitter condemnation of the effect of having done just that, but he continued smoothly, as if not noticing her abrupt change of tone,

‘Then I simply refuse to believe that he could calmly absent himself without seeing me.’

‘No? How nice to have such self-assurance,’ Selina taunted with cool malice, seething inside at the man’s monumental arrogance.

Dominic had said that this creature was Martin’s enemy, Vanessa had reinforced that information. And she herself was beginning to understand exactly why they should have received the news of his imminent arrival in the way they had, as if an unexploded bomb had been secreted on their premises. Adam Tudor wasn’t the down-at-heel, whining opportunist Dominic had led her to expect. She could have dealt with that. The reality was something else.

A layer of ice inched down her spine as she forced herself to meet his level, thoughtful stare head-on, her golden eyes, long-lidded and slumbrous, giving no hint of her razor-sharp mind as she asked, almost idly, ‘How much were you expecting Martin to shell out?’ From the suavely elegant look of him, the clothes he wore, he was used to nothing but the very best. Whatever he had in mind it wouldn’t be small change.

‘I see Dominic and Vanessa have been getting at you.’ His beautiful mouth curved humourlessly but there were disconcerting lights in those slightly hooded green eyes that made Selina’s breath catch in her throat. She turned her head quickly, looking into the fire, her pure, disdainful profile brushed by the warm glow, revealing the entrancing imperfection of a too short, curling upper lip, the full pout of the generous, made-to-be-kissed mouth. And he continued in that rough velvet voice, as if the question he posed was purely academic, ‘I take it your cousin and aunt have also been unexpectedly called away from home?’

How unexpectedly he would never know, not if she could help it. And she despised herself for the way his voice, his looks, his sheer male animal magnetism could make something move deep inside her. This man was her uncle’s enemy, for heaven’s sake! Merely learning of his intention to visit had been enough to give the elderly man a heart attack! So why did her wretched body react as if this was the one man she had spent her life waiting for when her brain informed her that he was poison?

Her throat was too tight with a disgusting amalgam of sexual awareness and self-hatred to facilitate a verbal response to his question, so she merely nodded, unable to prevent the sideways slant of anguished eyes as they sought his own.

‘Then I’m left with no option but to deal with you. Not that that will be any hardship, believe me.’ The smoky sexuality of his voice made her heart punch beneath her breastbone, and her hand flew up, as if to steady that wayward organ, and she saw his sultry eyes follow the betraying gesture and went hot all over, her flesh burning.

Belatedly, she hauled herself together and clipped out, ‘Fine.’ He was all too aware of his masculine potency, of its devastating effect, well used to using it very deliberately when it suited him. And if he thought she’d be a push-over simply because of her gender then that gave her the advantage, didn’t it? He would expect her to bend beneath the onslaught of his undoubted attractions, to move to his side of the fence, dragged there by the strength of the magnetic forcefield that surrounded him. He wasn’t to know that she would fight for Martin’s well-being with every last weapon at her command.

And he was at it again, using that spurious, facile charm as he told her softly, ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you. All of it—interesting.’

Which was a blatant lie. Her job within the company wasn’t that high-profile; she did it to the best of her considerable ability but, as yet, it hadn’t earned her space in the glossies! And when did a man, such a potently masculine one at that, interest himself in the stocking of women’s boutiques? And information about her wouldn’t have come from his father, from the family. They couldn’t bear to mention his name, much less take him into their confidence.

Clutching at the relief that came from catching him in an outright lie, she was able to consolidate her position of antagonist. Ignoring his lying statement for the flannel it was, she enquired coolly, her eyes watching his impressive features for any sign that might reveal the devious workings of his mind, ‘So what is it you want?’ and immediately regretted the unfortunate choice of words because his eyes made that silent and very intimate appraisal of her body again while his mouth curved in a slow smile that battered her senses, making her wonder how she would feel if those lips were ever to cover her own. And he didn’t give her time to recover her equilibrium, to force the disgust for the type of man he was to smother the growing disgust she felt for herself before he was translating his silent appraisal into words.

‘Dinner with you tomorrow night.’

‘You must be mad!’ The words came out on a jerk of heated breath, colour rushing over her face, staying there as he rose smoothly to his feet, looking down on her, his eyes held in seeming fascination on the hectic pulse-beat at the base of her throat.

‘Mad, to want to get to know a beautiful woman a great deal better?’ He shook his dark head in a parody of amazement, devils glinting out of his eyes. ‘Even if she is a hell-cat.’ He turned the full force of his mega-watt smile on her. ‘But maybe that’s a major part of the fascination?’

She ignored all that for the rubbish it was and repeated stonily, ‘Just what was so important about your need to see Martin? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you you can’t have whatever it is you think you need, and then you can go away.’ And never come back, she tacked on in her mind, schooling her features to stony blankness.

And he laughed at her, he actually put back his head and roared his amusement and, if she could, she would have killed him for that alone. But what came next was worse, so much worse that she was left bereft of speech as he calmly walked out of the room after delivering, ‘I’ve already told you. I want to see more of you. Much more.’ The lilt in his wicked eyes underlined the ambiguity of that remark and his voice was a rich caress as he told her, ‘Dine with me tomorrow night, for starters. Be ready at eight. And if you’re thinking of making yourself unavailable then I suggest you winkle Dominic out from wherever he’s skulking and ask him if he knows of any reason why you should refuse to meet my demands exactly.’

* * *

‘What was he getting at, Dom?’ Selina shuddered as an icy blast of winter wind gusted across the hospital car park. She pulled up the collar of her coat, her troubled eyes holding her cousin’s. ‘Why should I see him tonight? Why should I do a single damn thing he suggests?’

Dominic shrugged, his eyes evasive, and, although she had repeated the gist of the conversation she’d had with Adam Tudor the previous night, right down to his parting directive, she sensed her cousin was holding something back, something that was giving him private nightmares.

‘Are you sure he didn’t give a hint about what he wanted, why he had to see Father?’

Dominic looked almost haunted, Selina thought on an inner shudder. But who could blame him? The trauma of Martin’s sudden attack, seeing him lying in that lonely hospital bed, surrounded by wires and machines, his face grey and gaunt, had upset her more than she could say. Even the threat that was Adam Tudor had taken second place in her consciousness, so no wonder Dominic looked haunted, seemingly unable to offer any help.

But Adam Tudor would have to be dealt with, somehow, and she would be the one to do it because she owed it to her family, she reminded herself, shivering again beneath the renewed onslaught of the bitter wind. She thrust her cold hands deeper into her coat pockets and shook her head, telling him rawly, ‘No, nothing. I did ask but he didn’t say.’ Her golden eyes darkened, a frown drawing her strong brows together. ‘Just that rather threatening invitation to dinner, and the suggestion that I should ask you if you knew of any reason why I shouldn’t do exactly as he said. I’ve no intention of going, of course. The proverbial wild horses wouldn’t drag me.’

‘I think you should,’ Dominic told her quickly, and her long-lidded eyes narrowed astutely.

‘Why?’

‘To find out what he’s really after, of course. What else?’ His face looked white and pinched, and no wonder, Selina thought with sudden sympathy. He would be as worried about his father as anyone, and this desolate car park, the raw grey January skies, the unpleasant subject of their conversation was enough to make anyone look as if the miseries of the world were pressing down on his shoulders.

She suggested gently, ‘He’s after something. I agree with you there. And we have to discover what it is and keep him away from Martin. But it would be better if we presented a united front. You and I could face him together tonight. He said he’d be at the house at eight.’

‘That’s impossible.’ He looked as if she’d asked him to roll down the street in a barrel. Taking his car keys from his pocket, he tossed them from one hand to the other and told her huffily, as if she were a particularly dense child, ‘Now we know Father’s in no immediate danger I have to get back to head office. Somebody has to run the company. I’ll be staying in town until the weekend, unless Father’s condition deteriorates, of course,’ he qualified impatiently.

And something of her disbelief that he should leave her to deal with his half-brother must have shown on her face because he reminded her coldly, ‘You deal with the creep. I think you owe my parents that much, don’t you?’ and walked quickly away towards the red Porsche.

Selina gritted her teeth and pushed the wind-tumbled mane of her hair away from her face with the back of a leather-gloved hand. She didn’t need reminding of how much she owed her aunt and uncle—her uncle especially. And she would tackle Adam Tudor on her own, if she had to, but she just knew having Dominic at her side would have made it easier and wasn’t convinced by his sudden need to rush off back to head office.

In the circumstances, everything would have ticked over quite smoothly in his absence. There were plenty of staff perfectly capable of running the day-to-day business of the boutique chain for another twenty-four hours at the very least. It was almost as if he was afraid of facing his half-brother, listening to his demands and ruling them out of court.

And almost as if she was afraid of facing Adam Tudor again on her own, a cool inner voice mocked spitefully. As if she was afraid of that palpably cataclysmic masculine appeal. Afraid of the way she might react to it.

Which was, of course, absolute nonsense, she assured herself roundly, squaring her shoulders and marching over to where her Volvo was parked, the heels of her leather boots clicking decisively on the tarmac surface. She wasn’t a silly teenager to be taken in by a handsome face and a superb male body, or the type of voice that could charm the inmates of a harem out in droves!

* * *

Quite why she had informed Meg that she would be entertaining a guest this evening Selina was not altogether sure. That she would feel safer, keeping that unwanted dinner appointment here, on her home ground, conjured up the opposite—fear. But she had already assured herself that she wasn’t afraid of him, hadn’t she? And when the housekeeper’s thin face had registered surprise that Selina should be entertaining at all, at a time like this, she had announced coolly, ‘It’s business. And make the meal simple; there’s no need to try to impress.’

And so it was. Unpleasant business, at that, she reminded herself as she gave up the attempt to tame her abundant hair into a sober knot and allowed it to tumble all over her shoulders. And business that was best conducted on her own ground.

Although she had deliberately dressed down, making no concessions to her femininity, the dark navy fine wool dress she had chosen to wear seemed to flatter her greyhound slenderness, subtly emphasising the sensuality of the curves she had intended it to disguise. Strange. A frown caught the soft skin between her brows. She had never before noticed what the understated, very simple style of the dress did to her figure before, or how the deep, almost sombre colour made her hair look like living flame.

But it was too late to change. It was almost eight and pride wouldn’t allow her to keep him waiting. If he was left to kick his heels in the drawing-room he would believe, in his conceit, that she was taking her time over making herself look her best for him.

As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.

And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’

So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!

She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’

And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.

But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.

Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.

She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—

So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.

And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers of reason, ravishing her senses until she no longer knew where she was. Or cared.

And later she would never be able to say with honesty where the black magic of his sexual onslaught would have led her if the door hadn’t opened to Meg’s, ‘I’m carrying dinner through now, Miss Selina.’

Utter disorientation held her where she was and she was thankful for the way he turned to face the door, effectively screening her from the housekeeper’s view as her fingers fumbled in an agonised, uncoordinated hurry to straighten her clothing. And when he stepped casually to one side she caught Meg’s straight stare and felt the colour of her overheated cheeks turn to a crimson conflagration, and she mumbled something, she had no idea what, and was too busy trying to cut through the heavy swaths of her utterly shameful and unprecedented sexual arousal with a brain that seemed to have been drugged out of orbit to make any sense of Meg’s dour, ‘Snow’s coming down like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I should warn you.’

‘Thank you.’ It was Adam Tudor who effectively took over, normalising a situation which had all the hallmarks of a nightmare, Selina thought distractedly as he added, ‘We’ll be right on through.’ And one of his hands cupped her elbow lightly, the gentle pressure of his fingers easing her forward as she tried to marshal her mental powers and push his unforgivable, disgraceful behaviour right to the back of her mind.

And, almost, she achieved it because as Meg disappeared she dug her heels in, wrenched her arm from his grasp and, not daring to look at him, not caring to be reminded of—of anything she spat out, ‘That was totally uncalled for. Don’t ever, ever touch me again!’

Jerking her chin up, she stalked out of the room, the height of her spindly heels making her hips sway. Knowing he was following, just a whisper away, did nothing for her blood-pressure and when she paused outside the dining-room door, and turned, her soft body brushed against the hardness of his and her breath jerked in her lungs and solidified painfully when he told her with arrogant ease, ‘Don’t spit, little cat. You’ve just had a sample of the methods I’ll use to tame that temper. So sheath those claws and purr for me because, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’