Читать книгу A Very Private Revenge - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

TAMAR knew, when she looked into Jed Cannon’s silver-grey gaze and saw it narrow to laser-like intentness the moment before he smiled, that the short jade-green silk cocktail dress, with its wafer-thin straps and simple crossover style bodice, had been worth every penny. And the matching shoes, with their high, high heels and neat little ankle straps, were just right too, emphasising her long legs and slim shape perfectly.

The price had been astronomical, but it had been the way the outfit showed off her figure that had made her hesitate in purchasing it at first. Since Mike Goodfellow’s attack, she had been chary about wearing anything too revealing, hiding in big baggy tops and jeans the first year, before slowly graduating to more tailored feminine clothes as time had gone on—but always with a view to modesty and propriety.

But you didn’t go to somewhere like Harvey’s muffled up to the ears. Even she knew that. And so...

‘You look very lovely, Tamar.’

She wondered if the sexy huskiness as his deep voice lingered over her name was a well-tried and proved strategy? Whatever, it was very effective. But she was immune to his charm. She was.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled brightly. He looked absolutely wonderful, but she wasn’t going to tell him so. The light cream dinner jacket sat on the big male shoulders in a way that proclaimed the wearer was used to such formal wear, and there was an easy grace about him that suggested restrained animal power. He was a sensual man... The thought shocked her into stepping out of the hall and into the street beyond as she said, ‘Shall we go?’ in as neutral a voice as she could manage.

She had been ready and waiting in the hall for his knock for over fifteen minutes, determined he wasn’t going to set foot inside the house. She didn’t want him in the place, and most certainly not in her flat, although she couldn’t quite have explained why. She had tried to tell herself it was because she needed to keep all this on her terms, but it wasn’t that, not really. She just didn’t want him getting...close.

‘Do I make you nervous, Tamar?’

He had ushered her into the cab with gentle decorum, making polite small talk for some moments, so now, as he twisted to face her, the silver eyes hard on her flushed face, he didn’t miss the start she gave at his softly voiced question.

‘Nervous? Of course not!’ She forced a light laugh, and then coughed as it strangled in her throat.

‘Good...’ He didn’t sound as though he believed her, and his next words added weight to this impression when he said, still in the same quiet, soft tone, ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear, you know. One of the disadvantages of a high profile is that rumours abound on all fronts, whether personal or workwise. If I had done or said all the things accredited to me I’d have burnt myself out long ago.’

‘And you’re not burnt out,’ she stated with provocative primness, almost as though she disapproved.

He wanted to laugh, but managed to restrain the impulse, knowing it would not be appreciated. She intrigued him, this serious dark-eyed flame-haired beauty; she intrigued him very much. There was something about her he couldn’t fathom, and it made a pleasant change from most of the women he knew, who were veritable open books.

‘No, I’m not burnt out, Tamar,’ he agreed with straight-faced control, and then, as she nodded solemnly before dropping her eyes and moistening her lips with a small pink tongue, he felt his breath quicken and a stirring in his loins.

It was that, the almost tangible innocence about her, he told himself with self-deprecating mockery, that got him. She was full of little gestures like that, but he’d bet his life she wasn’t aware of the effect they had on the average male. But she must be, he told himself in the next instant. Of course she must be. You didn’t get to her age, looking like she did, without knowing a thing or two. She was just more subtle than most; that was all. But he liked it. He had to admit he liked it.

Harvey’s was nowhere as big as Tamar had expected it to be, but in every other respect it came up to expectation. The small tables clustered around the dance floor were shadowed and intimate, the food was superb, and the frothy pink cocktails followed by a bottle of champagne that gave a new meaning to the phrase ‘nectar of the gods’ were out of this world.

It was clearly a place to see and be seen, and, judging by the number of people who tried to catch Jed Cannon’s eye, Tamar assumed he had more than a little influence. And didn’t he just love it? Tamar thought to herself, as the head waiter glided over to their table for the umpteenth time to check if everything was all right. The ostentation, the peacock-like display of all those present-he took it all in through those narrowed silver eyes without betraying a single thought or emotion. An ice man. She gave a mental nod to the thought. Definitely a control freak...

And then the tasteful little floor show ended, just as Tamar finished the most delicious liqueur coffee of her life, and Jed rose slowly, his eyes slumberous as he said, ‘Dance with me, Tamar?’

Dance with him? She stared up at him, her eyes wide. Of course she should have expected this, prepared herself for it, but foolishly she had been so taken up with the spectacle of it all that she hadn’t thought about dancing with him.

He looked very big and very dark, the pale cream of his dinner jacket emphasising the threatening enigmatic maleness, and she suddenly felt she had caught a tiger by the tail. She must be mad—stark, staring mad—to think, she could influence Jed Cannon by the tiniest amount. He was a man who used women for his own purposes, it was written all over him, and she was way, way out of her league here.

‘Tamar?’ He held out his hand, and she could do nothing else but rise and take it, her stomach quivering as his warm flesh made contact with hers.

Once on the dance floor a new realisation of his bigness swept over her as he took her into his arms, and she had to steel herself not to panic. This was the first time in years—since Mike Goodfellow’s attack, in fact—that she had consciously allowed a man to hold her in this way. The thought did nothing to help the little shivers flickering down her spine as the subtle but delicious smell of him encompassed her.

And then her chin rose a notch and her mouth tightened resolutely. She could do this, she could, and if she could handle being in Jed Cannon’s arms, she could handle being in anyone’s. There was nothing like starting at the top and working down...

‘Relax.’ His voice was deep and quiet above her head as he nestled the soft, cloudy curls with his chin and pulled her a little closer. ‘I don’t know what stories you’ve heard about the big, bad wolf, but I’m not going to eat you. You’re quite safe.’

‘I know.’

Her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked it to be, and then, as he chuckled low in his throat and said, ‘Now that’s not a very nice thing to say. I must be slipping,’ she took a long, hard, silent breath and prayed for control.

This was just social intercourse, flirting, part of a date. That was all. She knew it, in her head, but she was so out of practice in this realm that every little word or gesture he made was intimidating.

And then she felt him move slightly, and he pulled away enough to lift her chin with one hand as he stared down into her huge velvet-brown eyes. ‘You’re enchanting, do you know that?’ he murmured softly. ‘A lady of contrasts.’

‘Contrasts?’ She dared not relax into the sensual intimate mood he was creating—this had to move along slowly, very slowly. No doubt he was used to women falling into bed with him at the drop of a hat, and in the sophisticated worldly circles in which he moved affairs were conducted with a swiftness that could take your breath away, she thought silently. But this time, this time he wasn’t going to have it all his own way. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘But, yes.’ The husky voice did something to her nerve-endings that was undescribable. ‘I’ve seen the smart, efficient career woman, totally sure of herself and her ability to deliver the goods, the sophisticated beauty who has dazzled and bewitched every man in the place, and then there’s the other Tamar, the gentle, innocent, shy little girl...’

It hurt. The ‘innocent’ hurt—which was ridiculous really, when she had thought she’d got over Mike Goodfellow stealing what should have been hers to give long ago.

‘“Gentle, innocent, shy little girl”?’ She smiled as she said it, and he would never know how much self-discipline it took. ‘In London?’

But he had seen the brown darken to ebony, and the impact of his words in the dark depths. ‘Why not?’ he countered easily. ‘They tell me the age of miracles is not yet passed.’

And then he drew her close again, and she had to concentrate all her efforts on staying upright as the feel and smell of him caused her legs to turn to jelly. She tried to tell herself it was nerves that was sending tiny electric shocks all over her body, but she knew, even before he bent his head and took her lips in the lightest of kisses, that it wasn’t that.