Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 73

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WE’LL LEAVE THE perfection of my life out of this conversation and while I don’t doubt you need someone to blame for what has happened to your brother—’

Mari stiffened defensively and cut in, yelling angrily, ‘You are to blame.’

‘What happened to your brother is tragic, but it is not the result of anything I did. He chose to drink, he chose to get behind the wheel of a car, his decision, his responsibility,’ he intoned with steely implacability. ‘It is pure luck that he didn’t injure an innocent.’

Gnawing her lower lip, Mari lowered her gaze. He had said it; she had thought it. ‘He loved your sister.’

‘It was hardly the act of passion,’ Seb derided contemptuously. ‘It was the act of a weak man who didn’t think of the consequences of his actions. It seems to be a family failing.’

‘He’s lying in a hospital bed!’ she cried, wondering if the callous monster even had a heart.

‘Which is sad, but he is the architect of his own downfall and I am just glad he has not taken my sister down with him.’

Mari wasn’t even aware that her arm had lifted, moving in a swishing arc towards his face until, a few inches short of making contact with his lean cheek, fingers like iron curled around her wrist, forcing it away and back down to her side.

She didn’t even give him the chance to release her hand; she started fighting, pulling frantically to wrench her hand free. When he did so she lifted her head very slowly, her wild hair falling back to reveal eyes that were wide and filled with hate, her skin flushed rosy, her lips parted as she panted for breath as though they’d just gone several rounds—everything was out of proportion with her and so, he realised, were the reactions she evoked in him.

He moved in a step, bringing their bodies closer. She didn’t move, if anything she swayed towards him as though responding to some invisible cord that connected them. He watched, fascinated, as the blue of her eyes was almost swallowed up by the dramatic dilation of her pupils.

She had the most glorious mouth he had ever seen, the sort of mouth that made a man want to taste. Quite suddenly, despite the deafening peal of warning bells in his ears, Seb couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t taste her.

One hand behind her head, he dragged her to him, then, tangling his fingers in the fiery mass of her hair, he hooked the thumb of his free hand under her chin. He dipped his head.

He felt her trembling as he moved his lips across her mouth before accepting the irresistible invitation of her soft, parted lips and plundering the soft, moist sweetness within.

The moment his mouth covered hers Mari’s mind stopped functioning and the rest of her nervous system went into overdrive. Then she was kissing him back with combative hunger she had not known existed. Above the thundering of her heartbeat she heard a distant moan and didn’t associate the raw, needy sound with her.

From somewhere, some small sane corner of her fevered brain, she found the strength to resist. She pushed hard against his chest and the kiss stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. She staggered back, her breasts rising and falling in agitation.

‘I hate you,’ she shot out, wiping the back of her hand symbolically across her mouth.

He stood there looking down at her, managing to look insultingly cool. Could he really turn it on and off like that...?

‘So nothing has changed.’

Still shaking while he continued to act as though nothing much had just happened, she smoothed a hand over her hair, appalled, deeply ashamed and most of all bewildered at the wanton way she had responded. ‘You kissed me!’

If she’d known that that was going to be the price of the last word Mari would have swallowed her pride and bolted when she had the chance!

‘I’m not going to get a honeymoon. I think the least you owe me is a kiss,’ he drawled while silently cursing his lack of control.

Cursing because she was the sort of woman with whom one taste was not enough, she was the sort of woman who, before a man knew it, he could not function with or without. She was the sort of woman he had spent his life avoiding.

‘I wish I had hit you!’ she fired back.

‘The day is young.’

‘And you’re in a hurry,’ she reminded him.

She watched as he turned his cuff and glanced down at the metal-banded watch wrapped around his wrist. ‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘Just one question, I’m curious. Do you think it was worth it?’

‘Worth what?’

‘Worth what is going to happen next.’ He shook his head and looked incredulously at her. ‘You really haven’t thought your little revenge plan through, have you?’ When she continued to look blank he elevated a dark brow. ‘You just told people we were an item and you’re pregnant. It won’t stop there. There will be consequences beyond a bad moment in my sooo perfect life.’ She carried on looking confused so he spelled it out. ‘For you.’

She lifted her chin but he could see the uncertainty she couldn’t hide in her eyes.

‘What consequences?’ she scoffed uneasily.

He didn’t reply immediately; instead he left a space for her anxiety to climb.

There was amused contempt in the eyes that brushed her face. ‘How many phones do you think caught part or all of your little drama? You have your five minutes of fame.’

A look of horror slowly spread across her face. ‘I don’t want it.’

‘Tough. It’s not optional.’

Her pallor exaggerated the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her small straight nose.

He remembered those freckles.

‘I almost feel sorry for you.’

‘I don’t need your pity,’ she flared back, eyes flashing.

One dark brow lifted. ‘I said almost. I save my sympathy for those who deserve it. You chose to have an affair with a married man.’ He disposed of her historical gripe with a dismissive click of his long fingers. ‘You chose to make a spectacle of yourself in public, your brother chose to drink and get behind the wheel of a car. Instead of bleating, perhaps you should both man up.’

Of their own volition his dark eyes dropped. Anything less manlike than her heaving breasts outlined beneath the blue fabric that moulded them lovingly would have been hard to imagine. He didn’t waste his time analysing the lustful surge of his body; he was working too hard at ignoring it.

‘I chose,’ she said, emphasising the word, ‘to make a spectacle of you, and in that I’d say I have been very successful.’ Almost mastering her struggle to appear indifferent, she shrugged and took the slim phone from her pocket.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ringing for a taxi.’ Eyes hard, she sketched a saccharine-sweet smile. ‘I think I’ve imposed enough on your hospitality.’

He strolled to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. ‘Your shoes are on the windowsill, and your hat.’

‘I don’t have a hat.’

His eyes went to her hair before, face set, he removed his gaze from the fascinating flame-red curls. ‘Of course you don’t. That would mean you stand the tiny risk of not being the centre of attention when you walk into a room.’

The suggestion that she wanted attention was so unexpected she struggled to think of a suitable response.

‘I’d book your taxi for the east gate if you really don’t want that fame...but you’re only delaying the inevitable, sweetheart.’

With that parting shot he left without a backward glance.

* * *

The hospital car park was full. Mari drove around three times before she finally found herself a space in an overflow area, or almost a space. The one she backed her old Beetle into was so narrow that to get out she had to breathe in to squeeze her way between the car and wall, managing to scrape her knees against the brick wall as she did so.

Without a lot of interest she viewed the damage, the nuisance value of her torn trousers barely registering against the oppressive weight of the real disasters she was dealing with—some of her own making. At times it felt as if she were drowning...but mostly she managed to tread water.

It was two days since the event that had triggered the media storm and by some miracle Mark hadn’t discovered what she’d done. That was the plus in what had been a nightmare weekend. Sebastian, with his sinister predictions of consequences, had been proved horribly right.

Mari was paying big time for her moment of madness.

She had been horrified when she had got out of the taxi to find a local reporter and photographer waiting. Head bent, she had not responded to the battery of questions or appeals for a quote.

Ironic now that she had thought that was bad—an hour later the duo had been joined by a dozen more from the nationals.

She had closed her curtains, ignored the notes shoved under the doors and turned off her phone, but she hadn’t been able to resist the masochistic impulse to go online. There she had discovered the predictable photos posted on numerous sites, and unlike most of the comments, which had been almost universally negative, some had been flattering, especially the one that had gone viral of Sebastian looking impossibly handsome and noble carrying her looking like some sort of ginger Sleeping Beauty up the aisle.

On a lighter note she had discovered an amusingly written piece, which included a detailed, itemised and hilariously inaccurate breakdown of how much her outfit had cost on the—it turned out—much-read fashion blog of the woman who Mari had almost forgotten had admired her outfit on the way into church.

This had spawned several much darker spin-offs that itemised not only how much her clothes had cost but how much she had cost! It seemed that according to ‘experts’ very few of her body parts were the ones she had been born with! She’d had a nose job, cheek and lip implants...opinion was split on her breasts!

It was universally agreed that Sebastian had footed the bill to turn her into his perfect woman.

The phrase had been picked up by a Sunday tabloid that recognised headline gold when they saw it. They had put the words above two shots of her, one in the supposedly ultraexpensive wedding outfit, the other taken Saturday morning when, bleary eyed in her pyjamas, her hair a wild mess and looking slightly demented, she had opened the door and faced a battery of flashes.

But she had taken control and stopped acting like a victim. The turning point had come about two o’clock that morning when she had found herself reaching for the tablet on her bedside table. What else was there to do when you couldn’t sleep but to get up to date with the latest vile names people were calling you and what awful things they were saying about you? The tablet propped on her lap, she had stopped and asked herself, What are you doing, Mari?

She could not control what people wrote but that didn’t mean she had to read it! The light at the end of the tunnel was that presumably there would come a time when people would get bored with talking about her breasts. Until then she was going to walk around with her head held high.

And that morning, when the number of press outside the building where she lived had decreased, it looked as if she had survived the worst, or so she’d thought.

But the hits kept coming!

She lifted her chin. As tempting as it was to just give up and admit defeat, it wasn’t an option. Mark needed her support. She pushed a strand of hair that had escaped the loose plait that hung down her back and glanced down... All dressed up, or in this case down, and nowhere to go.

But that might work to her advantage, she reflected, viewing her typical workday outfit of narrow-legged tailored trousers, teamed with leather pumps and a classic white shirt that she had put on this morning when she’d thought today was going to be a normal workday.

Still the professional look might make the doctors inclined to be more forthcoming with information than when she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Either way she needed more information than they had so far given her, and Mark, who had been deeply depressed last night, had responded to all her questions with a defeatist shrug. It hadn’t helped that she’d been really late, having changed taxis three times to avoid being followed to the hospital by the press—at least hospital security protected him.

She fingered the knot of the red silk scarf she wore tied around her throat while she dabbed a tissue to the blood seeping through the superficial break in the skin.

Finding herself unexpectedly free, she had hoped to catch the doctors after their morning rounds, but with the congestion in town and the time it had taken her to park that looked less likely. Still, it was worth a try. Throwing her plait over her shoulder, she started to jog.

People stared, but Mari decided that she could cope with a few raised eyebrows after the past few days. She kept up the energetic pace until she was outside the ward, then, consciously smoothing the frown lines from her brow along with the self-pitying thoughts before struggling hard to channel cheerful and optimistic, she advanced, passing the empty nurses’ station en route to the side room where her brother had been since he had been transferred from the high dependency unit.

Her mood improved fractionally when she saw a group of suited figures—the doctors were still in the ward. As she approached, trying to identify her brother’s consultant the men appeared not to notice her, then one turned and she froze, doing what she later suspected had looked like a ‘rabbit in the headlights’ impression.

He tilted his head in an attitude of distant recognition and Mari’s shaky-kneed trepidation evaporated in a flash of white-hot fury. In a heartbeat she reached the group bristling antagonism and hostility, her decision that if she ever met him again she would be cool and disinterested blasted away in the silent explosion of anger.

‘What are you doing here?’ Possibilities zipped through her mind. Had he assumed that Mark was behind her actions and he’d come to confront him?

The small group fell silent, aware of the undercurrents but politely pretending they weren’t.

‘Miss Jones, twice in three days. Aren’t I the lucky one? How delightful.’ He turned to the other men. ‘Does everyone know Miss Jones?’

‘I asked you a question.’

‘I have been visiting your brother.’

Wildly Mari looked past him, just able to make out her brother propped up in bed through the obscured glass panels.

‘You know the hospital administrator, Mr Parkinson, and head of—’

Mari, ignoring the other men, cut him off before he made any further introductions.

‘If you think you can obviate your guilt by bringing him a bunch of grapes, think again.’

‘I do not feel guilty.’

‘And that makes you a prize p—’ She bit back the insult, struggling to get a grip on her temper. Not easy when every time she looked at this man standing there so elegant, projecting an effortless aura of cool command, so infuriatingly complacent and so sure, so damned up himself...! ‘I would be grateful if you’d keep the hell away from my brother.’

The words were coated with ice, but Seb could almost see the flames licking just below the surface. Previously he had always discounted the red-haired temper thing as an example of an urban myth.

‘Isn’t that his choice, not yours?’ Was she equally passionate in bed...? A nerve beside his mouth clenched as he struggled to tear his eyes from the plump curve of her lips.

The sort of woman you avoid, Seb, remember.

Mari, who was stabbing a shaky, accusing finger towards his broad chest, didn’t notice the darkening of his eyes. She was too busy coping with the tingling aftershocks following the initial electrical charge that had taken away her breath in that first moment of recognition. She looked anywhere, everywhere but his mouth.

On top of everything else she could not deal with that kiss; the fact he’d kissed her or, most disturbing, that she’d liked it!

‘If you have upset him so help me...’ You’ll what, Mari? Frustration gnawed at her as an overwhelming tidal wave of helplessness washed over her. Control in every part of her life seemed to be slipping through her fingers like sand.

‘He seemed in a pretty positive frame of mind when I left him.’

She willed herself not to react to the provocation she saw in his silky smile as he continued to meet her spitting hostility and suspicion with a pleasant civility that probably made her look totally demented to the watching group—maybe she was! It was hard to call her behaviour over the past few days balanced and rational.

He wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t taken a certain amount of malicious satisfaction from the knowledge he wasn’t the only one having his life turned into a circus. At least he had the means, the expertise and experience to cushion himself and his family to a great extent from press intrusion, a luxury Mari Jones did not have.

Seb knew how fickle and unpredictable public opinion could be, so it was no major surprise that, by and large, coverage had mostly been pretty negative towards Mari Jones, but the toxic level of vitriol aimed her way had surprised him. He by comparison had for once escaped relatively lightly, partly due to the fact that Elise, who had wasted little time selling her ‘jilted bride’ sob story to the highest bidder, had chosen to play the victim and given a very inventive account of the woman who had stolen him from her.

His critical narrowed glance stilled on the smudges under her eyes that stood out darkly against her pallor before he looked away, reminding himself that any sleepless night she had she had more than earned—in making him the monster she had made herself the victim.

‘How about you, Mari? Are you having a good day?’

Mari lifted her chin. She could hear the malicious mockery in his voice, even if no one else could.

She gazed up at him, feeling a loathing that she had not known she was capable of. ‘I told myself it couldn’t get worse but here you are...’

Mari hadn’t been spared his presence. Even on the rare occasions she had managed to drift off into a light troubled sleep he’d been there every night. She was grateful that the details of those feverish dreams had slipped away but the snatches that lingered left a heavy visceral sensation of discomfort in the pit of her stomach.

‘Well, this has been delightful catching up, Miss Jones,’ he said with false sincerity designed to aggravate and annoy. The regret he expressed as he glanced towards the suits who had tactfully moved out of hearing distance was equally false and teeth clenching. ‘I’d love to stay and chat but I’m afraid...’

Mari watched, a hundred insults unsaid as he calmly strolled away without a backward glance, the message clear in the set of his broad shoulders: she was dismissed. She was unimportant; she didn’t even register on his radar.

Do you want to?

Ignoring this unhelpful intrusion from her mind, she stood there fighting a self-destructive impulse to chase after him. As much as she really wanted the last word, she knew it would come at a price.

Even thinking about the price last time sent her pulse racing. She had precious little dignity left, so she didn’t want to throw away what she had for the satisfaction of telling him what she thought of him.

Gathering her wits, she stood for a few moments after the group, with Seb’s dark head clearly visible above the heads of the shorter men, had vanished through a swinging door.

Hiding her trepidation under a cheery smile, she stepped into her brother’s room. ‘Hello, how are you feeling?’

The previous day Mark’s mood had see-sawed between apathy and anger, so it was an intense relief to see the animation in his face.

‘So you look better.’ If her voice sounded too bright Mark didn’t notice.

‘I am feeling quite good... Take a look at this, Mari.’

Mari took a seat and began to flick through the glossy brochure that he handed her.

‘Do you see what it says about this place? Just look at the statistics, Mari.’ Eagerly he watched her face. ‘Impressive or what?’

Mari grunted. She was looking at the fees, and there were numbers there that made her heart sink like a stone. ‘Where did this come from, Mark?’ She could not imagine that the hospital went around touting customers for this very expensive private clinic.

‘Oh, I had a visitor—he left it for me to look at. Fleur’s brother.’

Mari managed an expression of surprise, which her brother responded to with a laugh.

‘I know, coincidence or what? It turns out he’s on the hospital board or something. He said that this place has 24/7, one-to-one intensive therapy, all the latest technology.’

She put down the booklet with a sigh. ‘Oh, God, Mark, you know there’s no way we can afford this.’ And it was hard to think of what had motivated Sebastian Defoe to give Mark this unless it was malice.

Was he really that cruel or vengeful?

And why was she even putting a question mark after the thought? He obviously was!

A determined look that Mari recognised all too well slid into her twin’s eyes. ‘There has to be a way—your credit rating is good...’

Mari, the phone call from the head teacher still very much on her mind, hated bringing her twin back down to earth. ‘You know my job doesn’t pay that sort of money, Mark.’ Nobody went into teaching for the salary. ‘I barely make ends meet as it is.’

‘We could sell something.’

Mari’s heart broke for him. ‘Look, Mark, I’ll do what I can, but I doubt very much in the meantime—’

‘I could ask Fleur. Her family is loaded, and Fleur was always saying her big brother takes the responsibility stuff seriously—giving back to the community and all that.’

‘His sister said that?’

Mark, propped up on his pillows, shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, it’s all about appearances, isn’t it? And he can afford it. I thought you could have a word, mention how upset I was after Fleur broke up with me... Don’t blame her or anything, as I get the feeling he’s kind of protective, but—’

‘I really don’t think that would be a good idea,’ Mari, horrified by what she was hearing, interrupted.

‘Don’t look like that. I’m not asking you to ask him straight out for money—you can be more subtle than that. You know, play up the sob story, flutter your eyelashes, do the weak girlie thing.’

Mari got to her feet; she was feeling sick. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘You’d prefer that I end up in a wheelchair for life!’

‘That doesn’t have to happen, Mark. You know that the doctors have said with hard work and determination... I know it’s a long haul, but I’ll be with you every step of the way.’

‘Why does it always have to be hard work? I know you’re proud to be poor and everything, but I’m not. Why shouldn’t I have it easy for once in my life? I have never asked you for anything in my life, Mari...’ He saw her expression and stopped. ‘All right, maybe a couple of times.’

Mari picked up the brochure. ‘I’ll see if I can work something out, but I’m not begging for money from Sebastian Defoe.’

‘You’re too proud to beg?’

‘It’s not about pride, Mark.’

‘Yes, it is!’ he flared back bitterly. ‘You’ve always been the same. You can’t ask for help. You always have to do things the hard way. Well, it’s easy for you to have pride—you can walk out of here.’

Her brother held her eyes for ten silent reproachful seconds before he turned his face to the wall.

‘Mark, I’m sorry.’

Almost in tears, Mari left five minutes later, Mark still refusing point-blank to speak to her. He hadn’t given her the silent treatment since they were children, and then sometimes he had kept it up for days.

* * *

As she walked along the hospital corridors Mari struggled to think past the awful sense of helplessness. She couldn’t get the image of the silent reproach in her brother’s eyes out of her head and it left her with a sick sense of helplessness that was crushing.

The doctor had caught Mari before she left the ward. She had really struggled to respond positively when he’d pronounced himself cautiously optimistic about her brother’s prognosis; he’d gone on to emphasise how important a positive mental attitude was in these cases and how easy it was for patients to become depressed.

Outside she took several deep gulps of fresh air. Mark was right: she could go home but he couldn’t.

As much as she loved her twin she was perfectly aware that his impatience meant he always went for the quick fix. Their foster parents used to tell him there was no magic pill that cut out the hard work, but now he was convinced there was a magic pill. A carrot had been dangled and he couldn’t have it, but while he knew it was there he’d never settle for hard slog.

Lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the drizzle that had begun to fall as she cut across the bay reserved for ambulances, and then across a half-empty area with reserved parking spaces, people who were too important to make the long trek to the overflow parking area for the hospitals.

‘So how was your brother?’

Mari let out a shriek as the tall figure vaulted from a low-slung car that had power statement written all over it.

Had he been waiting for her? It didn’t matter—she had a chance to tell him what she thought of him.

‘Are you some sort of sadist?’

The sight of her walking out of the building had shaken loose an emotion that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Her body language had been so defeated, her slender shoulders so hunched she had looked as though it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other.

The contrast now as she stared up at him, blue eyes blazing, bosom heaving, her sensational, soft, full lips quivering with emotion as she launched into attack mode, was dramatic.

Seb was a man who valued control and moderation but she really was made for full-blown passionate excess... She was stunning, but then so was a hurricane, and he had never felt the desire to chase one or throw himself blindly into its path. Encounters with hurricanes needed to be carefully planned.

‘I like that in you—you waste no time on pleasantries. You get right to the point. I’m the same way myself,’ he drawled. ‘It saves so much time.’ He held open the door of his car, revealing the plush leather-clad interior. ‘Do you want to sit down and catch your breath?’

‘You don’t make me breathless!’ Exasperated that her response had managed to imply the exact opposite, she gritted her teeth.

‘Really?’

She stuck out her chin and stubbornly held his eyes. ‘Yes, really.’

‘I must be losing my touch.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. You seem to be on top form,’ she sneered angrily. ‘Presumably seeing my brother in a hospital bed wasn’t good or rather bad enough for you? No, you have to raise his hopes and leave me to crush them,’ she choked, fighting back a sudden sob and finishing on a shaky quiver of husky despair. ‘I’m sick of being the bad guy.’

Catching the thoughtful expression in his watchful dark eyes, she immediately regretted the bitter addition, and you couldn’t really compare this situation with all the little things like telling Mark he couldn’t ask their foster parents for the expensive trainers he wanted when they were kids.

‘Then why do you let him do it?’

Thrown off balance by the soft question, she stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why do you let your brother play you like...? Whichever way you look at it, it isn’t healthy—a grown man letting his sister fight his battles.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s emasculating, not to mention manipulative.’

The casually voiced observation whipped angry colour into her cheeks. ‘Are you calling me manipulative?’ she asked in a low, dangerous voice.

‘No, I’m calling your brother manipulative.’

Immediately defensive, Mari lifted her chin. ‘My brother didn’t...doesn’t know about me crashing your wedding.’ She bit her lip and added with a husky question mark, ‘I’d like it to stay that way?’

This was not news to Seb, who considered himself a pretty good judge and had recognised the shallow insincerity behind Mark’s smile the moment they had met. If the brother had known he had no doubt the younger man would have immediately tried to distance himself from his sister’s actions.

‘So you’re asking a favour from me...?’

She shrugged and said in a flat little voice, ‘Stupid idea.’

Experiencing an inexplicable impulse to live down to her expectations of him, he almost asked, ‘What’s it worth?’

Instead he found himself extending his hand.

Not in the plan, Seb, said the voice in his head.

Mari drew a tense breath but didn’t step back. She couldn’t—her feet were nailed to the floor. She stood there quivering as he touched her cheek, only lightly with his forefinger, but there was an element of compulsion about the way he drew a line down the soft downy curve of her cheek, his eyes following the action—then he repeated it.

‘You think I put a price on everything?’

Hot desire pulsed through her body. Her response to the casual intimacy was frightening, exciting and humiliating all at once. It was so tiring fighting, not just him but the way he made her feel. For a split second she let herself wonder what it would be like to stop fighting.

‘Don’t you?’ she asked, her reaction as his hand fell away ambivalent at best.

‘I won’t tell your brother about your wedding-crashing exploits.’

‘Thank you.’ Her relief was heartfelt, but her worried frown lingered. He said that now, but what if he changed his mind?

‘Don’t worry, I’m considered a man of my word.’ He saw her eyes widen in alarm and gave a low chuckle. ‘You really should never ever play poker.’ Unless it was not for money and with him, he thought, warming quite literally to the idea of a slow striptease.

‘I know Mark is bound to find out sometime,’ she admitted. ‘But it would be easier later. He’s not even speaking to me right now.’

‘You know, if you’re not careful you’ll spend your life—’ He shook his head and finished abruptly. ‘No, correction, you won’t have a life of your own.’ The thought made him angry.

Confused by the strength of the disapproval she could feel coming off him in waves, she arched an interrogative brow. ‘And you care why exactly?’

A startled look chased across his lean face. ‘I don’t,’ he denied, and shrugged. ‘For all I know you enjoy it. Maybe it’s symbiotic.’ Displaying his white teeth in a smile that didn’t reach his deep-set eyes, he leaned in and flicked her cheek with his finger. This time there was nothing seductive about the gesture. ‘Slice Mari Jones and you’ll find martyr running all the way through.’

She turned her chin away, hating his sneering suggestion and the way her body was betraying her by reacting to the sensual aura he projected.

‘Slice Sebastian Rey-Defoe and you’ll find sadistic bastard all the way through?’ she countered angrily. ‘You knew when you gave Mark the details of that place that we don’t have the sort of money that it costs—you expect me to believe you did that out of the goodness of your heart?’

Was his cruelty casual or calculated? Mari couldn’t decide which was worse.

‘I’ll pay for the treatment.’