Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 87

CHAPTER FOUR

RELIEVED TO FIND a hairdryer in the luxurious en-suite bathroom that accompanied the spacious guestroom, Rose sat on the capacious bed drying her damp hair. As the dryer blew welcome heat onto her scalp and neck she stared out through the surrounding bank of windows at the roiling sea and the ever more threatening darkening sky, her belly clenching at the thought of the storm that would very soon envelop them. She’d already witnessed one or two bolts of forked lightning in the distance and couldn’t help flinching.

‘Get a grip, Rose, for God’s sake!’ she scolded herself. But in truth it didn’t help to engender confidence when she was going to have to sit out the coming elemental furore with Gene Bonnaire. As soon as he saw that she was scared would he mock her?

Recalling that he’d referred to the gathering storm clouds as being like ‘purple and black bruises’, she confessed to being surprised that he would use such a poetic turn of phrase. When he’d asserted that he had no interest in antiques whatsoever, Rose had wondered why they seemed to leave him cold. Couldn’t he see the beauty and artistry in their creation? It had bothered her that he couldn’t. Yet why refer to storm clouds as bruises in the sky? Didn’t that suggest there was something in him that saw beyond the material? Some innate sense that recognised the incomparable beauty and necessity of nature, knowing that it was the one thing nobody had any control over?

Rising to her feet, she returned the hairdryer to its rightful place in the bathroom. As she turned she caught sight of herself in the generous-sized gilt-edged mirror. Her skin looked white as alabaster and the dark blue sheen in her black hair gleamed fiercely where it caught the light. Most of all, her violet eyes looked big and scared.

What was wrong with her? Was it just the coming storm she was frightened of? Or was it the thought of spending time with Gene?

Impatient with herself, she returned to the bedroom. After hanging her Arran sweater in a mirrored wardrobe whose doors swished open when she held her hand briefly over an electronic button, as her host had demonstrated, she donned the fresh pink woollen one she’d brought as a spare. Tugging it down over her jeans, she pinched her cheeks to instil a little more colour into them and then returned to the room that Gene had first taken her to.

Rose was amazed when she found it easily. Clearly her sense of direction hadn’t let her down.

She found Gene seated on one of the futuristic couches opposite the glass table, his elbows resting against his hard-muscled thighs as he stared out of the windows at the increasingly wild weather. Two steaming mugs were evident on the table as she approached.

Glancing up at her, he smiled. Startled, she fell headlong into his sublime azure gaze and forgot her own name. She’d never seen a man as beautiful... More than that, she had never experienced the forceful sense of a desire so profound that it stopped her in her tracks and—frighteningly—made it hard to breathe...

Gene’s heart jolted and plunged him into a reverie of lust and longing that was unprecedented. Transfixed by the sight of the petite and pretty woman in front him, dressed in a girlish pink sweater and fitted blue jeans, all he could do was stare. What was it about her elfin features and ethereal eyes that made it hard to think straight when he looked at her? She wasn’t a bit like any of the voluptuous women he was usually attracted to.

Suddenly aware that her appearance had rendered him momentarily dumb, he cleared his throat. Then he reached for one of the mugs of steaming hot chocolate and handed it to her. ‘I see you found your way back, then? I’ve made your drink. You should sit down and enjoy it while it’s hot.’

‘Thanks. You timed it perfectly.’ Accepting the proffered mug, Rose moved to the other end of the couch and sat down.

Gene’s reaction at the distance she’d put between them was at first amused, then irritated. ‘Why don’t you come and sit closer to me? I promise I don’t bite.’

Cupping her drink, she crumpled her smooth brow a little. ‘That sounds like an invitation from the Big Bad Wolf...’

‘Do you think of yourself as Little Red Riding Hood, then?’

‘Why not? She was a very clever girl. She saw through the wolf right from the beginning. She knew he was up to no good.’

She flushed and Gene sensed his blood heatedly go south. How had he not seen just how engaging this woman was the moment he’d first set eyes on her?

Clearly unfazed by his teasing invitation to sit closer, she took an experimental sip of hot chocolate and licked her lips. The unknowingly provocative gesture had the effect of making his already entranced gaze hone in on the alluring shape of her mouth. The sight inevitably brought back the memory of the kiss he’d stolen at the antiques shop. He tightened as he remembered the luxuriant taste of her satin textured lips and the tide of molten longing that had flowed through him.

‘My God, this is so good!’ She smiled. ‘How did you learn to make it so delicious?’

Once again Gene had to shake himself out of the trance he’d seemingly fallen into. ‘My father taught me. He’s a connoisseur in the art of making sinfully delicious hot chocolate. “Make this for the woman in your life, son, and she’ll love you forever.” That’s what he used to say.’

‘And do you? Make it for the woman in your life, I mean?’

He couldn’t take the question lightly. Not when he’d never let a woman get close enough to engage his emotions, let alone make her his mate for life...

Disgruntled, he replied, ‘No. I don’t have a particular woman in my life—and neither do I want to. I believe in keeping my options open.’

‘You mean you’d prefer to have a selection of women to choose from rather than just one special one?’

He sensed an aggravated muscle jerk in the side of his cheek. ‘I suppose you could say that.’

Rose’s violet gaze was thoughtful. ‘Then I guess I’m privileged that you chose to make hot chocolate for me, Mr Bonnaire, especially when I’m not remotely interested in joining your select little harem.’

‘Indeed. And I asked you to call me Gene,’ he snapped, unhappy that she should dismiss him so mockingly. It was hardly flattering.

Why on earth had he mentioned that silly comment his father had made? Not only had it highlighted to Rose that he liked to play the field—a fact he suddenly didn’t feel proud of at all—but referencing the man who had raised him made him feel wretchedly guilty that he hadn’t seen him in a while. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

Pushing to his feet, he moved restlessly towards the panoramic windows and was momentarily captivated by the gigantic waves crashing violently against the rocks on the shoreline.

‘Storm’s getting wilder...’ he murmured.

‘Do they bother you...storms, I mean?’

Turning to smile at the woman Gene now realised was innately curious, he felt a frisson of excitement throb through him. What else might Rose be curious about if he were to delve a little deeper? he wondered.

‘They don’t bother me at all. I certainly don’t fear them, if that’s what you’re getting at. The more wild and furious they are the better, as far as I’m concerned. As you commented earlier, Rose, the unpredictable quality of nature is an ever-present reminder that people aren’t in control of everything...even though some of us might like to think we are.’

His companion looked genuinely surprised. ‘Forgive me, but I never guessed you could be so philosophical. You definitely gave me the impression that you’re a man who likes to be firmly in control.’

For a long moment Gene contemplated the remark. Rose’s deceptively calm demeanour gave no clue as to how feisty she was, or indeed how challenging she could be. Yet again he was taken aback that she dared to be so candid with her opinions. He wasn’t used to that. It was true that he prided himself on being in control, but he didn’t particularly enjoy it being pointed out to him. It might give his opposition an advantage. He also liked to steer the direction his conversations went in, so that they didn’t stray into areas he didn’t want them to go. He had a genuine fear of being exposed, of being seen as vulnerable in any way.

Biting back his irritation, he asked, ‘And what about you, Rose? Do you like storms?’

As she set down her mug of hot chocolate on the table her expression was uneasy. ‘Not particularly. To tell you the truth, they scare me. Not so much the wind and the rain, or even the thunder...it’s the lightning I don’t like. I’ve always been afraid of it. Once when I was little there was the most terrifying storm one night. Some lightning hit our greenhouse and shattered all the glass. It was like a bomb exploding. I was afraid to go back to sleep in case it happened again. No doubt that event has programmed me to be afraid of it for life. I have occasionally thought of getting some therapy...’

Finding himself intrigued, Gene moved back to the couch and sat down—but this time he deliberately positioned himself a little closer to Rose. ‘It’s not therapy you need, ma chère, but courage.’

‘I’m not a coward.’

‘Did I suggest that you were? Everyone has something they’re afraid of. It’s only human. No, what I’m saying is that you have to face your fears head-on. Expose them for what they are.’

‘And what are they?’

Rose’s voice had nervously dropped a little lower, and Gene saw the child she’d once been, too afraid to go back to sleep after lightning had shattered her greenhouse. It made him feel fiercely protective of her.

‘They’re just illusions. Thoughts in your head that don’t serve you... Don’t let them get the better of you or they’ll dictate what you can and can’t do for the rest of your life.’

‘Is that how you handle your fears, Gene?’

For a sensually charged moment he absorbed the prickles of warmth that flared in his belly at the sound of his name on her lips, then he replied, ‘Thankfully, they rarely arise for me—but, yes...that’s how I handle them.’

‘You mean there are no ifs or buts or maybes?’

‘I don’t let anything stop me from getting what I want, Rose—least of all doubt.’

‘That’s obviously why you appear to be so fearless, then?’

He didn’t like it that she’d said appear. It suggested there was an element of doubt in her mind—that the confident image he projected wasn’t all it seemed. Yet again Rose Heathcote was pushing all his hot buttons and the conversation was definitely taking a direction he didn’t appreciate.

It seriously bothered him that he should be so unsettled by a woman, and he quickly sought to reassert his position.

‘What you see with me is what you get, sweetheart. I don’t need to resort to pretence. If you’d ever read my résumé you’d know that’s a fact. My success speaks for itself. Now, as interesting as it undoubtedly is, I think we should bring this little conversation to an end. We’ll both need something to eat soon, and I plan on cooking us dinner.’

Surprised, Rose quickly got to her feet. ‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble. A simple snack will do. I don’t need a full-blown meal.’

‘Say that to any top chef and they’re likely to eject you from the restaurant. Food is more than just essential fuel, Rose... Great food is manna from heaven. A “simple snack” is not, and you won’t be getting any such thing from me.’

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she felt her cheeks turn arrestingly pink. ‘I meant no offence. But if you’re insisting on cooking us a meal then the least I can do is help you...’

Gene immediately warmed to the idea. So much so, he couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘So your talents go beyond being a devoted and able assistant in the antiques trade?’

She immediately looked stung. ‘I’m not just an assistant. I’m a dealer in my own right.’

‘Ah... That tells me that being valued and admired for your achievements does matter to you. We’re not so different after all, are we? Very well, you can be my sous-chef tonight. Let’s go into the kitchen and we’ll get started.’

* * *

Gene handed Rose a white chef’s apron and rolled up his sleeves. The tanned skin of his forearms looked silky smooth, and was dusted with a fine coating of dark hair.

As the rain thundered against the roof with increasing force, and the waves at the shoreline spewed icy foam against the jagged rocks, he instructed her on where she could locate the essential items they needed. The stunningly vast ‘space age’ kitchen didn’t reveal its secrets easily. Drawers opened with the lightest touch, or a hand held in front of a discreet sensor, and the refrigerator and freezer looked as if they’d been designed by someone who excelled in writing sci-fi.

Rose’s heart knocked anxiously against her ribs at being part of a scenario she would never have envisaged in a thousand years. From their first meeting Gene Bonnaire had challenged her. His too-confident air and superior manner unsettled her more than just a little. Add to that his reputation for acquiring anything he wanted simply because his money dictated that he could, in truth there was little to commend him to Rose.

She had never been the kind of woman who was easily impressed by a man, no matter what his credentials. A good character—someone honourable and loyal—that was what she secretly wanted in a man.

She’d once foolishly fallen for a stockbroker who had professed himself to be madly in love with her and wanted to marry her. But, although briefly dazzled by his declarations of adoration and devotion, Rose had soon found out that it was all a game to him. It had stroked his ego to think that she couldn’t live without him. He’d enjoyed the power he had imagined it gave him over her. But his ambition to make money and go much further in his career had been his top priority—not her. And when she’d found out that she wasn’t the only woman he professed to adore Rose had vowed never to make such a painful mistake again and had ended the relationship.

The man her mother had left her father for was also driven by money and status, and he was insufferably arrogant. Rose had not had cause to change her opinion in all the years she had known him. All she saw when she looked at David Carlisle was the man who had selfishly charmed her mother with his money and his looks just because it had stroked his ego to win over a happily married woman and—having won her—destroy her family.

When her mother, Ruth, had left it had been the first time Rose had seen her usually resolute father cry...

Gene Bonnaire was obviously cut from the same cloth as her ex and her mother’s second husband, and she had plenty of reasons not to trust him. Hadn’t he already indicated that he was an uncaring playboy—the kind of man who took what he wanted simply because his money and position allowed him to be as mercenary as he liked?

Yet here she was in his isolated sanctuary on a remote Scottish island, miles away from anywhere civilised, and until the boatman Rory met her tomorrow to take her back to the mainland she had to make the best of things. She’d sleep a whole lot better tonight if she didn’t antagonise the man.

Despite all of that, she couldn’t help recalling that crazily unreal moment when her gaze had locked with Gene’s and molten desire had made her feel frighteningly weak. For a shocking instant there had been the urge to abandon all reason and surrender to the wild and wanton nature of it... How was any sane person able to explain such a thing?

Rose could only put it down to the fact that her guard was down after all the stress she’d endured recently. Philip was still in the hospital, and out of the blue he’d decided to sell the property to Gene.

One thing was certain: she would do everything in her power to make sure that a repetition of that crazy moment between them wouldn’t happen. In fact she probably wouldn’t rest easy until Gene had signed the documents she’d brought and deposited the funds for the sale into Philip’s account. Then and only then would she be convinced that she’d done the right thing in coming here on behalf of the man who wasn’t just her employer and mentor but her surrogate uncle as well.

* * *

Like many people who loved and appreciated craftsmanship in all its forms, after watching Gene effortlessly put the most sublime meal together Rose had to attest that the man was a supreme artisan.

It had been fascinating to watch him work with his hands. Whether it was slicing onions on a chopping board, rubbing spices between his fingers and sprinkling them into the food as he stood over the stove, or working the delicious ingredients he’d put together in a pan with two or three economical stirs, she’d found herself becoming more and more intrigued by the man. With his handsome profile diligently focused, he looked as if he inhabited another world when he was cooking, and the so-called commonplace activity somehow made him seem much more human...

‘Should be ready soon—would you like a taste?’

In a near trance where she stood by Gene’s side, Rose glanced up at him in surprise. He scooped some food from the aromatic pan onto a metal spoon and offered it to her. She didn’t need to be asked twice.

His compellingly blue eyes glinted knowingly as she expressed her pleasure at what she’d tasted with an appreciative groan.

‘That’s amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so delicious in my life...’

‘Haven’t you? That makes me want to give you more delicious things to try.’

She felt her skin flame red, and a mixture of embarrassment and irritation throbbed through her.

But then Gene stepped towards her.

‘You’ve got some sauce at the side of your mouth...let me get it for you.’

With the pad of his thumb, he wiped it away. But it was no simple gesture. The way he lingered over the task made it seem like some kind of erotic foreplay, and as he pressed his flesh against the side of Rose’s lips it was as though he ignited a flame that wouldn’t easily be extinguished.

There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t feel restless and hot. Trapped by his gaze, all she could do was stare helplessly. But at the same time her intuition alerted her to the danger... What was she thinking? Dear God, she was behaving as if she was enjoying his attention. One thing she was sure of: Gene Bonnaire didn’t need another entranced woman pandering to his already inflated ego.

Stepping hastily away, she grabbed some kitchen towel and dabbed at her lips, unconsciously seeking to obliterate his touch.

Watching her, he released a low-voiced chuckle. ‘I hope you’re not feeling nervous around me, Rose? I told you I don’t bite...’ Levelling his chiselled jaw at her, he paused and smiled. ‘That is unless you want me to?’

Rose’s heart thundered so hard in her chest that she wondered he didn’t hear it.

As adrenaline shot through her system on a dizzying white water rapid she straightened her shoulders and aimed for a withering glare. ‘You know, you might think that all women enjoy your insincere flirtatious technique...that they should even be grateful for the attention...but I can assure you that I don’t. That said, I think I should go and lay the table while you finish cooking the food.’

Opening a drawer that she’d learned was full of silver cutlery she grabbed the necessary knives and forks and closed it again. Not waiting for further comment, she strode out of the kitchen with her head held deliberately high, praying as she went through the door that she’d remember where to locate the dining room...