Читать книгу The Marriage Takeover - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 8

AS QUICKLY as she could, Cassandra showered, put on a white, slim-fitting shift dress, and wound her hair into a neat coil. Her overnight bag in her hand, she was descending the terrace steps when a big cream and beige four-wheel drive appeared with Lang at the wheel.

Her heart sank a little. It seemed he intended to drive himself.

Jumping out, he tossed her luggage on to the back seat alongside his own and, a hand beneath her bare elbow, helped her into the air-conditioned vehicle.

‘Ten minutes exactly,’ he congratulated her, adding, his smile crooked, ‘With having your overnight things to pack, I hardly thought you’d make it in time…’

So he hadn’t believed her when she’d denied changing her mind, and he knew quite well that her bag had been already packed.

Damn him! she thought crossly, flustered by both his touch and his ironic words.

‘And you even manage to look cool and collected, and incredibly beautiful.’

Pursing her lips, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Dalton.’

Laughing at her primness, he urged, ‘Have a heart, Cassandra… For the weekend at least, forget I’m your boss and call me Lang.’

Not on your life! she decided grimly. Calling him by his first name would add a new dimension, a complication she would rather not tangle with.

A moment later he was in the driving seat, and with a throaty roar from the powerful engine they were off, following a private road through extensive, palm-shaded grounds.

He drove without speaking, his lean, long-fingered hands lying lightly on the wheel, a slight smile touching his firm mouth.

The tall, wrought-iron gates in the perimeter wall slid aside at their approach and closed behind them as they turned to follow a tortuous mountain road between spectacular masses of granite boulders and tinder-dry scrub.

But rather than watching the scenery Cassandra’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to her companion’s hard-boned profile—the strong nose, the controlled line of the upper lip in direct contrast to the warm curve of the lower, the droop of an eyelid at the outer corner, the sweep of thick, gold-tipped lashes…

As though aware of her scrutiny, he suddenly turned his head to smile at her. Feeling herself start to flush, she looked hurriedly away.

For a while she stared determinedly out of the window, absently noting a gnarled, twisted cypress and the occasional sword-leaved yucca.

Then, wanting to break the silence, to get on some kind of workable footing that would keep a respectable distance between them, she asked politely, ‘Do you go to Las Vegas often?’

‘From time to time,’ he answered casually.

Remembering his previous remarks, she suggested, ‘But not to gamble?’

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes it’s a matter of business. Other times I go to catch one of the big name acts when they appear at Caesar’s Palace or the Golden Phoenix.’

‘Earlier you spoke as if you enjoyed the journey?’

‘I do. I’ve always got a buzz from just being on the move. Unfortunately my wife didn’t. Nina found any kind of travelling both tiring and boring…

‘Do you enjoy being on the move, Cassandra?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Her voice wistful, she added, ‘I’d like to have done some real travelling, seen a lot more of the world.’

But she’d had neither the opportunity nor the money. Having sent her to a good school, her parents had considered their duty done, and, unwilling to ask them for anything further, she’d struggled to be completely independent.

Lang slanted her a glance. ‘You said you’d been to Paris?’

‘Yes.’

‘When was that?’

Unwilling to talk about it, she answered shortly, ‘A couple of months ago.’

‘With Brent?’

Lifting her chin, she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Yes.’

In fact the weekend had proved to be something of a disaster and they’d ended up sleeping in separate beds. Yet in an odd sort of way the truth coming out had strengthened their relationship, and resulted in their deciding to get married earlier than first planned.

Afraid Lang was going to question her further, she abruptly changed the subject, saying the first thing that came into her head. ‘As today’s journey seems to be a longish one, I’d half expected you to take the limousine.’

He went along with it. ‘On this kind of trip I prefer to drive myself, and the Cherokee was bought primarily for desert travel, which needs special safety precautions.’

‘You make it sound…dangerous.’

‘In spite of its beauty, it can be just that. Particularly in the hottest months when the temperature in Death Valley has been known to reach a hundred and thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. Anyone who breaks down or gets stuck in such desiccating heat can be in real trouble, unless they have plenty of water and some way of shielding themselves from the sun until help arrives.’

‘Which I’m sure we have?’ she asked gravely.

With a sidelong glance, he answered equally gravely, ‘Of course.’