Читать книгу The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress - Robyn Donald - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

KAIN caught Sable’s free hand in a steely vice, almost paralysing the fingers that were folding into a serviceable fist. Grimly he said, ‘Stop that right now. I’m not going to leap on you.’

His grip tightened a fraction, warning her not to pull away. Like enemies they stared at each other, dark eyes clashing with arctic grey, neither giving an inch.

Sable tried to concentrate on leaving. Right now. But all she could think of was Kain’s nearness, the way he’d pulled her closer—so close her nostrils quivered at the faint, sexy smell that was his alone.

Although his gaze was flinty, she saw heat kindle in its depths, and shivered at the basic feminine knowledge that told her he wanted her.

She should be terrified.

Instead she felt a flare of wild exultation and had to fight a crazy impulse to take a step towards him—near enough to rest her head on his shoulder and feel the strength of his chest against her sensitised breasts.

Her body ached with keen, tantalising frustration and her lips felt hot and tender. She caught her breath and forced herself to say bleakly, ‘Let me go.’

Kain released her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said with curt brusqueness. ‘That was unforgivable. I don’t usually manhandle women.’

Her glare tried for contempt, but didn’t quite make it beyond resentment. ‘I’d hardly call it manhandling,’ she said reluctantly.

Kain noticed less of her normal crispness in her tone, and he knew that the flash of hunger he’d seen in those mysterious eyes had been authentic.

And she, in her turn, had discerned his fierce response to her.

Sable’s satiny skin invited a man’s touch, and the red lips hinted at a recklessness that made him think of tangled sheets and long, long nights…

But what the hell was going on behind those steady, unreadable eyes? She was a very cool customer indeed, sexily chic in the sleek outfit of black and red that matched her hair and lips.

A stray, unwanted thought increased his annoyance at his unusual susceptibility.

What colour was the soft mouth beneath the gloss of lipstick? And when she creamed away the colour each night did all that controlled passion go with it?

Ignoring the unsubtle clamour in his body, he told her bluntly, ‘If you really want to leave I’ll organise a taxi for you.’

Somehow reassured by that—and thrilled in some primitively unregenerate part of her because for a moment she’d glimpsed the man behind the intimidating authority—Sable said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, tell me what this is all about.’

One black brow rose. ‘I will, but I’d like you to stay; I did promise to feed you, after all.’ And he smiled.

Walk into my parlour, said the spider…

Sable blinked to keep her head from spinning. That wicked smile was wielded like a sword; he knew exactly how to disarm a woman.

If she had any sense at all she’d go.

An unusual recklessness persuaded her to say, ‘First I’d like to know why you brought me here.’

And held her breath for his answer.

‘Are you always this suspicious about being asked out to dinner?’ Kain asked, his voice amused. Then his tone altered, and his broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. ‘You looked pale and a little tired; I thought food was in order.’

Sable ignored the first question. ‘I’m always pale—it’s my natural colouring.’

‘How are your iron levels?’

Her head came up with a jerk. Was he teasing? Yes, he was smiling. Coolly she said, ‘They’re fine, thank you.’

‘Good.’ He turned. ‘I’ll get a menu for you to look at.’

Sable glowered at his retreating back; effortlessly, with an authority that came from inner strength, Kain Gerard dominated every space he was in. He had that magical thing called charisma, the star quality that made everyone notice him.

OK, so his stunning good looks would automatically attract attention from women, but that compelling magnetism was based on his personality, not on his looks. He looked competent to the nth degree, as though he could deal with anything.

She envied him that inbuilt confidence; her own had been hard-won and was still precarious.

Did he take that constant attention and respect—the inviting, fascinated glances from women—for granted?

He’d be hell to love. There’d always be other women…

Embarrassed by the trend of her thoughts, she got to her feet and was turning towards the door when that tell-tale prickle at the back of her neck warned her he’d returned.

‘Retreat, Sable?’ His smile was idly mocking.

Feeling foolish, she said, ‘No.’

After all, instinct told her that she didn’t have to worry about her physical safety. Her emotional safety might be something else, but one meal wasn’t going to overturn her life.

He held out a menu. ‘Choose what you want for dinner, and when you’ve done that there’s something you might like to see.’

‘What?’ Although she accepted the menu, she stayed stubbornly in place.

He touched a switch and the curtains glided back to reveal a terrace; she noted the satin gleam of a lap pool and the shimmering ebony curtain of water that fell into it.

‘Look,’ he said, indicating.

Sable gasped and walked across to stand beside him.

‘It’s one of the big cruise liners going out,’ he told her. ‘She’s on her last voyage and this is her tribute to Auckland.’

‘It could be a picture out of a fairytale.’ Her voice was soft and wondering. Startled by her delight at the sight of the huge thing slipping silently down the harbour, decked with lights like a huge Christmas tree, she firmed her tone. ‘A sight like that brings out the child in me.’

‘How old are you?’

After a moment’s hesitation she admitted, ‘Twenty-six.’

‘Six years younger than I am.’ Together they watched the graceful relic of a more leisured age slide across the inky waters. ‘Five thousand years of so-called civilisation haven’t changed our basic natures. At heart we’re the same as those ancestors who huddled around a fire for protection, and in all societies light means safety and security. Now, check that menu while I pour you a drink. Non-alcoholic, if you’d prefer it,’ he added deadpan when she turned to refuse it.

Something equivocal in his tone alerted her, summoning instincts she’d long forgotten. Had he heard something about her father’s addiction? Lightly she said, ‘Actually, if you have it, a glass of lime and soda water would be wonderful.’

He produced that and handed it to her, waiting while she rapidly chose a dish. Then he left her again to deliver the order; she could hear his voice in the distance on the telephone. After a tiny sip of the refreshing drink she set the glass down on a table and looked around the room.

The penthouse wasn’t anything like Brent’s minimalist, decorator-driven apartment. Kain had clearly had input into the furnishings; its restrained luxury and strong lines fitted him.