Читать книгу Extreme Provocation - Sarah Holland - Страница 4

LUCY stepped out of the taxi into the warm night air. Looking up at Marlborough’s, the exclusive London casino, she shivered, drawing her white lace shawl closer around her bare shoulders.

There was nothing else for it. She had to go into this imposing place and get her father. He had already spent most of her grandfather’s fortune since inheriting it. If Lucy couldn’t stop him, he would gamble himself into bankruptcy and ruin.

Marlborough’s was a private gambling club for the very rich. A doorman in smart livery demanded her name and proof of her identity.

‘Lucy Winslow,’ she said haughtily, handing him her passport. ‘My father is Gerald Winslow.’

He tilted his cap and motioned for the doors to be opened.

She swept in, head held high. Luxury surrounded her in the cream-gold foyer with its high ceiling and crystal chandeliers. Gazing around, she felt suddenly very young and nave, not sure where to go. Where were the gaming rooms? What did one do?

Suddenly she sensed someone watching her. With a start, she looked up, green eyes huge.

A man stood on the luxurious stairs, one hand on a gold banister. He was very tall with broad shoulders and long legs. He wore a black suit, impeccably cut, a dark red silk tie and a tight black waistcoat.

‘Feeling lost?’ he asked, and his voice was excitingly smoky.

Her pulses leapt. ‘No. I was looking for someone.’

The man walked coolly down the stairs. ‘Anyone in particular?’

‘My father,’ she said, staring at his face as he stepped into the light, seeing the jagged scar on his hard-boned cheek, the cynical blue eyes and the firm, ruthless mouth.

‘What’s his name?’ A frown drew black brows together.

‘Gerald Winslow,’ she said, lifting her blonde head with pride.

‘I know him,’ he said slowly. ‘Come with me.’ He opened the door with one very powerful hand. She noticed dark hairs on the back of that hand, white cuffs at his wrist, and the glimpse of a black Rolex watch.

Stepping into the casino, Lucy was dazzled by the expensive gleam of low-lighting on roulette tables, blackjack tables, pontoon and punto banco and the glitter of silver chips, gold chips, scarlet chips, all clattering down polished chutes.

The door swung shut as the dark stranger stepped in beside her. ‘This way...’ His strong hand moved to the small of her back, propelling her across the luxurious, imposing gaming rooms.

Heads lifted as they passed. Women eyed the stranger admiringly, one sultry brunette even licking her red lips as she watched him stride with cool arrogance past her, his face expressionless.

He led her to a set of doors and opened one. Lucy looked into the baccarat room and saw her father. ‘Oh! There he is!’ She moved forwards.

‘You can’t go in.’ The man blocked her path.

Lucy’s green eyes sparkled up at him. ‘But I can see him. He’s the one in the—’

‘I know which one he is,’ he drawled coolly, ‘but I’m not letting you in. Not in that dress.’ The blue eyes moved to her body with ruthless sexual appraisal, stripping her of the cream silk evening gown that skimmed her full breasts and tiny waist and rounded hips. ‘You’d cause a riot,’ he murmured insolently.

Hot colour flooded her face. ‘You’re impertinent,’ she said tautly. ‘Mr...?’

He smiled slowly and did not reply.

Lucy’s mouth tightened. ‘I came here to see my father, and I must insist you let me through.’

‘You can see him when he’s finished playing.’ He closed the door and took her bare arm in a cool hand, propelling her away from the room.

Lucy tried to pull away from him. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Let me go at once!’

‘I’ll leave word with the floor manager,’ he drawled coolly, continuing to stride across the luxurious casino with her. ‘He’ll send your father to me when the game is over.’ He looked down with narrowed eyes, adding, ‘Don’t cause a scene.’

‘I’m not,’ she said tensely. ‘But I don’t know you and I don’t like the way you’re ordering me around.’

‘No need for alarm,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re perfectly safe.’

She gave an angry laugh. ‘If I’m perfectly safe, why are you trying to take me somewhere?’

‘Because I can see you’re not used to casino life,’ he said coolly, and halted, looking down at her with those unnerving blue eyes. ‘I thought you’d prefer a cup of coffee in a quiet room.’

Hesitating, her eyes darted over his tough face. ‘What sort of quiet room?’

‘My office,’ he said.

Lucy studied him for a moment, the idea appealing to her. She felt out of her depth in this sophisticated atmosphere. However exclusive, there was an edge to the scent of money that was excitingly sinful.

‘You work here?’ she asked at length.

A smile touched the sardonic mouth. ‘Oh, yes...’ His long-fingered hand pressured her with the merest touch. ‘This way...’

With misgivings, Lucy allowed him to lead her behind the tables. One or two of the men in dark suits who worked behind the tables tried to approach the man. He waved a strong hand of dismissal at them, his face and eyes hard as he strode past with Lucy.

She wondered who he was. He had an air of power and authority. His clothes were impeccably cut. He was obviously very rich. Her eyes scanned his tough face in a sidelong glance. Was he the manager?

‘In here,’ he said, unlocking a large cream door with a round gold handle and ushering her in.

Lucy moved inside, her pale silvery hair brushing faintly against the man’s powerful chest. The door closed with a cool click. Lucy spun, watching him warily through her long fair lashes. Now that she was alone with him in this quiet, civilised room, he seemed even more dangerous.

‘Coffee, then?’ he asked, strolling coolly towards her.

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

He smiled, and moved to the mahogany desk which, she noticed with surprise, was a French antique. It had exquisite carved legs, the wood rich and deeply polished.

‘Two coffees in my office,’ he said into the telephone, then punched out another number. ‘Send Winslow to me when he’s finished playing. Yes...my office.’ He replaced the receiver. His blue eyes flashed to her face. ‘Sit down,’ he said softly, gesturing to a long, deep red couch behind her.

Lucy sank down on to it. As she crossed her long slim legs with a swish of silk, his eyes moved assessingly over them. He was unsmiling.

He watched her for a moment, then strolled coolly to the front of the desk and perched on it, his black jacket falling back, exposing the lean power of his body beneath the black waistcoat.

‘So you’re Gerald Winslow’s daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Lucy watched him through her lashes.

‘Are you his only daughter?’ His tone was cool, conversational, belying the danger in those ruthless blue eyes as they moved slowly over her, undressing her.

‘His only child,’ she said, equally conversational, although her pulses were leaping with awareness. ‘My mother died when I was four. My father never remarried.’

A frown touched his brow. ‘He brought you up alone?’

‘Not really.’ She laughed lightly. ‘There was my grandfather, too.’

‘Ah, yes...’ The blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Sir Charles. I remember him. He came here once, with your father. An impressive man. Sharp with cards, too.’ He smiled with lazy amusement. ‘Made mincemeat of my dealers, if I remember rightly, and walked off with over ten thousand pounds in cash.’

Lucy’s green eyes shone with pride and regret. ‘He was very clever. We all miss him very much.’

He studied her for a moment, then said, ‘And what of you, Miss...?’

‘Winslow,’ she said, green eyes teasing him through her lashes.

‘I wanted your Christian name,’ he murmured, a dark look in his eyes.

‘Lucy,’ she supplied, lifting her chin.

He smiled, said softly, ‘Lucy...’ and then his blue eyes were moving over her body with sexual appraisal, lingering on her full breasts, bare beneath the revealing cream silk gown. ‘It suits you. Especially in that dress. Did you know there were several very famous kings’ courtesans called Lucy?’

Hot colour swept slowly up her throat and then her face. She felt suddenly afraid of him, her body pulsing with alarmed excitement.

As if he sensed her fear, he veiled his eyes and smiled. ‘And what do you do with yourself all day, Lucy? Are you still at school?’

‘No,’ she said tensely, lifting her blonde brows haughtily. ‘I’m twenty-three, as a matter of fact, and I have a job.’

The hard mouth crooked. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’ She felt flustered and under threat. ‘I work at a nursery in Kensington. I look after three-year-olds before they go to prep school.’

‘And how long have you—?’ He broke off as there was a knock at the door. Getting up from the desk, he strode coolly to open it, ushering in a sophisticated brunette in casino evening gown, who placed a tray on the desk, then exited.

When they were alone again, he poured coffee from the silver pot. She watched him through her lashes, aware of the scent of his aftershave as he leant close to her, putting the cups down slowly, then moving back to stand over her, hands sliding into trouser pockets as he watched her with those cynical eyes.

Lucy shifted, unnerved by his gaze.

Suddenly, he sat down beside her, one powerful arm sliding along the couch behind her pale head.

‘I wonder if my father’s ready yet...’ Lucy said, shaken.

‘I doubt it,’ he murmured, his eyes fixed on her mouth. ‘He tends to play till dawn.’

‘I can’t stay here that long...’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly, ‘he’ll come along when he’s ready.’ His hand moved slowly, picking up a strand of her blonde hair. ‘Is it natural? It’s quite the most extraordinary colour.’

‘I think I ought to—’ she began huskily, trying to get up.

He moved swiftly, surely, his left hand on her bare shoulder as he pushed her gently back against the couch, his dark head looming suddenly over her.

‘Not just yet,’ he said, watching her through black lashes, and gave a slow, rather deadly smile. ‘After all...you don’t even know my name.’

She studied him warily, her pulses thudding. ‘And what is your name?’

‘Randal,’ he said, and his strong hand moved slowly to her naked throat.

Panic erupted in her veins. ‘Let me go...’

‘I’m afraid I can’t, my dear,’ he said thickly, suddenly very dangerous indeed as his dark head lowered. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you, and I can assure you you’re not leaving this office until I do...’

His dark head seemed to obliterate the light as it lowered, and she felt hypnotised, staring as her heart banged louder and louder until that ruthless mouth closed over hers.

The hot rush of excitement made her gasp, struggling, and that seemed to inflame him.

Suddenly, his mouth was parting hers with hungry demand, and Lucy moaned in hoarse disbelief, her mouth opening helplessly beneath his. But still she struggled, her hands hitting his powerful shoulders, her body wriggling as she tried to push him away.

Her puny fight inflamed him further. A rough sound of pleasure came from the back of his throat. He was pushing her back against the cushions, his mouth a hot onslaught of commanding power, and as his strong hands began to move over her body she gave a hoarse cry of alarmed excitement.

Her hands slapped and scratched at his face and neck. She was fighting in earnest now, a wildcat unleashed in his powerful arms, and then her nails caught his hard jaw with a livid scratch.

‘You little cat!’ he laughed thickly, jerking his head back from her, but his face was darkly flushed and his blue eyes glittering.

Lucy almost fell off the couch, heart pounding as she grabbed her bag and ran to the door, wrenching it open. He watched her from the couch, his blue eyes narrowed, blood on his hard jaw. He did not attempt to follow her, but there was a hard smile on his mouth, and Lucy was terrified he might.

Running across the casino, she attracted startled looks. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that she had left her white shawl in Randal’s office. She stumbled out of the casino into the warm night air in time to see a taxi discharging passengers on the steps.

‘Astor Square!’ she gasped out to the driver as she leapt in and slammed the door. ‘Hurry.’

The wheels spun, the taxi pulled away, and as it swung around the corner away from Marlborough’s she knew she was safe, though her hands were shaking.

Anger flooded her as she remembered the insolent way he had looked at her, and the ruthless way he had simply taken that kiss from her against her will.

How dared he do that! He had lured her into that office, pretending to be friendly, with the express purpose of kissing her! She could see it all now, from the moment he saw her to the moment he took her into his office, right down to the moment he sank down on the sofa beside her, smiling at her sardonically and looking at her mouth.

Fury sparkled in her green eyes. If she ever saw that man again, she’d slap his hard, handsome face until it stung.

As for her father...a sigh broke from her lips. There was nothing she could do to stop him gambling tonight. He probably wouldn’t be home until the early hours of the morning, and how much money would he have lost by then?

Angrily, she thought of Randal preventing her from going into the baccarat room. If he had allowed her entry, she could have been with her father now, in this taxi, driving safely home. The selfishness of the man made her even more furious. No doubt he had more money than he knew what to do with. Certainly, he wouldn’t understand Lucy’s desperation to save her father from bankruptcy.

The taxi dropped her in Astor Square and she went inside, accustomed to the elegant silence of the house. Although she lay awake until three, she did not hear her father come home, drunk, at dawn.

Next day, she went to work as usual at the kindergarten in the leafy little residential street in Kensington. The children were in high spirits, and she was covered in paint at the end of the day, and needed to wash her face and arms vigorously.

She walked home in the late-afternoon sunlight. Astor Square was one of the more secluded squares in Kensington, with a pretty little green enclosed by railings, and rows of small detached Georgian houses around it. Her family had once owned the whole of one side of it.

Sir Charles Winslow, her grandfather, had been knighted by the Queen for his contribution to British architecture. Before he died, he had invested all his money in property, buying half of this square to safeguard the money he left to his only son, Gerald.

But since his death, ten years ago, the family fortunes had dwindled to almost nothing. Her father had wanted cash to spend, not investments to retain. House after house had been sold off. Now, they only retained number one, the first house on the square, and Lucy knew her father had taken out a mortgage on it last year.

When she got in, she found her father already drinking.

He was a tall, debonair man in his early fifties with pale blonde hair, silvering at the temples. ‘Hello, darling.’ he said with lazy charm when he saw her enter the elegant drawing-room. ‘Edward and I are just having pre-dinner cocktails. Care to join us?’

Lucy’s green eyes flicked with love to Edward’s face. ‘You shouldn’t encourage him.’

Edward gave a wry shrug. ‘He’d do it with or without my permission. You know that, Lucy.’

Gerald frowned. ‘I say. Don’t talk about a chap as though he wasn’t here!’

They all laughed.

Edward moved towards Lucy, his pale blue eyes tracing her face with affection. ‘You look radiant. Good day with the children?’

‘Lovely,’ she nodded. ‘Come into the kitchen and talk to me while I prepare dinner.’

They went into the kitchen, a bright sunlit room backing on to a small square of garden. Lucy waited until the door was shut, then flung herself into Edward’s arms.

‘Darling!’ She kissed his neck, breathed in the familiar scent of his skin. ‘If only you lived here, you could help me stop him. I’m so worried...’

‘My darling.’ He stroked her hair with long fingers. ‘I know. So am I. But I just can’t stop him spending. I keep telling him he’s hurtling towards bankruptcy, but he won’t listen.’

‘He’s been rich all his life,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘He thinks it’ll never run out.’

‘I’ve explained it all a thousand times to him.’ Edward gave a harsh sigh. ‘But it’s no good, Lucy. It’s as though he wants to destroy himself, and take the family down with him.’

Edward Blair was tall and thin with pale hair and pale skin and a very pale mouth. His father had been Sir Charles’s accountant. Edward had naturally taken up the position when his father died. The Winslow family and the Blair family had had a close tie.

Edward was so close to her that he was almost family. She had always known she was in love with him—and that they would one day marry. So had Edward. It was just a matter now of buying a ring and naming the day.

‘Edward, I went to the casino last night,’ Lucy told him now, ‘to try and stop him gambling, but—’

‘You went to the casino!’ He was shocked. ‘My God, Lucy! You shouldn’t have done that. Not alone...’

‘Why not?’ she protested, flushing deeply at the memory of that man’s passionate kiss and the danger he had made her feel. ‘I’m twenty-three and perfectly capable of walking into a casino.’

‘Yes, but you’re very sheltered, Lucy. Not the kind of young woman who should be going into casinos late at night on her own.’ Edward frowned with concern. ‘You’ve spent your adult life working with children, for God’s sake.’

She smiled. ‘And looking after you and my father.’

‘Well, all right,’ he grinned, touching her face affectionately with one slim hand. ‘Looking after me and your father.’

‘And that is, after all, what I plan to do for the rest of my life,’ she pointed out with a teasing smile.

‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘but don’t go into that damned casino again. It just isn’t suitable, my darling, and I won’t allow it.’ He bent his head to kiss her. The warmth of his mouth was sweet, familiar, and she smiled as she received his kiss, her body relaxed as he held her waist tenderly.

Suddenly she remembered the pulsing excitement of that man’s kiss last night and her heartbeat started to race dangerously. Eyes darkening, she moved abruptly away, ending the kiss.

‘If only we were married,’ she said suddenly, a hand at her temple. ‘Darling, can’t it be soon?’

‘It’s so difficult, Lucy,’ he said with deep regret. ‘To even think of marrying yet could be disastrous.’

‘But if we were married, you could live here instead of at that poky little flat,’ she protested, ‘and do something about Daddy. I sometimes feel as though I’m drowning in all this worry—’

Edward groaned, pulling her back into his arms. ‘You shouldn’t have to worry about things like bankruptcy and ruin,’ he smiled teasingly at her. ‘All you should worry about is darning my socks and cooking dinner for me and your father.’

Lucy clung to him, arms wound round his neck. ‘It’s all I want to do, Edward. Just to look after you and my father forever—’

‘Then get on with the dinner,’ he teased, kissing her, and then released her, opening the kitchen door. ‘I’ll be in the drawing-room with your father.’

As she prepared the dinner she listened to her favourite piece of jazz, the piano a smoky lilt against the lazy drawl of the singer. If only life could be this simple, she thought, green eyes clouding. Just relaxing, with no financial worries.

Sighing, she remembered how safe and secure her childhood had been. Sir Charles had been alive then, and his had been the strong hand that guided her life. If only she could return to that haven...but her father was at the wheel now, and guiding their ship on to the rocks.

The whole house felt under constant threat. She had no idea about raising money. What on earth did one do? Sell furniture? The paintings and jewellery that had not been sold so far would raise some money, but not enough. She only earned a small amount from the kindergarten. Enough to buy household necessities and food. But nowhere near enough to pay off a mortgage or even debts.

On Saturday morning she went shopping as usual, while her father slept off his hangover. It was a lovely day, the sun high in a clear blue sky.

As she walked towards the shopping precinct, a long white sports car slid around the corner and purred to a standstill just in front of her. The door opened and a very tall man stepped out of it, impeccably dressed, turning to face her with a cool smile.

Lucy gasped as she saw the blue eyes and the scar.

‘Serendipity,’ Randal drawled. ‘I was just on my way to see you. I came to return this.’ He handed her the white silk shawl. ‘You left it in my office the other night.’

Flushing angrily, she snatched the shawl from him. ‘Thank you,’ she said tightly, and tried to move past him.

He blocked her path. ‘I thought you might come back for it in person.’

‘Why on earth should you think that?’ Lucy’s green eyes sparkled with anger. ‘After your behaviour, the only reason I would have considered returning would have been to slap your face.’

‘I take it the idea didn’t prove irresistible?’

‘No,’ she said tightly, ‘but it will if you don’t get out of my way!’

He laughed, blue eyes moving over her with blatant insolence. ‘You are passionate, aren’t you? I’ve never met such a spitfire. How quickly that cool little face turns to fury.’

‘I scratch, too.’ she said, loathing him intensely. ‘Remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ He turned his dark head, the scratch a faint red line along his tough jaw. ‘Every time I look in the mirror, I think of you and your angry little face. I’d like to make you that angry again, Miss Winslow. In fact, I’d like to make you angrier still...’

Staring, she felt her pulses throbbing with sudden wild arousal, and her gaze seemed riveted to his hard mouth as she remembered that kiss and the violence of the response he had aroused in her.

‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he said softly, watching her.

‘No!’ she snapped.

‘Tomorrow night?’

‘Never,’ she said fiercely, and stormed past him.

He fell into step beside her, hands thrust in the pockets of his obviously expensive grey suit.

‘You’re annoying me,’ Lucy said, refusing to look at him.

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘I enjoy seeing you lose your cool.’

‘I could call a policeman, you know,’ she said, quickening her step.

‘He wouldn’t have the same effect.’

Her mouth tightened. They were walking briskly on to the cobbles of the precinct. Shoppers streamed all around them. She was very aware of Randal’s hard masculinity, that lazy, mocking smile and the black windblown hair. Several women shot him interested glances.

‘Will you please stop following me?’ Lucy said tightly.

‘You’d be disappointed if I did,’ he drawled.

‘Let’s put that to the test,’ she said flatly, glaring at him through her lashes. ‘Walk away in any direction, and see how long it takes for me to start wailing with disappointment.’

He laughed, then his eyes narrowed shrewdly and he drawled, ‘You came to the casino to try and stop your father gambling, didn’t you?’

The sudden change of conversation threw her. Shock flared in her green eyes. She didn’t reply, but her step faltered, she bent her head and felt her face run with hot colour.

‘He was in the casino every night this week,’ Randal said lightly, watching her bent head with calculation.

‘He enjoys gambling,’ she said coolly, lifting her head to signify her indifference, which of course she did not truly feel. But she didn’t want him to know how worried she was by her father’s drinking and gambling.

‘But you don’t?’

She shrugged lightly. ‘It’s hardly my sort of thing.’

‘A pity,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I hoped you’d turn up again. Don’t tell me I frightened you off forever?’

‘You’d frighten anybody,’ she said, throwing him a haughty look.

‘Would I, now?’ he murmured, watching her with a wicked smile.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t like the way he’d said that. Desperate to get rid of him, she turned, then walked quickly into a department store. Randal followed her. Scent assailed them from the brightly lit counters.

‘Shopping for make-up?’ he drawled beside her. ‘You don’t need it. You have a beautiful face and perfect skin.’

‘How poetic,’ she said sarcastically.

‘When I first saw you, I noticed you weren’t wearing make-up. It seemed incongruous in the casino. But you don’t need it with those eyes, do you? They’re like green fire—’

‘I do wish you’d go away,’ she snapped.

‘I can’t help myself,’ he drawled, smiling sardonically. ‘You fascinate me.’

‘Well, you don’t have the same effect on me.’ She stopped by a perfume counter, turning to glare at him. ‘Or hasn’t that occurred to you?’

He looked down at her, unsmiling. ‘Oh, yes. But it doesn’t deter me.’

‘Perhaps a kick in the shins would work better?’

‘You really are a tempestuous little creature, aren’t you?’ he murmured. ‘It’s funny. I’ve always had two types of women. Can never decide which I prefer.’ He looked her up and down slowly, drawling, ‘Virginal blondes or tempestuous whores.’

She caught her breath at his insolence.

‘I always dreamed of meeting a woman who was both,’ he said softly. ‘And I did the night you walked into the casino. You’re an exciting combination of madonna and whore. I’m afraid I can’t be stopped. I must have you.’

For a long moment, she just stood there, breathless and afraid, staring up into his ruthless face. What he had said was unacceptable. She was so shocked that she couldn’t summon the anger to slap his insolent face because she simply had never been spoken to like this in her life, and the worst part was—she believed he meant every word he said.

‘Let me buy this scent for you,’ he drawled suddenly, picking up an expensive test bottle. ‘It’s my favourite. I’m sure it will suit you.’

Raising the bottle, he softly pushed a swath of her blonde hair back, his long cool fingers touching her naked throat, hearing her catch her breath as excitement shivered through her.

‘I must find your pulse, my dear,’ he murmured, and slid his long fingers down until they encountered the hot throbbing beneath her white skin. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Unmistakable—’

‘Take your hands off me,’ she whispered, rooted to the spot, almost hypnotised by him.

He just smiled, and then she felt the cool spray of scent on her throat. It felt so intimate, so erotic. ‘I’ll have to find all your pulses,’ he said under his breath, unsmiling. ‘One by one. The heat brings out the scent. Did you know that?’ His hands slid to her wrists, lifted them both. He studied the blue veins, feeling the rapid thud at his touch. He sprayed each wrist. His blue eyes flicked to meet hers compellingly. ‘When you’re my mistress,’ he said softly, ‘I shall put scent on your body every night.’ His dark head bent closer to her. ‘At your throat...your ankles—’

Lucy broke away from him in a sudden fury. ‘How dare you say such things to me? How dare you?’ She was so angry she was shaking from head to foot, her pulses throbbing wildly. ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I shall scream, and then a store detective will come over and—’

‘Let me buy you this perfume,’ he cut in, unconcerned by her threat.

‘No!’ she snapped, rage in her green eyes. ‘I loathe it! It will always remind me of you!’

‘In that case,’ he drawled, ‘I shall buy you a very large bottle of it. You must keep it in your bedroom. Put it on before you go to bed. Then you’ll always think of me as you undress.’

‘Oh!’ Anger burning her cheeks scarlet, Lucy turned on her heel and stormed away from him, unable to fight him verbally, aware that her only defence was just to walk away. She expected him to follow her.

Incredibly, he did not. As she stormed out of the department store, the scent clinging to her, she was still shaking with rage. How dared he do that to her in a public place! Touch her throat like that, spray this beastly scent on her pulses. As for telling her point-blank that he wanted her to become his mistress...!

She wished she had slapped his face. Unfortunately, her horror of public scenes was too great. Still, she thought as she shopped alone for the next hour, he had obviously got the message in the end, because he didn’t show up again, and she was glad of that.

When she got home, her father was up, drinking black coffee and relaxing in the drawing-room in an armchair, his white shirt open at the neck and his grey trousers expensive.

‘Morning, darling,’ he said lightly as she came in. ‘Have you been out shopping?’

‘We needed some food for the weekend.’ She bent to kiss his unshaven jaw, the pale stubble rough against her soft skin. ‘I got some essentials, and something special for dinner tonight.’

‘You are a sweetie.’ He smiled lovingly at her. ‘By the way—a package came for you. It’s over there, on the coffee-table.’

Lucy glanced at the antique table, frowning. ‘For me?’ She picked up the square gift-wrapped box, tensing as she saw the bold black handwriting on it.

‘A boy delivered it,’ said her father. ‘About an hour ago.’

Opening the package, she saw the gold writing embossed on white and trembled with rage as the large box of French perfume was exposed. How dared he! How dared he!

‘Something wrong?’ Her father was watching her face.

With an effort, she controlled herself. ‘No...nothing at all.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ll just go and make myself some lunch.’

Going upstairs, she stormed into her bedroom, through to the connecting bathroom, and ripped open the box, unscrewed the vast bottle of scent and poured it all down the sink.

Waves of delicious scent engulfed her. Expensive, sexy, classy, fresh...it permeated the bathroom, drifted inexorably into the bedroom, clung to the cream carpet, the floor-length beige curtains, the cream-gold bed...

For the rest of the day, her bedroom was an emporium of scent.

And Randal’s arrogant, mocking smile filled her mind every time she set foot into her room. By nightfall, the whole of the upstairs of the house reminded her of those moments this afternoon and the dreadful, wicked, shamefully exciting things he had said.

It was enough to make her scream...