Читать книгу Sharon Kendrick Collection - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 35
ОглавлениеTHE chinking of ice in glasses brought Romy back to the present and it took a moment for the shivering horror of her memories to disappear. Swallowing down the distaste which soured her mouth, she looked up to see Dominic placing a tray of drinks on a small table.
He handed her a frosted glass brimming with juice and subjected her to a brief, hard scrutiny. ‘Taking a pleasant trip down memory lane, were you, Romy?’ he mocked.
‘Pleasant?’ she retorted, almost choking on her mango juice. ‘Are you kidding?’
He sighed. ‘So you’re one of those people who rewrite history to suit themselves, are you?’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
He sat down in a vast armchair directly opposite her, giving Romy an uninterrupted view of his seemingly endless legs. He treated her to a hatefully smug smile. ‘I assume that you were remembering our brief encounter?’
Why bother denying it? The rise of colour to her cheeks gave her away in any case. ‘And what if I was?’
‘Then you surely won’t be hypocritical enough to deny that it was pleasurable?’
There was a moment of stunned silence. ‘How on earth have you got the gall to say that?’ Romy demanded, outraged at his persistence in talking about it, and at his own remarkable lack of embarrassment.
‘Easy,’ he drawled. ‘I was there, remember? I held you in my arms, watched you as you moved beneath my fingers—’
‘Don’t! Just don’t!’ Romy slammed her glass down on the table and glowered at him, though her anger made no impression on that infuriatingly detached expression on his face. ‘Is this why you wanted to employ me?’ she demanded. ‘Well, is it? So that you could gloat outrageously over a one-off incident—an incident I’d much rather forget?’
‘But was it?’ he mused, in a voice all the more dangerous because it was deadly soft. ‘A one-off?’
All the colour drained from Romy’s face and she swallowed down the acrid taste of humiliation. ‘Are you really suggesting,’ she said heavily, ‘that I behave like that all the time?’
‘Allowing total strangers free access to your body, you mean?’ he clarified insultingly.
It made what had happened seem all the worse when he described it in that brutal way. ‘Yes.’ She put her hand out to lift the glass of juice, but her fingers were trembling too much so she left it.
‘Why wouldn’t I believe that?’ He raised dark, arrogant brows in query. ‘Surely that would be the natural assumption to make? After all, I wouldn’t dream of flattering myself by thinking that you would make an exception just for me,’ he mused.
‘Please don’t insult my intelligence with false modesty!’ challenged Romy.
‘Oh?’ He rubbed the faintly blue shadow of his chin thoughtfully. ‘Then that does rather imply that you did make an exception in my case, doesn’t it, Romy?’
For a moment, Romy was lost for words. Because what if she admitted that she had made an exception in his case? And had allowed him intimacies which she had allowed no other man—not even her fiancé—to take? Would that not then beg the question why?
And it was the last question she wanted him to ask her—because she didn’t have the courage to answer it honestly, not even to herself.
She closed her eyes briefly in an attempt to calm herself—something which was impossible when confronted with that cool silver gaze—and when she opened them again something of her usual resilience had returned.
‘Why don’t you answer my original question, Dominic?’ she said, fixing him firmly with a velvet brown stare. ‘And tell me exactly why you want me—of all people—to organise your party for you.’
He knitted his fingers together in front of his chest in an attitude of contemplation. ‘Because you have a talent.’ He laughed as he saw her mouth fall open, but the laugh was cold and cynical. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Romy! I’m not referring to your tactile and highly responsive nature, but rather to your skills as a party planner. When I asked around for the best person to organise a rather special weekend house party your name came up every time.’
‘And that’s the only reason you want to employ me, is it?’ quizzed Romy. ‘Because I happen to be the best at what I do?’
‘Why would there be any other reason?’ he asked coolly.
‘Because I remember the way you looked at me when we were rescued from the lift!’ Romy cried, recalling only too well the stinging and cringing shame she had experienced. She would never forget that icy look of disgust he had directed at her. Never—not as long as she lived! ‘As though I was the lowest form of life which had just crawled out from underneath the nearest rock!’
‘Did I?’
‘You know damned well you did! And at the wedding too...afterwards...’
Somehow she had endured his stony stare throughout the entire ceremony and had thought that no worse test could befall her, but she had been wrong.
Outside the church afterwards, in the flurry of confetti and photographers, Dominic had turned to Mark and said casually, ‘May I kiss your wife?’
And Romy had watched Mark reply easily, ‘Sure—be my guest.’
She had tried to present Dominic with one cool, pale cheek, but he was having none of it. He’d even had the temerity to joke out loud about it!
‘Oh, come on, Romy,’ he had drawled, and she had almost recoiled from the ice-cold accusation in his eyes. ‘Surely, as best man, I deserve a proper kiss?’
He had emphasised the word ‘deserve’ so that it had a double meaning which none of the assembled guests would understand. And in a way that had made things even worse than they already were. The secret little messages which were passing between the two of them had only seemed to add to their conspiracy and collusion.
He had gently pulled her into his arms, had moved the billowing white veil aside and planted a swift kiss directly onto her mouth. To an outsider, it had probably looked like the most innocent peck, but Romy had known differently.
For in that brief, blazing kiss he had somehow managed to convey all the revulsion he clearly felt for her.
And himself.
But what had been even more humiliating was her reaction to his display of distaste. Just the touch of his lips briefly covering her mouth had been enough to start her trembling as she’d recalled exactly what she had allowed him to do to her on the eve of her wedding.
And he had looked deep into her eyes and had known—yes, known—that she still wanted him.
Was that why he had brought her here today? To settle an old score? She stared at him now, trying to hide her distraction. ‘Do you really expect me to work for you, Dominic? After everything that has happened between us?’
‘Are you saying you would find it a problem, then?’
‘Are you mad? Of course I would find it a problem!’
‘Then why are you here?’ he questioned coolly. ‘You came to be interviewed about taking the job knowing my identity. I know for a fact that you don’t need the money—after all, one of the reasons you married Mark was to get your greedy little hands on his money, wasn’t it? So why? Why even consider it?’
Romy drew a deep breath, deciding to ignore his unjust accusation about Mark’s money. If she denied it, he wouldn’t believe her—so why bother? Everything Romy owned, she had earned herself. And as for the question of why she was here, well, that was a question she could only partly bear to answer.
‘Because on the bright, clear landscape of my life,’ she declared passionately, ‘you are the only blot on the horizon!’
Her words didn’t cause a flicker of reaction. He simply continued to subject her to that disturbingly impartial stare.
‘Really? I find that difficult to believe,’ he said softly, then saw her face. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong—I can see exactly why you have such a burning aversion to me and yet at the same time a need to exorcise me from your memory. But I would have thought that there was a far bigger blot on your life—a blot, moreover, that is now impossible to erase.’
She knew from his accusing tone exactly what he meant, but still she had the masochistic need to hear him say it. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about Mark!’ he seethed. ‘Mark, the man you went ahead and cuckolded the day before you married him! Maybe that, in itself, was understandable,’ he ground out, ‘in someone with a higher than average libido—which I am assuming you must have, if satisfaction comes so easily and so bizarrely to you. But even after having let me touch you in that way, do all the things I did, you still didn’t have the decency to make what amends you could, did you, Romy? To do the right thing by Mark—’
‘And how should I have done the right thing by Mark, Dominic?’ Romy questioned, her voice carrying all the emotional range of a robot.
‘By damn well cancelling the wedding!’ he lashed back. ‘By telling him you couldn’t go through with it! But oh, no, that was out of the question, wasn’t it? Romy Salisbury saw marriage to a rich man like Mark as an out—and you wanted out badly, didn’t you, sweetheart? So badly that you were prepared to go into marriage with something like that on your conscience!’
‘Are you suggesting that I used marriage to Mark as an escape route?’
‘What do you think?’ came the sardonic retort. ‘You were well-known for having a turbulent background. A shallow, promiscuous mother—’
She covered her ears with her hands, but it did no good, for his deep voice penetrated as it continued to denounce her.
‘Mounting debts, the threat of eviction...’
‘H-how the hell did you find all that out?’ demanded Romy in a trembling voice.
His mouth twisted with scorn. ‘Facts are easy to establish if you go about it in the right way.’
‘Then why? What good could it possibly have done you? Why dig into my background?’
‘Why?’ He shot her an incredulous stare. ‘Because the whole situation was mad, and I needed to make some sense out of the madness. I needed to know why a young and beautiful girl would, in this day and age, enter into the already precarious institution of marriage when the foundations of your relationship with Mark were about as stable as quicksand. That’s why, Romy!’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ he demanded sarcastically. ‘Tell me—are you always so reasonable? Or are there times at the dead of night when the burden of guilt gets too much? When you pace the floor-blaming yourself for Mark’s death?’
‘Have you quite finished?’ she demanded.
‘Not really, no.’ He gave a low, bitter laugh which made Romy shiver beneath the soft material of her jacket. ‘I haven’t even started, sweetheart.’
The way his tongue sensually caressed the word ‘sweetheart’ made Romy begin to tingle with a sexual awareness she had thought long dead. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. Because her sexual response seemed to begin and end with this man, and she needed to find out why. And that was one of the reasons why she was here, though she would never dare to tell Dominic so.
And what if, as the sensible half of her was inclined to do, she walked out right now—telling him what he could do with his wretched job? Wouldn’t that just leave the whole issue of what had happened between them five years ago completely unresolved?
Was she going to allow herself to be intimidated by him? Or was she going to show him that she had grown up, and that handsome, powerful men could no longer manipulate her? She set her face into a serene mask. ‘Hadn’t we better discuss this party, instead of our stormy past?’
It gave Romy a tremendous amount of satisfaction just to see the way his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘You mean—you’re still prepared to consider taking the job?’
She gave him a level look. ‘Yes—I’m still prepared to consider it. Provided that the house party is genuine, of course.’
Clearly he was not used to having his integrity questioned, for a disbelieving frown furrowed his brow. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ he snarled.
Romy shrugged. ‘Well,’ she suggested innocently, ‘you could easily have manufactured the whole event, now, couldn’t you?’
‘And why would I do that?’ he asked softly.
‘So that you would have a legitimate excuse for inviting me here?’
This seemed to amuse him. ‘You really rate yourself very highly, don’t you, Romy? If you think that a man would go to those lengths just to entice you into his home.’
She supposed that it had been a ridiculously cheeky thing to say. As if a man like Dominic would be bothered to do something like that. ‘So the party is genuine?’
‘Of course it’s genuine!’ he snapped.
Romy finished off the last of her juice, put the glass down on the table and gave him a steady look. ‘Then why did you try to keep your identity hidden from me? You knew I would have to find out sooner or later.’
He smiled then, as roguishly as it was possible to smile, and Romy felt a sudden pang of desire and a rush of adrenalin that made her feel quite dizzy and uncomfortable.
‘Perhaps I was worried that you wouldn’t take the job,’ he murmured. ‘And perhaps because surprise is always such an effective tactic...’
‘Tactic, Dominic?’ She emphasised the word archly and threw him a questioning look. ‘Talking tactics makes it sound as though we’re discussing warfare!’
‘Well, aren’t we?’ he challenged softly.
She stared into stormy eyes that you could lose yourself in quite easily. And thank goodness she was no longer in the market for letting herself do so! ‘I don’t—know,‘ she answered rather falteringly. ‘I didn’t come here looking for confrontation.’
‘Then what did you come here looking for?’ ‘I don’t have to answer that,’ said Romy mulishly. How could she, when she didn’t even know the answer herself?
Reluctant amusement lit the depths of his eyes. ‘What an obstinate woman you are, Romy Salisbury,’ he murmured, with a smile most movie stars would have envied. ‘More juice?’
‘No, thanks.’ She bent down and lifted up the brown leather briefcase which lay at her feet. ‘I think we’d better get down to discussing business—see if we can manage to work together.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured, his mouth curving into a faint smile as he saw the expression of doubt on her face.
He had forgotten just how feisty she could be—but that was hardly surprising. He had probably spent a couple of hours with her at the most, and yet he had been unable to shift the memory which had clung so stubbornly to his mind.
Romy took out a large, leather-bound notebook and fixed him with what she hoped was a cool, efficient look. ‘You really ought to outline what you want for your party. You’ve left this meeting very late, considering that we have just a fortnight to organise it! In fact, if you hadn’t made the booking so far in advance, there would have been no chance of getting me.’
‘I know.’
So it was no spur-of-the-moment thing. He had planned this. Planned her.
Why?
She cocked her head to one side, a heavy strand of blonde hair falling into her eye, and she impatiently brushed it aside as she said briskly, ‘I think you’d better provide me with some information.’
‘Tell me what you want, sweetheart,’ he mocked. ‘and I’ll give it to you.’
Somehow she managed not to react to the blatantly sexual taunt. ‘Like an exact number of guests, their food preferences, some idea of your timetable?’
He glanced down at his wristwatch. ‘I’m running awfully short of time, I’m afraid. I’m due at a meeting. Can we arrange another date to discuss the details?’
But Romy was miles away, allowing herself to look at the room properly for the first time, taking in the floaty muslin drapes and the pale furniture and the elegant black sculpture of a giraffe which dominated one corner of the room. It was a highly masculine room, on which he had stamped his own indomitable presence. But, all the same, it remained awfully stark, she decided.
Romy told herself that it was just professional perfiectionism which made her long to arrange a huge, fragrant bowl of sweet-peas on top of the grand piano and to stand three simple spears of delphinium in a stark blue vase on the mantelpiece. ‘Of course we can,’ she answered stiffly. ‘When?’
‘I can meet you in town, if it’s easier,’ he suggested, in a manner that might almost have been described as friendly if it had not been for the distinctly hostile glittering in his eyes. ‘Say, dinner next Tuesday? You live in Kensington, don’t you?’
Romy found that she wasn’t even remotely surprised at his offering up this piece of information. ‘So you know where I live, too,’ she observed wryly. Any minute now, and he would come out with her inside leg measurement! ‘You do realise you have me at a disadvantage, Dominic. You seem to know everything there is to know about me, while I know practically nothing about you.’
He held her eyes in a watchful gaze that was profoundly unsettling. ‘Let me know what you want to hear, Romy,’ he challenged, ‘and I’ll tell you.’
Romy shook her head and stood up, smoothing her jacket down over her hips. What was the point? The only questions she wanted to ask Dominic Dashwood were of the immature kind to which she suspected she already knew the answers.
Questions like, Did you lose all respect for me that day, Dominic? and, Do all women fall under your spell under similar circumstances, and behave so shockingly?
He got to his feet and walked with her to the door. ‘Let me see you out,’ he said, and at that moment Romy wished for the impossible. That she could rewrite history. That she had met Dominic before she had met Mark. Or that she had never met Dominic at all. Or something.
But hopeless desires weren’t going to get her any peace of mind. Only her own determination to exorcise his memory would do that. All she had to decide now was how to go about it!
In silence, they retraced their steps along the echoing marble corridor to the entrance hall.
Outside the sun blazed down on her racy little black car. All around them, the healthy green lawns of summer were as carefully kept as if some dedicated gardener had been up at the crack of dawn, snipping at the blades with a pair of nail scissors.
Up the side of the red-brick house grew delphiniums in every shade of blue—from deepest indigo to palest powder-blue. Riotous pink roses scrambled merrily over a trellis, scenting the air with their sweet perfume as they fought for space. It all looked terribly well-tended and safe and very, very British.
Automatically, Romy turned to look up at him to say goodbye, the rather false, social smile she had pinned to her lips dying when she saw the frozen expression which had sculpted his features into a cold, dark mask. Oh, why? she thought, with something approaching despair. Why does he still seem more real than anyone else I’ve ever met?
‘And do you like it?’ he demanded suddenly.
‘Do I like what?’ she echoed, lost in the mesmerising silver blaze of his eyes.
His mouth thinned, midway between a frown and a smile. ‘The house, Romy—the house.’
People were always asking her opinion about things like that—it came with the job. ‘Oh, I like it, all right,’ she answered slowly. ‘It’s just the last kind of place I imagined you living in.’
His profile was dark and shadowed against the bleached sapphire of the afternoon sky. ‘Oh? And why’s that?’
Romy tugged unnecessarily at the hem of her silk T-shirt, so that it showed a pale inch below her jacket. ‘It’s just that it’s all so...so...’ Her words tailed off. She was unsure of how to tell him without being offensive. Though, quite honestly, why she should worry about his finer feelings when he hadn’t given a thought to hers she didn’t know.
‘Mmm?’ he prompted silkily, as though her opinion really counted for something. ‘So what?’
The word she was searching for came to her in a burst of inspiration. ‘So controlled!’
His eyes narrowed, as though her choice of word interested him. ‘And I’m not, you mean?’
She stared at him, aware that it was what people always called a loaded question. ‘Not in my experience, no.’
And to Romy’s astonishment he actually flinched at her words, as though she had struck him. So he’s angry, she thought defensively. So what? She’d only been speaking the truth, after all.
‘Then I would hate to disappoint you by acting out of character,’ he drawled, and put his hands on either side of her waist
Romy willed herself not to react, and for a good few seconds she actually managed it. But then he dipped his head, so that his mouth was a mere breath away, his eyes dominating her line of vision with their silver fire. And Romy was lost.
‘You think I’m so out of control, do you, Romy?’ he mused quietly. ‘Then let me persuade you to revise your opinion.’
He tantalised her for as long as possible by not touching her, and the fusion of their mouths seemed to take for ever.
Romy shut her eyes fiercely and told herself that she would not stop him kissing her, because that would only make him more determined, but she would not react either.
She kept her lips firmly clamped together, but the feather-light whisper of his tongue put paid to all her good intentions and she found her lips drifting open to welcome him.
It was nothing like the frantic kisses they had shared in the lift—those had been born of desire gone out of control. These kisses were deliberate, and infinitely more subtle—a slow, drugging build-up which promised even more delights to follow.
And if she didn’t do something soon she would find herself in the same compromising position she had been in five years ago. Only this time she would not be able to put the blame on youth and inexperience.
Dragging herself out of the erotic spell he had cast over her, Romy put the palms of her hands against the solid muscle of Dominic’s chest and somehow resisted stroking him there.
‘Shouldn’t you...’ She stumbled over the words, drawing in a deep breath to give her strength. ‘I mean—didn’t you say you had a meeting?’
‘I did, and I have,’ he replied, his eyes glittering with silver fire. ‘Which is either bad or good timing, depending on your point of view.’
‘Good, I think,’ said Romy calmly, which was a miracle in itself, considering that her pulse was hammering so frantically that she felt as if she might explode any minute!
‘So, does my desire make you reconsider accepting the job, Romy?’
She gave him a glacial smile. As if that made any difference! This man had given her enough angst to last several lifetimes and still have plenty left over! In fact, she would have gone to a therapist about him years ago—except that she resented the idea of paying thousands of pounds simply to talk about Dominic Dashwood!
And maybe the only cure for getting the man out of her system was to confront him.
Her eyes were as dark as treacle as she drew her shoulders back, like someone squaring up for a fight. ‘Back out of the job now? You must be kidding!’ she told him in a determined voice. ‘If you think I scare that easily...’
‘Well, maybe my desire doesn’t frighten you,’ he mocked quietly, ‘but what about yours for me? Or are you going to play shocked now, and deny that you enjoyed that kiss just as much as I did?’
‘On the contrary,’ answered Romy coolly. ‘You know damned well I enjoyed it! Some people might despair of that fact, but not me, Dominic. Because I don’t think that the situation is entirely hopeless, you see.’
He looked bemused. ‘You don’t?’
‘No, indeed. I shall look on my weekend here with you as a kind of saturation therapy.’
He frowned faintly. ‘Saturation therapy?’
Romy nodded her blonde head vigorously. ‘Yes. You know! Like when people have a phobia about spiders—they are put in a room and exposed to hundreds of the revolting things!’
There was a long and disbelieving pause, and then he actually tipped his dark head back and started laughing. And Romy realised just how dangerous he would be if he ever decided to exercise some of that ravishing charm of his.
Eventually he looked down at her, bemused merriment dancing reluctantly in his eyes. ‘And does it work?’ he queried gravely. ‘This saturation therapy?’
She certainly hoped so; she was banking on it. ‘Definitely!’
‘Well, it remains to be seen whether exposure therapy—’ and his mouth twitched ‘—will be as successful as you think, Romy, but it should be an interesting experiment in any case.’
He opened the car door for her and she levered herself into the low-slung vehicle, thanking her good sense in deciding to wear trousers and not a mini-skirt. But even so he made absolutely no attempt to hide his interested gaze as it slowly travelled up a thigh which was clearly outlined by the delicate material!
His eyes glinted as he bent down to speak to her through the open window. ‘Until Tuesday, then,’ he murmured. ‘Where shall we eat? I know a couple of good restaurants near you—’
‘And so do I!’ she declared indignantly. ‘I’m the one who lives there! Or do you think that because I’m a woman I’m incapable of doing anything as complicated as lifting the phone and asking to make a reservation?’
‘Very well, then. You book it.’ He held up his hands in a gesture of terrified mock surrender. ‘I bow to feminism and women’s liberation and to every other worthy cause you’ve doubtless embraced during the last five years, Romy!’
She glared at him suspiciously. She had the strongest feeling he was making fun of her. ‘Are you what is commonly called a male chauvinist pig, Dominic?’ she quizzed sweetly.
His eyes glittered. ‘You’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t you, sweetheart?’
‘I’m afraid that I shall be far too busy making sure your guests are happy to pay much attention to you and your mannerisms, Dominic!’
He shook his dark head regretfully. ‘You speak with such spirit,’ he sighed. ‘Such a pity we both know that in your case it’s all bravado—’
‘Meaning what?’ she demanded shrilly.
He shrugged. ‘Meaning that you secretly long to revert to type, don’t you, Romy? And swoon in my arms in the most subservient way possible?’
‘Are you deliberately coming out with outrageous statements like that in order to get me to flounce out of here without a backward glance?’
He gave her a mystified look. ‘Now why would I want to do that?’
‘Because you still haven’t identified your motives for employing me,’ said Romy, and then, seeing him begin to open his mouth, shook her blonde head emphatically. ‘And don’t give me all that stuff about me being the best for the job—’
‘But you are,’ he interrupted drawlingly.
‘I know I am,’ she answered, determined not to show any false modesty. ‘But there really isn’t that much difference between me and my competitors—not so’s you’d notice, anyway.’
‘And have you identified your own motives for being here?’ he parried softly.
‘Sure I have.’ She smiled. ‘Curiosity, mainly. And the desire to get you out of my system.’
‘Succinctly put,’ he acknowledged wryly. ‘And my own sentiments entirely. Though I suspect that our intended methods may differ. Now...’ He smiled in a darkly sensual way that had Romy tied up in knots. ‘Shall I pick you up around eight on Tuesday?’
‘No. I’ll ring you.’ Romy turned on the ignition with a violent click as she squirmed to try and get rid of the hot, bubbling awareness he always seemed to stir up in her.
‘And I’m quite capable of meeting you at the restaurant, you know, Dominic! Gone are the days when women wait at home to be picked up—like a parcel at the post office!’ And with that she slammed her foot down on the accelerator harder than she had ever done before.
She dug two little trenches in the gravel as she screeched her way down the drive, but Dominic scarcely noticed. He just stood watching as the little black car disappeared, his face hard and unmoving, a series of dark, unreadable shadows.
He had not been so stimulated by a woman for years—well, for five years, to be exact.
He shifted uncomfortably as he registered the full, throbbing ache of his desire, anticipating that delicious and long-overdue moment when Romy Salisbury would at last lie beneath him, crying out her pleasure...
