Читать книгу A Virgin For The Taking - Trish Morey - Страница 9

LIKE A GUNSLINGER’S trigger finger, her hand itched to let fly. His face was temptingly close and already she knew how satisfying it could be to crack her open palm against that arrogant visage. But too often lately with this man she’d let her emotions rule her actions and she’d lashed out either verbally or physically, only to immediately regret her lack of control. She wouldn’t let herself give in to that base instinct again, no matter what the provocation.

Instead, she jammed her fingers into a tight knot behind her back and forced out a laugh even while her nails dug sharply into the flesh of her palms.

‘I wouldn’t give that a second thought,’ she said, flicking her head away, yanking the curl of her hair from his reach. ‘Because that’s the one thing you’ll never find out.’

Triumph fizzed in her veins as she turned for the door. She’d done it! She’d kept her cool and put him well and truly in his place.

He watched her stride away, her chin thrust high as if she’d just won some major battle, even though her movements still looked wobbly, almost as if she was having a hard time making the transformation from warm and soft to cold and aloof. And she had been only too warm and soft and alive a moment ago. He’d felt her sculpted perfection under the glance of his hand. He’d sensed her feminine power. She was magnificent when she was enraged, and yet with a vulnerability that cracked any hard edges right off.

No wonder his father had fallen so hard. He suppressed a growl. He didn’t want to think about her with his father! To throw herself away on someone like him—what a waste!

But if she’d thought she’d got away with the last word—bad luck.

‘My father always was a sucker for a bit on the side,’ he reminded her, ‘but for all the millions you’ve been gifted, I sincerely hope he got enough bang for his buck.’

Her eyes blazed with fury in a face flushed with rage. ‘How dare you!’ she fired, wheeling her body around to confront him, her stance aggressive, ready to fight. ‘You can say or think what you like about me—I don’t care!—but I will not stand by and hear you denigrate your father’s memory. What kind of son are you that you can say such things when Laurence is barely cold in his grave? Your father was a man of integrity—not that you’d have any concept what that means!’

His eyebrows rose of their own accord. So she still had fight? He had to hand it to her, she didn’t give up easily. But then, given the right financial incentive, she’d soon buckle.

‘Trust me,’ he assured her, as he leaned back lazily against the desk. ‘I know more about my father than you give me credit for.’

She laughed. ‘I’d sooner put my trust in a crocodile!’

‘Come, now, Ruby,’ he soothed, setting his voice to bored reasonableness. ‘You know you don’t have to defend my father any more. So drop the act. You’ve got your reward. Why not take it?’

‘What? You seriously think I consider Laurence’s bizarre bequest as some kind of reward? By forcing me to work alongside you? A prison sentence would be more appealing right now.’

He pushed himself away from the desk towards her. ‘For once, I couldn’t agree more.’

Her eyes narrowed as he moved closer, as if surprised by his ready agreement, her body becoming more erect, more defiant with each step he took.

‘Clearly neither of us wants to have anything to do with the other. So I have the perfect solution.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll buy you out. I’ll pay for your share of the company with cold hard cash. You can be out of Broome on the first available flight. Out of here and able to take advantage of those job opportunities you’ve got lined up elsewhere. Not that you’ll need a job ever again with what you’ll walk away with.’