Threat From The Past

And he was at it again, using that spurious, facile charm as he told her softly, ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you. All of it—interesting.’

Which was a blatant lie. Her job within the company wasn’t that high-profile; she did it to the best of her considerable ability but, as yet, it hadn’t earned her space in the glossies! And when did a man, such a potently masculine one at that, interest himself in the stocking of women’s boutiques? And information about her wouldn’t have come from his father, from the family. They couldn’t bear to mention his name, much less take him into their confidence.

Clutching at the relief that came from catching him in an outright lie, she was able to consolidate her position of antagonist. Ignoring his lying statement for the flannel it was, she enquired coolly, her eyes watching his impressive features for any sign that might reveal the devious workings of his mind, ‘So what is it you want?’ and immediately regretted the unfortunate choice of words because his eyes made that silent and very intimate appraisal of her body again while his mouth curved in a slow smile that battered her senses, making her wonder how she would feel if those lips were ever to cover her own. And he didn’t give her time to recover her equilibrium, to force the disgust for the type of man he was to smother the growing disgust she felt for herself before he was translating his silent appraisal into words.

‘Dinner with you tomorrow night.’

‘You must be mad!’ The words came out on a jerk of heated breath, colour rushing over her face, staying there as he rose smoothly to his feet, looking down on her, his eyes held in seeming fascination on the hectic pulse-beat at the base of her throat.

‘Mad, to want to get to know a beautiful woman a great deal better?’ He shook his dark head in a parody of amazement, devils glinting out of his eyes. ‘Even if she is a hell-cat.’ He turned the full force of his mega-watt smile on her. ‘But maybe that’s a major part of the fascination?’

She ignored all that for the rubbish it was and repeated stonily, ‘Just what was so important about your need to see Martin? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you you can’t have whatever it is you think you need, and then you can go away.’ And never come back, she tacked on in her mind, schooling her features to stony blankness.

And he laughed at her, he actually put back his head and roared his amusement and, if she could, she would have killed him for that alone. But what came next was worse, so much worse that she was left bereft of speech as he calmly walked out of the room after delivering, ‘I’ve already told you. I want to see more of you. Much more.’ The lilt in his wicked eyes underlined the ambiguity of that remark and his voice was a rich caress as he told her, ‘Dine with me tomorrow night, for starters. Be ready at eight. And if you’re thinking of making yourself unavailable then I suggest you winkle Dominic out from wherever he’s skulking and ask him if he knows of any reason why you should refuse to meet my demands exactly.’

* * *

‘What was he getting at, Dom?’ Selina shuddered as an icy blast of winter wind gusted across the hospital car park. She pulled up the collar of her coat, her troubled eyes holding her cousin’s. ‘Why should I see him tonight? Why should I do a single damn thing he suggests?’

Dominic shrugged, his eyes evasive, and, although she had repeated the gist of the conversation she’d had with Adam Tudor the previous night, right down to his parting directive, she sensed her cousin was holding something back, something that was giving him private nightmares.

‘Are you sure he didn’t give a hint about what he wanted, why he had to see Father?’

Dominic looked almost haunted, Selina thought on an inner shudder. But who could blame him? The trauma of Martin’s sudden attack, seeing him lying in that lonely hospital bed, surrounded by wires and machines, his face grey and gaunt, had upset her more than she could say. Even the threat that was Adam Tudor had taken second place in her consciousness, so no wonder Dominic looked haunted, seemingly unable to offer any help.

But Adam Tudor would have to be dealt with, somehow, and she would be the one to do it because she owed it to her family, she reminded herself, shivering again beneath the renewed onslaught of the bitter wind. She thrust her cold hands deeper into her coat pockets and shook her head, telling him rawly, ‘No, nothing. I did ask but he didn’t say.’ Her golden eyes darkened, a frown drawing her strong brows together. ‘Just that rather threatening invitation to dinner, and the suggestion that I should ask you if you knew of any reason why I shouldn’t do exactly as he said. I’ve no intention of going, of course. The proverbial wild horses wouldn’t drag me.’

‘I think you should,’ Dominic told her quickly, and her long-lidded eyes narrowed astutely.

‘Why?’

‘To find out what he’s really after, of course. What else?’ His face looked white and pinched, and no wonder, Selina thought with sudden sympathy. He would be as worried about his father as anyone, and this desolate car park, the raw grey January skies, the unpleasant subject of their conversation was enough to make anyone look as if the miseries of the world were pressing down on his shoulders.

She suggested gently, ‘He’s after something. I agree with you there. And we have to discover what it is and keep him away from Martin. But it would be better if we presented a united front. You and I could face him together tonight. He said he’d be at the house at eight.’

‘That’s impossible.’ He looked as if she’d asked him to roll down the street in a barrel. Taking his car keys from his pocket, he tossed them from one hand to the other and told her huffily, as if she were a particularly dense child, ‘Now we know Father’s in no immediate danger I have to get back to head office. Somebody has to run the company. I’ll be staying in town until the weekend, unless Father’s condition deteriorates, of course,’ he qualified impatiently.

And something of her disbelief that he should leave her to deal with his half-brother must have shown on her face because he reminded her coldly, ‘You deal with the creep. I think you owe my parents that much, don’t you?’ and walked quickly away towards the red Porsche.

Selina gritted her teeth and pushed the wind-tumbled mane of her hair away from her face with the back of a leather-gloved hand. She didn’t need reminding of how much she owed her aunt and uncle—her uncle especially. And she would tackle Adam Tudor on her own, if she had to, but she just knew having Dominic at her side would have made it easier and wasn’t convinced by his sudden need to rush off back to head office.

In the circumstances, everything would have ticked over quite smoothly in his absence. There were plenty of staff perfectly capable of running the day-to-day business of the boutique chain for another twenty-four hours at the very least. It was almost as if he was afraid of facing his half-brother, listening to his demands and ruling them out of court.

And almost as if she was afraid of facing Adam Tudor again on her own, a cool inner voice mocked spitefully. As if she was afraid of that palpably cataclysmic masculine appeal. Afraid of the way she might react to it.

Which was, of course, absolute nonsense, she assured herself roundly, squaring her shoulders and marching over to where her Volvo was parked, the heels of her leather boots clicking decisively on the tarmac surface. She wasn’t a silly teenager to be taken in by a handsome face and a superb male body, or the type of voice that could charm the inmates of a harem out in droves!

* * *

Quite why she had informed Meg that she would be entertaining a guest this evening Selina was not altogether sure. That she would feel safer, keeping that unwanted dinner appointment here, on her home ground, conjured up the opposite—fear. But she had already assured herself that she wasn’t afraid of him, hadn’t she? And when the housekeeper’s thin face had registered surprise that Selina should be entertaining at all, at a time like this, she had announced coolly, ‘It’s business. And make the meal simple; there’s no need to try to impress.’

And so it was. Unpleasant business, at that, she reminded herself as she gave up the attempt to tame her abundant hair into a sober knot and allowed it to tumble all over her shoulders. And business that was best conducted on her own ground.

Although she had deliberately dressed down, making no concessions to her femininity, the dark navy fine wool dress she had chosen to wear seemed to flatter her greyhound slenderness, subtly emphasising the sensuality of the curves she had intended it to disguise. Strange. A frown caught the soft skin between her brows. She had never before noticed what the understated, very simple style of the dress did to her figure before, or how the deep, almost sombre colour made her hair look like living flame.

But it was too late to change. It was almost eight and pride wouldn’t allow her to keep him waiting. If he was left to kick his heels in the drawing-room he would believe, in his conceit, that she was taking her time over making herself look her best for him.

As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.

And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’

So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!

She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’

And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.

But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.

Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.

She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—

So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.

And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers of reason, ravishing her senses until she no longer knew where she was. Or cared.

And later she would never be able to say with honesty where the black magic of his sexual onslaught would have led her if the door hadn’t opened to Meg’s, ‘I’m carrying dinner through now, Miss Selina.’

Utter disorientation held her where she was and she was thankful for the way he turned to face the door, effectively screening her from the housekeeper’s view as her fingers fumbled in an agonised, uncoordinated hurry to straighten her clothing. And when he stepped casually to one side she caught Meg’s straight stare and felt the colour of her overheated cheeks turn to a crimson conflagration, and she mumbled something, she had no idea what, and was too busy trying to cut through the heavy swaths of her utterly shameful and unprecedented sexual arousal with a brain that seemed to have been drugged out of orbit to make any sense of Meg’s dour, ‘Snow’s coming down like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I should warn you.’

‘Thank you.’ It was Adam Tudor who effectively took over, normalising a situation which had all the hallmarks of a nightmare, Selina thought distractedly as he added, ‘We’ll be right on through.’ And one of his hands cupped her elbow lightly, the gentle pressure of his fingers easing her forward as she tried to marshal her mental powers and push his unforgivable, disgraceful behaviour right to the back of her mind.

And, almost, she achieved it because as Meg disappeared she dug her heels in, wrenched her arm from his grasp and, not daring to look at him, not caring to be reminded of—of anything she spat out, ‘That was totally uncalled for. Don’t ever, ever touch me again!’

Jerking her chin up, she stalked out of the room, the height of her spindly heels making her hips sway. Knowing he was following, just a whisper away, did nothing for her blood-pressure and when she paused outside the dining-room door, and turned, her soft body brushed against the hardness of his and her breath jerked in her lungs and solidified painfully when he told her with arrogant ease, ‘Don’t spit, little cat. You’ve just had a sample of the methods I’ll use to tame that temper. So sheath those claws and purr for me because, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’

CHAPTER THREE

THANKFULLY, Meg appeared at that moment, wheeling a heated trolley along the passage, but Selina gave him one look of seething, burning hatred before leading the way into the dining-room. She had been right to be afraid of being alone with this devil in human guise; the first encounter with the burning brand of his mouth had been enough to make her lose all control. But there would be no second encounter; she would make absolutely sure of that!

Seating herself, her nostrils flared with a tiny surge of anger. She’d told Meg not to go to any trouble but she’d gone ahead and pulled out all the stops. Despite the adequate central heating a huge fire burned companionably in the grate, the overhead spots doused to leave a couple of rich-shaded table lamps to shed soft intimacy over the panelled room, and pure white candles lent extra grace to the fine Irish linen, old silver and exquisite crystal set before them.

If Meg had deliberately set out to impress Martin’s wealth and standing on the stranger then she couldn’t have done better. It was just a pity that the last person that should be impressed was Adam Grab-What’s-On-Offer Tudor!

‘The beef Wellington and the greens are on the trolley,’ the housekeeper informed her sniffily, handing out the steaming bowls of walnut soup. ‘Trifle, cheeseboard and fruit on the sideboard. I’ll bring coffee later.’ Sighing gustily, she stumped out of the room, leaving a positive miasma of disapproval behind. Selina smothered a sigh of her own.

Meg could have served cottage pie and fresh fruit in the more informal breakfast-room, which had been the kind of fare Selina had had in mind when she’d told her not to go to any trouble. But she’d perversely put in as much effort as she could, making a martyr of herself to stamp home her disapproval of the fact that Selina was entertaining at all as firmly as she could.