Sweet Sinner

But James Cade would have been born with all the experience in the world buried deep in his frigid soul, she scorned as she gathered herself to go. She couldn’t imagine him ever being vulnerable, open to hurt and betrayal. Yet the look in his eyes told her she had inadvertently touched a raw nerve, revived something, a memory perhaps, that he could hardly bear to look at.

Interesting.

Too interesting to share, obviously. His face went blank again, his voice almost soft as he commanded, ‘Sit down. I haven’t finished with you yet.’

So she did, with a flurry of internal exasperation. She was going to have to watch her tongue. The more time she spent with him, the more she found herself spoiling for a fight. He was, she decided, infinitely dangerous to her equanimity—never mind her sanity!

‘I’m sorry.’ She arranged her features primly, a slightly off-balance semblance of her normal serene and unflustered expression. ‘I thought everything had been resolved.’ Perhaps he did want to talk about his personal tax returns, she thought. She couldn’t think of anything else he might need to say on the once vexed subject of her suspect morals.

Or maybe, she wondered without a lot of hope, he wanted to apologise. And just stared at him, unable to believe this was happening when he stated coldly,

‘I’m still trying to decide—given what you’ve told me—whether you are as brave and unselfish as you’d like to have me believe, or an accomplished liar.’ He settled his elbows on the arm-rests of his chair, grey eyes impaling her above steepled fingers. ‘The way you choose to conduct your life doesn’t affect me, personally, so don’t accuse me of taking the moralistic stance. But your lifestyle could leave you open to blackmail; I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to see that. And, as I said, there is a certain amount of sensitive, highly confidential information that our rivals would willingly pay substantial sums to obtain, or certain questionable newspapers would love to use as sensational headline material. “New Wonder Drug—Cure All or Kill All”—I’m sure you can visualise the type of thing?’ He allowed his voice to tail off, as if the final word had been said and the subject wearied him, and Zoe sucked in her breath, desperately fighting to find all the control she’d always had at the end of her neat fingers and now seemed to have lost.

And her struggle for composure must have been written all over her face because he lowered his hands and smiled. And the effect was utterly, unnervingly devastating. Made her almost forget his damning opinion of her, his stubborn refusal to believe in her integrity, until he said, ‘You don’t need to try so hard to project a meek, prim image, Miss Kilgerran. I’ve seen you in quite a different persona, remember? Black fishnet—a little torn around the knees, but fetching for all that. A cleavage any Page Three girl would be proud of and an apology for a skirt that defies description. And in any case, Miss Kilgerran, your eyes give you away. They positively spit with wild green passion whenever I say something you don’t want to hear.’

Oh, the hateful, sarcastic, wicked swine! She would like to take that evil smile and wrap it round his neck until it choked him!

‘I’ve already explained how I came to be dressed that way, Mr Cade.’ She marvelled, she really did, at the polite tone she achieved when every mental tooth was grinding down to mental gums. ‘And you only need to do some of that checking up you seem so extraordinarily good at to get at the truth regarding the parentage of the twins. Petra is due home on Wednesday, but if you’d rather not wait that long I’m sure my father would be delighted to have you call on him and to answer all the questions you want to ask.’

So get round that, she fulminated, keeping very still because if she allowed herself to move an inch she’d be over the table and thrusting her wretched, untouched salad down his throat, plate as well.