To Marry Mcallister

He looked puzzled. ‘About what?’

‘About anything,’ she realised in wonder.

How she wished she still had that tolerantly amused outlook to life, that she could laugh at herself as well as other people. But she knew that she didn’t. That she never would have again, thanks to—

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of that.

‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she decided abruptly, glancing pointedly at the gold watch on her wrist. An engagement present from Richard. That, and his diamond engagement ring, were the only two pieces of jewellery she ever wore.

Brice McAllister was watching her consideringly, head tilted slightly to one side, green gaze narrowed speculatively. ‘Why?’ he finally challenged.

It was a challenge Sabina easily picked up on. And chose to ignore. ‘Because I have somewhere else to go,’ she told him determinedly.

‘Home to Richard?’ he taunted softly, standing up slowly, his sheer size totally dominating the room.

Sabina took a step back, suddenly finding the room oppressively small. She also found herself backed up against the unlit fireplace.

Brice walked slowly towards her, his narrowed gaze not leaving her face. He stopped about a foot away, that gaze searching now as he continued to look at her.

For the second time since she had met him Sabina found she couldn’t breathe.

This close to, she could feel the male warmth of him, could smell the slight tang of the aftershave he wore, could see every pore and hair on the darkness of his skin. But it was none of those things that constricted her breathing. She knew it was his sheer physical closeness that did that.

She swallowed convulsively. ‘I really do have to go,’ she told him breathlessly.

Brice looked at her steadily. ‘So what’s stopping you?’ he prompted huskily.

Her legs, for one thing. They refused to move. In fact, she felt so weak at the knees they were only just succeeding in supporting her. She felt like a mesmerised rabbit caught on the road in the glare of car headlights, incapable of movement, even in the face of such obvious danger.

And Brice McAllister, as she had half guessed on their very first meeting, been even more convinced of it at their second, was exactly that—dangerous!

She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘If you would just move out of my way…?’

He stepped slightly to one side. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited softly.

Sabina forced her legs to move, quickly, determinedly, crossing to the door, putting as much distance between herself and Brice McAllister as was possible in the confines of the studio.

‘I’ll call you.’

Sabina turned sharply as he spoke, her trembling hand already on the door-handle. ‘Excuse me?’

Brice raised dark brows, his mouth twisted in mocking amusement. ‘I said, I’ll call you. For your next sitting,’ he explained derisively as she still looked totally blank.

Get a grip, Sabina, she ordered herself sternly. What had really happened just now—Brice McAllister had stood what she considered was too close to her? So what? And yet she knew that wasn’t really all that had happened, that there had been a frisson of awareness between the two of them that she wished weren’t there…

‘Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of taking my call this time?’ Brice prompted confidently.

Colour darkened her cheeks at his certainty she had no choice but to do exactly that. ‘If I happen to be at home,’ she bit out harshly.

He shrugged. ‘If you aren’t, I’m sure that Richard and I can sort out a time between the two of us,’ he drawled softly.

Sabina’s eyes narrowed. ‘Contrary to what you may have assumed otherwise, Mr McAllister—I make my own appointments,’ she snapped coldly.

Once again he gave that humourless smile. ‘That wasn’t my impression at our last meeting.’

Because at the time she had been at the disadvantage of not wanting him to tell Richard she had been avoiding his telephone calls for the past week!

She looked at him consideringly for several long seconds. ‘You know, Mr McAllister,’ she finally said softly, ‘I really don’t give a damn what was or wasn’t your impression at our last meeting,’ she told him scornfully. ‘In fact, nothing about you is of the least interest to me,’ she added scathingly.

He raised dark brows. ‘No?’

‘No!’ she confirmed hardly. ‘Goodbye, Mr McAllister.’ She wrenched the door open.

‘Au revoir, surely, Sabina…?’ he taunted softly.

Sabina didn’t even turn and acknowledge the obvious challenge, striding briskly out of the room, closing the front door softly behind her as she left.

It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in the back seat of the car, Clive driving back to Richard’s house, that she allowed free rein to her feelings.

She didn’t like the way Brice McAllister looked at her. Didn’t like the way he had of talking to her on a very personal level. Didn’t like him near her. In fact, she just didn’t like him!

And she had no idea how she was going to achieve it, but she had no intention of being alone with Brice in his studio ever again!

CHAPTER FOUR

BRICE cursed himself, for what had to be the hundredth time in a week, for the way he had behaved with Sabina last Tuesday.

He had already seen the fear and apprehension in her eyes at their first meeting, had realised she was inwardly like a startled fawn getting ready for flight, and yet some devil had driven him on to try and get a reaction from her, to taunt and mock her in an effort to get behind the cool façade she liked to present to the world at large.

But all he had succeeded in doing was totally alienating her.

Oh, it hadn’t resulted in her refusing to take his calls this time. She had taken all four of them—she had simply come up with a legitimate excuse for every suggestion he’d come up with for a second sitting!

And what had she left him with? She could spare him one hour this morning, but it would have to be at home. Probably with the quietly watchful Richard in attendance!

As he was only at the sketching stage, Brice hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t be the one to go to her home. But that didn’t mean he liked it…

Although he had to admit a few minutes later, when he was shown into the sitting-room where Sabina waited—alone—that she was much more relaxed in her own surroundings. In fact, she was the epitome of the gracious hostess, smiling at him politely as she offered him tea or coffee. Both of which he refused.

She looked the part too, in a cream silk blouse and pencil-slim black skirt, the latter finishing just above her knee, her hair gathered up in a neat chignon at the back of her head. Altogether, she looked nothing like the woman Brice wanted to capture on canvas!

‘Practising for domesticity?’ he drawled mockingly.

He had been determined to be totally professional today, to put Sabina at her ease. But somehow he couldn’t help himself; this new Sabina brought back that devil inside him even more strongly than the other one. She was playing a part, adopting a role—and Brice didn’t doubt for a moment that it was for his benefit. Only confirming for him that he really had struck a sensitive nerve with his behaviour the previous week!

She smiled across at him coolly. ‘You were right last week, Brice—being rude does seem to come naturally to you.’

Which was his cue to apologise. But he couldn’t do that, either. Something about this woman made him want to grip her by the shoulders and shake her, to see her laugh, or cry, to show some impulsive emotion. Which would probably result in him being thrown out of here on his ear!