Yesterday And Forever

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘That performance in there.’ His face twisted. ‘“A Harrington fellow,”’ he said, his voice rising in cruel mimicry of hers. He caught her by the shoulders. ‘That poor old woman tossed you a line and you grabbed it so fast that it made my head spin.’

Miranda’s face reddened. ‘For your information,’ she said coldly, ‘I am a Harrington fellow. I’m an artist. I tried to tell you that.’

‘An artist.’ He laughed coldly. ‘Yeah, you’re an artist, all right. Performance art, that’s the kind of art you do.’

‘Let go of me,’ she said, struggling to free herself.

Daniel’s hands clasped her more tightly. ‘Your art work takes place in beds, darling, and I’ve no doubt you’re very good at what you do.’

‘You bastard!’ Miranda’s voice shook with emotion. ‘And to think I decided you had a heart under that—that stuffed shirt…’

‘Hell, you’ve been selling yourself short,’ he said, thrusting his jaw forward. ‘Why should you ply your trade in smelly rooms like Mueller’s? Whoring is legal in Amsterdam, remember? Why don’t you get yourself a card and go to work? With your talent, you could probably pull in a thousand guilders a night.’

She stared at him, as stunned by his enraged words as she was by the pain they’d sent knifing through her heart. It was her shocked awareness of that pain that gave her the strength to wrench free of his grasp and slap him across the face with all the power she possessed.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl so that she could observe his reaction to what she’d done almost as if she were a bystander. His face registered a stunned look of disbelief, his head jolted back slowly, and the mark of her hand began to bloom in livid relief upon his cheek.

‘You bitch,’ he said thickly.

She turned, stumbling, trying to get away, terrified of what she saw reflected in his eyes, but he was too quick and powerful. He caught her easily and spun her to him, his arms sweeping around her, one hand twisting into the midnight tumble of her hair, holding her still, despite her frantic efforts to get loose.

‘You play a dangerous game, Miranda,’ he whispered.

‘Let go of me!’

He pushed her back against the rough brick wall. ‘I like to play games, too.’ His voice was low and threatening. ‘And I always play to win.’

His mouth slanted down over hers, smothering her outraged protest. She twisted against him and he retaliated by leaning into her, pinning her against the unyielding wall with his weight. She felt engulfed by his body. His lips moved against hers, demanding response but getting none, and he drew back.

‘You’ll need to do better than that if you’re going to earn your pay.’

‘You disgust me,’ she said, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘Do you know that? You—’