Mistress on Loan (11 page)

He put up a hand and took the clips from her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders, his fingers teasing the damp, silky strands. Then he took her hands, lifting them to his shoulders.

He said softly, 'Touch me.'

Swallowing, Adrien obeyed, her fingers spreading over the smooth skin, feeling the hard muscularity that lay beneath. A tacit reminder of how helpless she really was. Of how easily he could subdue her if she tried to fight...

Chay kissed her again more deeply, parting her unwilling lips with his and exploring the softness of her mouth with his tongue.

His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her against him, letting her experience the strength and heated power of his arousal.

The thin layers of cloth which separated them were no barrier-—no barrier at all, she thought, as her breathing quickened and her lashes swept down to veil her eyes.

When he lifted his head, he was smiling faintly.

'You see,' he said. 'This is not going to be as impossible as you think.'

Adrien stared up at him. She felt strangely dizzy, as if she'd taken some powerful drug.

She said, her voice shaking, 'I hate you.'

He nodded, unperturbed. 'I can live with that. At least you're not claiming to have fallen madly in love with me. Because that could mean serious trouble.

'And leave your hair loose,' he added sharply, as Adrien dived to retrieve her clips from the floor. The look he sent her was sardonic. 'It will give me something to fantasize about while I'm dressing.'

She glared at him. 'Am I free to go now?'

'The choice, as always, is yours, my sweet.' He picked up the tumbler of whisky and lifted it in a mocking toast. 'But if you stay, dinner could be delayed indefinitely. My appetite seems to have changed.' He swallowed some whisky and put the glass down again, his eyes quizzical as his hands moved to discard the towel round his hips. He said softly, his gaze holding hers. 'Well, Adie, what's it to be?'

She gasped in outrage and whirled round, making for the door. And as she fled, to her chagrin, she heard his laughter following her.

She was still ruffled some twenty minutes later, seated tensely on the edge of one of the sofas, the stem of her wine glass gripped so tightly it was in danger of snapping.

How could he do this? she asked herself despairingly. How was it possible that, just for a fleeting moment— barely more than a second, indeed—she'd been tempted? That she'd actually wondered, to her shame, what it would be like to have that potent male force sheathed inside her...?

And he—Chay Haddon—had evoked this unlooked for sexual curiosity in her. Had deliberately initiated this need to know—and be known.

'Damn him,' she said raggedly under her breath. 'Oh, damn him to hell.'

'I hope I haven't kept you waiting.' Right on cue, he was there, watching her from the doorway. Adrien stared back, lifting her chin insolently.

'Please don't apologise,' she said. 'It must have been quite a fantasy.'

'The best.' Chay strolled across to the drinks table and replenished his glass. 'Remind me to share it with you some time.' He indicated the bottle of Chardonnay. 'Some more wine?'

She said hurriedly, 'No—thank you.'

He said silkily, 'I'm sure you're wise.'

She raised her eyebrows. 'You want me sober?'

'Not necessarily,' he said. 'But conscious would be a bonus.'

As he walked across the room, Adrien tensed involuntarily, but he made no attempt to join her, choosing instead the sofa on the opposite side of the fireplace.

He moved well, she acknowledged unwillingly, his body lean and graceful. But even as a boy he hadn't been subject to the usual adolescent gaucherie. Only, they weren't children any longer. And he was a predator with his prey in sight. She had to remember that.

He'd gone for the casual look, too, in blue denim, the shirt open at the neck to reveal the faint shadowing of chest hair that she remembered had felt like springing silk beneath her fingers. The cuffs were turned back negligently over tanned forearms, and his legs in the close-fitting jeans seemed to go on for ever.

She watched him lean back against the cushions, very much at ease, his dark blond hair gleaming like silk in the lamplight. Making himself at home, she thought, igniting anger and resentment inside her and letting it burn slowly, driving out the trembling weakness which the sight of him had induced. The intruder, she whispered silently. The usurper. Something else she could not afford to forget. He said softly, 'So you're still here.'

She stared down at her empty glass. 'Did you doubt it?'

T wasn't totally certain.' A smile played round his mouth. 'That's one of your great charms, Adie. Your ability to surprise me.'

She said curtly, T must try to become more predictable.'

'You just did,' he murmured, and she subsided, biting her lip.

There was a silence as he sipped his Scotch and took a long, appraising look round the room. He said, 'The house looks good. Thank you.'

Adrien shrugged. 'It wasn't difficult to achieve.' She paused. I have a good memory.'

'If a selective one,' he murmured.

'You seem to have instant recall, too,' she went on doggedly, deliberately ignoring his interjection.

'You've hardly missed a thing. How on earth did you do it?' She gave a small, harsh laugh. 'You must have been stalking Piers for weeks.'

T didn't have to.' He lifted his glass, studying the amber of the whisky with a kind of detached appreciation. 'I knew what he would do, and the probable markets he would use. After that, it was simple.'

'Easy pickings,' she said stonily. 'Like everything else you've taken from him. He really didn't stand a chance.'

He drank some whisky. T didn't exactly hold him at gunpoint.' His tone was unexpectedly mild. 'He chose to sell. And I'm a little surprised to find that you're still defending him.'

'I'm not,' Adrien denied. I just don't understand why you should have gone trawling through the salerooms for Angus's furniture. What were you trying to prove?'

'Not a thing. I simply wanted his things back where they belong. I thought if he knew, he'd be pleased.'

He paused 'I thought you'd be glad, too.'

'Pleased that you rescued them? When you abused the roof he put over your head?' Her voice bit. 'When he barred you from his house for thieving?' She shook her head. 'I think it would make him sick to his stomach to know that you're here—pretending to be the master.'

'And is that how you feel, too?'

Across the space that divided them their eyes met and clashed. His gaze was like grey ice, but there was some-thing darker, deeper, that quickened her breath, shivering along her nerve-endings, and Adrien was the first to look away.

She said hoarsely, 'What else?'

'Then that's unfortunate,' he said softly. 'Because I am the master here—be in no doubt of that, Adrien.' He paused, allowing his words to sink in, watching her pupils dilate in confusion as she absorbed them.

'Now,' he continued coldly, 'I've had one hell of a day, and a bastard of a journey, so I really don't need this.'

He flung the remains of the whisky down his throat and got to his feet. 'Shall we go to dinner—or are you planning a hunger strike?'

For a crazy moment she was tempted to do just that. To run. To take refuge in her room and lock the door.

But something told her that he would follow, and that might precipitate a disaster which could haunt her for the rest of her life.

Not in anger, she thought, swallowing convulsively. I— I couldn't bear to be taken in anger. She stood up, lifting her chin, because she didn't want him to sense the naked panic twisting inside her, and went with him, in silence, to the dining room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The central leaves had been removed from the big dining table, and candles had been lit to provide a more intimate atmosphere. Mrs. Whitley was a determined woman, Adrien thought without amusement. Or perhaps she had her orders... Chay saw Adrien to her chair, then seated himself opposite.

'Not quite two sword lengths apart,' he observed drily. 'But you should be safe enough.'

Adrien concentrated on shaking out her table napkin. 'Safe,' she thought, was not a word she could ever apply to her present situation.

It's a business transaction, she reminded herself forcibly, adding the mantra she'd been whispering to herself all week. Nothing lasts for ever... Mrs. Whitley had provided a marvellous meal—a homemade country pate, followed by duck with a dark cherry sauce, and creme brulee to finish with. To her surprise, Adrien found she was enjoying the food, and the claret that accompanied it. Ironic, she thought, that her appetite should have chosen this of all days to return.

It wasn't a silent meal, although Chay initiated most of the conversation, talking lightly about his trip to Brussels, and the problems with European bureaucracy. At any other time she'd have been intrigued and animated, leaning forward to ask questions, or expand on a point he'd made. We could always talk to each other once, she thought with a sudden pang. But that was while I was a child, and didn't know any better. When I trusted him. Before everything changed...

She found herself wondering how she would feel if they had just met for the first time. If she was here with him now simply because she wanted to be, without the past like a shadow at her shoulder. But she couldn't let herself think like that. It was stupid—and could be dangerous, she reflected with a slight shiver.

'Are you cold?' He didn't miss a thing.

'No—I'm fine.' It was the usual all-purpose lie, and it was a relief when Mrs. Whitley appeared to clear the table before Chay could probe any further. The housekeeper returned briefly, to bring in coffee and cognac, and then withdrew, wishing them goodnight.

'She's very discreet,' Adrien said, after a pause.

'But I suppose she'd had a lot of practice.'

Chay sighed. 'What do you want me to say?' he asked wearily. 'That I've been celibate all these years? It wouldn't be true.'

'And, naturally, you're the soul of honesty,' she said bitterly.

'But there hasn't been a constant procession of women through my life either,' he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. 'A major part of my time has been taken up by work— getting the company established abroad as well as here.'

'Oh, don't let's forget for a minute v/hat a dazzling success you are.' Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. 'Yet you never seemed particularly ambitious in the old days.'

He shrugged. 'Perhaps I was still deciding what I really wanted.'

'And it just turned out to be Piers's inheritance.'

His smile was cold. 'Piers was only ever interested in disposable assets. Haven't you grasped that yet?'

'He was in trouble, and you dangled a small fortune in front of him. What was he supposed to do?'

'In his place, I wouldn't have sold.' He paused, then added more gently, 'And nor would you, Adrien.'

She found his use of her name disturbing. The way his voice seemed to linger over the syllables sent an odd, unwelcome frisson down her spine. She looked down at her cup, aware that his eyes were on her, feeling her heart begin to bang unevenly against her ribcage. He said, 'Shall we take our coffee into the drawing room?'

She touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. 'It's fine here—isn't it?'

'You mean with a yard or two of solid oak between us?' He was openly amused. 'Believe me, my sweet, the barricade you're trying to build in that stubborn mind of yours is far more effective.'

She flushed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Don't lie, Adrien.' Chay leaned forward. There were little silver sparks dancing in his eyes, she noted confusedly, or was it just some trick of the light? 'Right this moment, there's a battle going on between your heart and your body. That's why you're spitting venom at me with every other breath.'

She said very clearly, 'Of course it couldn't be that I just don't find you attractive?'

'In that case,' he said, his voice almost meditative, 'why don't you wear a bra when I'm around?'

She gasped, and her colour deepened fierily. 'How—how dare you? I do as I like.'

'But not all the time.' He slanted a grin at her. 'You were wearing one that first day, but not later—when we went out to dinner. I—er—noticed particularly,' he added, his grin deepening reminiscently. 'And you're not wearing one tonight either. Interesting, don't you think?'

'Only if your mind's in the gutter,' she hit back.

'Why, Adie,' he said gently. 'What a little hypocrite you are.' He picked up his coffee and got to his feet. 'Now, I'm going to sit in my new drawing room and listen to some music. I suggest you go to bed.' He paused. 'In your own room.'

Her lips parted in sheer astonishment as she stared up at him. 'But I thought... I don't understand.'

Chay shrugged. 'What's to understand?' he countered. 'This is your own private war that you're fighting, darling, and although I'm naturally interested in the outcome, I haven't the patience tonight to become personally involved. For which you should be grateful,' he added with grim significance. 'As I said, I've had a bastard of a day, and I'm not turning my bed into a battlefield. So, when the fight's over let me know which won—your mind or your body. Because it matters quite a lot.' He paused on his way to the door and swung round, his eyes raking her mercilessly. 'And forgive me for not kissing you goodnight, my sweet. I think it's best to keep my distance, or I might forget myself and show you that the top of that table isn't quite the defense against passion that you seem to think. Catch my drift?'

He nodded to her with a kind of remote courtesy, and
left,
closing the door behind him quietly but very definitely.

Leaving her sitting there. Staring after him. Trying to make sense of what had just happened. There were a number of emotions struggling for dominance inside her, but disbelief was ahead on points.

All evening he'd been making love to her with his eyes, his voice, his smile. She'd assumed he'd be offering a more physical expression before long, and had been gearing herself up for passive resistance. And now—nothing.