Mediterranean Tycoons. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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legs that trembled she stumbled down to the living area, pulling it on. She fastened the belt around her waist so tight it hurt, her heart pounding like a sledgehammer in her chest.
The image in the mirror of naked lovers was indelibly printed on her mind. No, not lovers. A couple indulging in sex, she amended. She had barely recognised herself, wantonly splayed beneath Zac’s great body. But she had been instantly reminded of where she was: her dad’s old love-nest.
She was not like her dad and never would be, she vowed.
The first day she had moved in she had removed the mirror that had hung above the bed, but the mirrored wardrobe doors had been a timely reminder. How many young women had her dad seduced in the exact same place? But she wasn’t about to make the same mistake with Zac Delucca…
Oh, no! In her panic she had forgotten about him for a moment, but not any more. Her body ached with the unfamiliar feeling of sexual frustration. What on earth was she going to say to him?
Painfully aroused and burning up with rage, Zac lay on his stomach and counted to a hundred—a technique he had learned in the ring. A fighter who let his anger get the better of him and lost control rarely won. That was the first piece of advice Marco, his manager at the time, had ever given him. And he knew if he lost control with his redheaded temptress he was liable to shake her until she rattled.
She had said no. Sally had actually said no. He was aware it was a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, and he appreciated that, but he had never had a woman say no to him in bed before.
The little witch had been with him all the way. He could still feel the sting of her nails on his back. She had led him right to the edge and then slammed on the brakes. Pride and other darker emotions had him clenching his fists. No one got away with playing games with him. He rolled off the bed and pulled on his clothes, then descended the few steps to the living area, where the object of his fury and frustration stood, head bowed.
The footsteps on the wooden floor alerted Sally, and slowly she turned round. He was dressed—well, almost; his shirt was open to where he had tucked it in his jeans, the buttons gone. A guilty tide of red swept over her face as the memory of pulling his shirt apart flashed in her mind.
‘Have you any reasonable explanation?’ he asked scathingly, and, not waiting for a reply, continued, ‘Or is it a habit of yours to encourage a man, tell him you want him, rip off his shirt, strip naked and get into bed with him before running from the room?’ he demanded with biting sarcasm.
She raised her head. Not a muscle flickered in the hard bronzed mask of his face, but his dark eyes blazed with a violent anger. She took a step back, suddenly afraid, very afraid, as it hit her just exactly what she had done…
‘No…’ she murmured. The air was heavy with tension, as was the man watching her she realised, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
‘You have a right to look afraid,’ he snarled, and stepped towards her, his tall body looming over her. He grasped her chin and tilted her head back. ‘Some women like to tease, but you take it too far. Consider yourself lucky it was me you tried your trick on. The next man might not have my control, and then you will get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for.’
A tremor slithered down her spine, and he noticed.
‘You were not immune. You were with me all the way. Even now you tremble.’
Catching her hand, he forced it down to his thighs. She was shocked to find he was still aroused, and to her shame involuntarily her fingers flexed on his erection.
‘Not too late to change your mind—after all, it is a woman’s prerogative,’ he drawled derisively.
‘No…No!’ she cried, snatching her hand free and stepping back, her face a fiery-red. She wondered how she could have been so stupid. Such a push-over.
‘One no is enough. I get the message.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and her casual response, the use of the damn word fine enraged him further. For a timeless second Zac let the mask slip, and if looks could kill, she would have breathed her last by now.
Sally knew she wasn’t blameless, and he had some justification for being furious, but with exhaustion overtaking her all she wanted to do was get rid of him and forget tonight had ever happened.
Maybe she did owe him an apology. Years ago her mum had told her the best way to defuse an argument was to say sorry. Whether you thought you were right or not did not matter, because it was very hard to continue arguing with someone who was saying sorry.
Well, Zac was bristling with anger. It was worth a try. Bravely she looked up into his hard face. ‘I’m sorry for how I behaved, and I apologise if you feel you have been cheated,’ she offered. ‘But may I point out I did not invite you here? I told you I was tired, and I asked you to go, but you talked your way round me.’ She made a futile gesture with her hands. ‘You are like a tank, rolling over any sign of opposition. You are too much for me, and I want you to leave now.’
‘My size intimidates you?’ Zac demanded.
‘No,’ Sally snapped. She had told him a bit of the truth, and his continuing presence in her apartment was frustrating, so she told him the rest.
‘You are just too much everything—too wealthy, too arrogant and too stubborn to leave when asked. And I don’t like you. Apart from anything else you bought Westwold, which makes you an arms dealer, which to me is a despicable business.’
‘That is rich, coming from you.’ His tone was bitingly cynical. ‘Daddy’s little golden girl, who has never done a day’s work in her life. The arms business has supported you very nicely—it paid for this apartment your father gave you, for starters. Perhaps I should have arrived with a jewellery box instead of a cool box. No doubt the outcome would have been different.’
The insult enraged Sally. It was bad enough that her father had told Zac he had given her the apartment, and she could not deny it, but he obviously had not told Zac she worked—hence his summing up of her character as an idle little rich girl. Knowing her dad, it had probably stroked his ego to come across as the generous father.
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