Dark Paradise. Sara Craven
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a lover from the past, desperate to rekindle an old passion no matter what it cost. She could have understood that, if not condoned it. But it wasn’t any romantic elopement he was planning. Alison had said an assignment, but that, she suspected, was merely to provide an element of respectability.
No, he was off to the Caribbean and he wanted a woman to go with him. It was as simple as that, to use his own phrase. He lived a high-powered life, but now he was in the mood for some relaxation. Sun, sand and sex, Kate thought wryly. Wasn’t that what the travel brochures offered, even if it wasn’t quite as overt as that?
And Alison’s marriage made no difference to his plans, because the fact was that Alison herself didn’t matter. She’d been chosen because she was an available female body, and that was all.
But anyone else would do as well. His insulting offer to herself had made that more than clear. She still could hardly believe it. Did he really imagine for one moment that she would agree, that she’d take a step that would transform their relationship from that of antagonistic strangers to the kind of total intimacy which made her mind reel?
It was impossible. No one would do such a thing, and that was why he’d suggested it, of course.
She rinsed her cloth and wrung it out as if it were Matt Lincoln’s neck.
No doubt the foolish weakness of her capitulation the previous night had prompted him. Probably he thought that her dislike of him, and everything he represented as a man, was only a façade, and that one kiss would transform the Sleeping Beauty into the ideal travelling companion, she thought savagely.
God, he was a bastard, and she wished she’d kicked his shins to splinters!
Yes, she’d been shaken out of her usual cool control, but only by surprise. The last thing she had expected had been for him to kiss her. He had caught her off guard, that was all, she assured herself, and that was why she had behaved so stupidly.
And he had all the experience in the world, a small voice reminded her. That long, sensuous kiss had taught her that Matt Lincoln would be the kind of lover against whom a woman would measure all other men for the rest of her life …
She stopped short, frowning. Those were avenues of thought she definitely did not want to explore, she told herself decisively. She wasn’t interested in him as a human being, let alone a lover.
All she wanted was that he should forget about Alison, and it was too late now to wish that she’d never got involved, to regret with all her being that she had ever sought him out.
What satisfaction his arrogant ego must have derived from her intervention, she thought angrily. He was well revenged for the snub she had administered at the wedding. By revealing her concern for Alison, she’d given him a stick to beat her with, and he hadn’t hesitated to use it.
She’d done no good at all, she thought dolefully. In fact, if she was honest, she’d probably made matters worse.
She sighed and poured the bowl of water away down the sink. She hadn’t made a perfect job of clearing up, but then she hadn’t been entirely concentrating on what she was doing.
She looked at the phone number scrawled on the memo board, and her brows drew together angrily. He knew damned well she would never use it. She must have been mad to allow him to amuse himself at her expense, to pretend that he could really be persuaded to think again about his selfish pleasures.
It would serve him right, she thought, if she was to call his bluff.
She picked up the damp cloth she had been using and went to wipe the board clean, then stopped abruptly, her brain working furiously.
Well, why not? Why shouldn’t she do just that? God only knew he’d asked for it, she assured herself almost feverishly.
She poured herself another mug of coffee, and sat down to think. There was nothing to prevent her from going. Her passport was in order, and she’d been vaguely considering taking some sort of break, although nothing as opulent as a Caribbean island.
Not that she’d be spending very long there, she thought grimly. It would probably only be a matter of hours before Matt Lincoln discovered that she was not the pushover he thought, and that he’d been set up all over again. He wouldn’t be pleased, but there wouldn’t be a great deal he could do about it.
Unless he chose to play rough, a warning voice reminded her, but she dismissed it. She might not like him, but she gave him credit for not having the instincts of a rapist. Oh no, he wouldn’t use force, she thought. He would rely on his own physical attraction, and his undoubted powers of persuasion to get her into his bed, and when he failed, he would be only too glad to see the back of her. And she could then decide whether to continue the holiday on her own, or return home.
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