In Bed With The Boss. Susan Napier
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well, well…if it isn’t the happy couple,’ he drawled, looking down at them with a tigerish smile. ‘What an extraordinary coincidence.’
His gaze shifted to their entwined fingers and before Kalera could curb the impulse she had guiltily snatched her hand from Stephen’s loosened grasp. She immediately picked up her glass and pretended to be drinking from it, but the glint in Duncan’s eye told her that he wasn’t fooled.
‘Mind if I join you for a while?’
Kalera was rendered speechless by his audacity.
‘Yes!’
Ignoring Stephen’s violent rejection, Duncan hooked a soft black ankle-boot around the leg of a chair at the next table, abandoned by a foursome for the dance-floor, and dragged it over, not taking his eyes off Kalera’s flushed face. He smiled as he positioned the chair too close to hers and sat down, his thigh brushing hers under the round table. She crossed her legs to avoid a repetition and found that it was now her bare arm at risk of being caressed by the plush velvet of his sleeve. His black shirt was figured silk, with covered buttons, she noticed unwillingly. And, dear God…!
‘You’re wearing an earring!’ she gasped, sufficiently distracted to forget that she had been about to edge her chair away from his.
‘Yes, do you like it?’ He turned so that the elongated jet and chased gold teardrop swung against the tanned column of his neck, almost brushing the collar of his jacket. A stud or ring was a fairly commonplace declaration of modern macho cool, but the wickedly frivolous elegance of that dangling earring made an entirely different statement. It was the sort of exquisite piece of jewellery that a languid Elizabethan fop might have worn…or a modern rock-and-shock star!
‘I didn’t even know you had your ear pierced,’ murmured Kalera faintly.
‘I didn’t—until this afternoon,’ he said, turning the back of his head towards Stephen and lowering his voice to effectively cut him out of the conversation. ‘For some reason I had this sudden, compelling urge to go out and do something just for the sheer hell of it, something satisfyingly primitive, and preferably masochistic…What prompted me to feel like that, do you think, Kalera?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said, refusing to look into those mocking blue eyes, or acknowledge the gravelly insinuation that she was somehow responsible for his ritual act of self-mutilation. In her experience Duncan needed no outside prompting to encourage his hell-raising impulses. She glanced nervously across the table at Stephen’s stony face, and gave him a secret smile in the hope that it might take the sting out of being ignored.
‘I know I shouldn’t be wearing anything but a stud in it yet,’ Duncan went on in his confiding tone, ‘but you know me, Kalera, I like to experiment. If you stick to the rules all your life you end up never doing any real living.’
His taunt fell on arid ground. Kalera had grown up in a society where there were too few rules rather than too many, and she knew which system she preferred. Duncan, the maverick, was the product of a conventional upper-middle-class upbringing which provided him with the lifelong security of having something to rebel against.
He tapped the lobe of his ear, making the earring sway, the polished jet gleaming as it performed its hypnotic little dance in the candlelight.
‘So what do you think? Does it suit me?’
Surprisingly it did. The feminine delicacy of the piece presented an exotic contrast to the hard planes of his face and the square jaw shadowed by masculine stubble. But Kalera would die before she admitted it. He was here to cause trouble and she was not going to co-operate by being drawn into his game.
‘I think it looks freakish,’ said Stephen tightly, the words spilling out from behind his rigid control. ‘But then it’s typical of you, isn’t it, Duncan? Always some outlandish stunt to draw attention to yourself. You’d better be careful: one day people are going to figure out that you’re more show than substance.’
‘Ever the flatterer, Steve.’ Duncan was indifferent to the savage thrust, his interest still squarely centred on Kalera. ‘I suppose he’s told you how ravishing you look this evening,’ he said. His eyes ran over the soft sheen of white silk in a smouldering male appraisal that was completely different from the way he had looked at her that morning. This time his gaze was meant to disturb and arouse and Kalera was grateful for the slight stiffness of the heavy Thai silk which shielded her helpless feminine response to his honeyed blanishment.
It didn’t seem to matter that she knew he was mocking her. She could feel her breasts prickling against the cups of her soft lace bra and a dangerous electricity zigzagged through her veins and pooled at the base of her stomach. She unconsciously pressed her thighs together as she kept her expression serene. He didn’t have X-ray vision, for goodness’ sake; he couldn’t possibly know what she was feeling. But the knowing smile kindling in the navy eyes suggested that he could make a far too well educated guess!
‘And how very appropriate that you should be wearing the colour of purity and honour,’ he drawled, making her pulses spike with renewed apprehension. ‘Very bridal…especially with that radiant veil of hair.’ He lifted a pale gold lock which had slipped forward to coil on the tablecloth next to her tense elbow and began to curl the silky skein around his finger idly. ‘I had no idea it had grown so long. The last time you let your hair down so for me in such glorious abandon it was only halfway down your back, but now it’s past your waist…’
Kalera froze, her eyes darting furtively to Stephen, but he appeared so incensed by the sight of Duncan toying with her hair that he failed to notice any hint of collusion in his words.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.
Duncan surveyed the living band of gold that thickly spanned his finger. ‘Just admiring your future bride.’
Stephen looked every bit as jumpy as Kalera felt. ‘You can do that without pawing at her!’
Duncan’s eyes widened insincerely. ‘I’m sorry, is that what I was doing, Kalera?’
He slowly unwound the curl and replaced the long tress against the white satin of her bodice, smoothing it back into its former position, seemingly unaware of her sharply indrawn breath as his knuckles skimmed the outer curve of her breast.
‘I said, take your hands off her!’ hissed Stephen, his face stiff with suppressed anger.
Duncan smiled, all innocence. ‘No need to get uptight, Steve. Kalera’s not complaining. She’s been with me for three years, after all. She’s used to me touching her. She knows I’m a very tactile person…’
Stephen disliked the shortened version of his name and Kalera guessed that Duncan knew it and was aiming for maximum provocation with minimum effort. She watched Stephen seethe behind his sophisticated air of self-possession, the closest she had ever seen him to losing his cool.
Duncan had half risen in his seat as he spoke and Kalera let out an inward sigh of relief at the prospect of his departure, but instead of leaving he bent over to heft the bottle from the silver ice-bucket standing on the other side of the table. His mouth kicked up as he read the French label.
‘As usual, only the best will do, huh, Steve? Shall I get the waiter to bring another champagne glass so that I can toast your good luck? Better still, let me buy you another bottle to show there’s no hard feelings. Give those gossipy old trouts out there a disappointment!’
He sat down again and made a small flourish with his fingers which must have been a pre-arranged signal, for a wine steward immediately came trotting up with a chilled bottle of the same vintage and a third crystal flute.
If his final comment was meant to be a threat, then it worked beautifully to his advantage. Stephen’s quick glance around the room told Kalera that, much as he would have liked to reject the offer coldly, he was a hostage to his own good manners. He wasn’t going to allow the rest of her evening to be spoiled by allowing them to become embroiled in an unpleasant scene.
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