Mistress Material. Sharon Kendrick
Читать онлайн книгу.
to be a perfectly simple explanation for that,’ she said reasonably.
But it seemed that he wasn’t interested in reason, or an explanation, because his dark eyes were boring into hers, an expression of scorn lifting the corner of his exquisite mouth. ‘And even given my supposed reputation,’ he gritted, ‘do you somehow imagine that I am so desperate as to follow and to find you? You who are everything that I most despise in a woman?’
Stung by the biting criticism, Suki was momentarily lost for words, her cheeks flaring at the denigrating accusation he’d thrown at her. Yes, OK, she hadn’t behaved too well, but surely her foolish youthful behaviour with him didn’t warrant that kind of censure? ‘I really don’t think that’s fair...’ she faltered.
But he had crouched down so that their eyes were on a level, and she could almost see the hostility emanating from him in pure waves towards her. ‘When I go searching for a woman,’ he said deliberately, ‘it will be for someone as unlike you as possible. Though I’m not sure that she exists—because I’ve certainly never come across her.
‘You see, Suki, I’m waiting for the woman who doesn’t give me the green light the instant that I meet her. Most men-and certainly this man—are turned on by the thrill of the chase before the capture. Something which is gained so easily has little intrinsic value, I believe.’
Suki was shaken to the core by the depth of his dislike, but she was damned sure she wouldn’t show it. Her amber eyes glinted dangerously. ‘I don’t have to lie here and listen to this—’
‘No, indeed,’ he agreed, in his deep drawl, his eyes hot and hungry with sexual mischief. ‘I have a much better idea. Why don’t we move away? You could lie down somewhere else. With me...’
Somehow he managed to imbue the suggestion with so much sensual promise that it took Suki every last ounce of pride she possessed to answer him back. ‘Spare me your cheap innuendo!’ she said, her eyes sparking amber fire. ‘And make your mind up! Either you despise me so much that my very presence contaminates you or you’re extending an extremely unsubtle invitation to get me into bed with you—you can’t do both, Pasquale.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Dear, dear—a supposedly intelligent man like you really ought to be able to see such gaping holes in your logic.’
She saw the warning light of battle in his eyes, but when he spoke his voice was very soft. ‘A man does not always think with his head,’ he said insultingly.
That did it! ‘Get out of my way,’ she said from between gritted teeth, and she swung her long, faintly tanned legs over the side of the lounger. First glancing down to check that she was halfway decent, she dropped the towel onto the lounger, then got to her feet, looking around in vain for Salvatore, the photographer who had brought her to this house-party outside Cannes.
It was supposed to have been the relaxing finale to two days of solid shooting for a book of photographs Salvatore was producing. Relaxing—huh! About as relaxing as being on the front line of a war-zone, with the arrival of Pasquale Caliandro. Suki began to move away.
‘Oh, no. Not so fast.’ In a single, snake-like movement Pasquale had captured her tiny wrist in the strong grasp of his hand and Suki was horrified how her body thrilled to that first contact of flesh on flesh. And why did he have to be so tall? So powerful? So gorgeous? Her throat constricted.
‘Let me go—’
He shook his head with implacable confidence. ‘No. You and I need to talk.’
‘I have nothing to say to you—’
‘But I,’ he said, and his voice was husky with intent, ‘have plenty to say to you.’
‘I’m not interested.’ But oh, what a lie, for despite her instinctive and purely protective need to put as much distance between them as possible she was bursting to know what he wanted—and she was certain that he’d guessed as much.
He gave a small, humourless smile. ‘On the contrary—I think you might be.’
He still held her wrist and she was powerless to move, and Suki realised that to an outsider it would appear that he was holding her lightly, almost affectionately—the steely determination of his grip would not be apparent to anyone else.
She tried a different approach. After all, she’d had to fend men off before. She tipped her head to one side, so that the long curls—the colour of golden syrup glinting in the sunshine, or so she’d been told—fell over her bosom. ‘If you carry on like that, Pasquale,’ she said reasonably, ‘then you’ll really leave me no choice other than to scream, and I’m sure that would do your reputation no good whatsoever.’
‘My reputation is of no concern to me,’ he drawled with dismissive arrogance. ‘But if that is what you intend to do, then I must give you fair warning that you will really leave me no choice other than to silence you most satisfactorily.’
Her confusion must have shown in her eyes. ‘By kissing you, of course,’ he elaborated silkily. ‘And as I recall you liked me kissing you, didn’t you, Suki? You liked it ve-ry much.’
Oh! That occasional lilt to his voice was so devilishly attractive! Suki took a deep breath and met his gaze full-on. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk to you.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘For now.’ The words sounded ominous.
She’d been little more than a child when she’d known him before, and then she had been so enraptured by his physical magnetism that she had seen little beyond his tantalising exterior. Now, as an adult, she recognised the quiet determination about the man which he wore like a mantle. If Pasquale wanted to talk to her, she realised, then attempting to avoid him might prove to be more trouble than it was worth.
‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘Talk to me. I’m listening. But I’m giving you five minutes to say whatever it is you want to say—and then I’m out of here!’
‘Out—of—here,’ he repeated slowly, in a voice of fascinated horror. He made a little clicking sound of disapproval. ‘Such an expensive Swiss education,’ he mused. ‘Wasted. That all those years of tuition should culminate in such bald, inelegant little statements...’
His elegant censure hit a raw nerve as something inside her snapped. The realisation that he was playing with her, teasing her, as an angler would a fish, made Suki realise that she was putting herself into an unnecessarily weak position. She didn’t have to stay and talk to him. She didn’t have to do anything. She was no longer a naive and gullible schoolgirl—she was an independent career-woman in her own right, for heaven’s sake!
Without another word, she stalked off towards the house, pushing her way through the milling throng, but she knew from the buzz which accompanied her movements that Pasquale was following her.
Let him follow her! she thought with a stubborn resurgence of resolve. She would slam the wretched door in his face and then lock it! That would call his bluff. He had arrogantly stated that his reputation was of no concern to him, but she doubted whether he would want this select and privileged bunch of guests witnessing him beating her door down!
She was aware of people watching them, of the women staring at Pasquale, their eyes full of ill-concealed lust. She had been like that once. She shuddered in disgust as she glanced over her shoulder to see that he had paused to speak to one of the waitresses. Vaguely, Suki wondered where Salvatore was, but he was nowhere to be seen. But then perhaps it was better that he wasn’t around. He would want to know who Pasquale was—and how could she tell him? How could she say, He’s the brother of the girl who was my best friend—the man I once begged to make love to me?
And he hadn’t.
That was the most galling thing.
He hadn’t.
It was a story she was not proud of and to this day it had the power to make her flinch when she remembered exactly how she had behaved. Over the years