Time Fuse. PENNY JORDAN
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and she suspected that he knew it but she wasn’t going to back down.
‘Is that a fact.’ He said it softly closing the distance between them before she could move. ‘Well, let’s just find out how much truth there is in that statement shall we?’
The hard warmth of his mouth as it covered hers shocked her into submission. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her body, but her own refused to mirror its firm rhythm. It thudded threadily, her body tensing in mingled shock and rejection, her eyes blazing bitter defiance and fury as she fought against the domination of his hands and mouth. He was kissing her with ruthless precision and a great deal of sexual expertise; her body shamingly recognised that, even while her mind was disgusted by it. As soon as he released her Selina slapped him, panting hard as she delivered the hard blow.
It left the palm of her hand smarting and a white welt of flesh against his lean cheek which was now slowly filling with dark blood.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to repeat the experiment.’ For some reason his soft words brought darting flares of pain. He watched her, eyes slitted, ‘Do you know,’ he added, ‘I’ve always considered that that particular form of retaliation sprang more from sexual frustration than annoyance. Perhaps sometime it might be worth while putting my theory to the test.’
The way he said it made her blood run through her veins in angry fire. ‘Not with me you don’t,’ Selina told him rashly.
For a moment something came and then went in his eyes and when he spoke again, he appeared totally in control, unlike her, Selina reflected bitterly as he drawled. ‘Well now a man with an ego like mine just might consider that challenge to be an invitation, my dear. Is that what turns you on? To slap a man down and then needle him into physical savagery? If so, it’s a dangerous hobby.’
She wanted to spit and fly at him like an angry cat. No one had ever tossed such outrageous accusations at her before, and certainly not in a languid, almost soft voice that suggested that there was no possible way in which its owner’s assessment of her could be wrong.
If her father hadn’t walked back into his office just then Selina didn’t know how she would have reacted. As it was she muttered something about a phone call and excused herself. It was only later, safe in her own flat, that she was forced to admit to herself that resent it though she did, Piers Gresham had managed to provoke a physical response from her in a way that no man had done before. Even now she found it impossible to accept that there had been that moment of fierce need to respond to his kiss; that sensation of melting and then burning that urged her to yield. But she hadn’t done so. He had broken the kiss before she had betrayed herself that much.
From the first moment she saw him she had known that Piers Gresham was a man to be wary of. Now this impression had been reinforced a thousandfold. It would be a long time before she forgot how he had looked at her when he questioned her. So he didn’t trust her did he; well she didn’t trust him either.
Back in her flat that evening some impulse she couldn’t contain led her to study her features carefully in her bedroom mirror. What had Piers seen there that had led him to make his accusations? A formidable man the Judge had called him; for formidable she would have said diabolical Selina thought mentally. Even now hours after her encounter with him her pulses still fluttered at the thought of him, her mind and body unable to relax from the turmoil he had caused, and she for the space of one heartbeat had been in real danger of succumbing to him, of forgetting everything she had learned during her life and responding to his kiss… It would never happen again. Maybe the Judge had been right and she had been wrong to react as she had done in the restaurant, but even then her body had been sending her signals that had terrified her and she had reacted instinctively, too frightened by them to use reason and logic.
For some reason that evening she found it impossible to settle. Normally she enjoyed the quiet hours of solitude in her flat. After the hectic bustle of her foster parents home, where, despite their kindness, she had never felt she fitted in, she had come to relish the peace and quiet of her own home. The books she had collected at Oxford lined her bookshelves; the antique dresser she had found at a country market and lovingly restored holding her china and few little treasures. Her flat was in a large old house with a pleasant garden which she shared with the other tenants, most of whom she knew to say good morning to but very little else. That was the way she had wanted her life, free of complications; of people who might ask questions and force her to lie.
At university she had dreamed that somehow she might be able to follow in her father’s footsteps, but of course it had been impossible. One needed financial backing to train as a barrister, something she did not have, and although her tutor had suggested a legal career in industry she had not been interested. Without a proper legal training she would always have remained in a junior position in a large department. That wasn’t what she wanted. The law courts, the Inns of Temple, the measured, controlled world of the law; that was where she had set her sights. That was why she had settled for jobs for which she was desperately over-qualified because at least then she was breathing in the atmosphere she craved.
All through her teens she had been consumed by a desperate need to prove to the father who had rejected her what he lost in doing so. As she grew older those dreams had faded, reality taking their place, and yet she had no more been able to resist the temptation to apply for her present job, knowing it would bring her into close contact with her father, than she had been able to resist Piers’ kiss.
Working closely with her father was a bitter-sweet experience. She had long ago abandoned her adolescent dreams of winning his admiration and love and even her resentment over the way she had been rejected had eased, but there was still a measure of pain in seeing and knowing him when he did not know her.
She was glad of the weekend, because it gave her time to relax and unwind, but on Sunday morning when Susan Seaton rang and invited her over for lunch, Selina was ready to admit that for once she had had enough of her own company.
As she had half-anticipated the Seatons had several other guests. Susan Seaton, used to the demands of a large family, enjoyed entertaining, and Selina found herself chatting to an attractive older woman who also appeared to be on her own.
‘Since Susan is too busy to introduce us, we had better perform that task for ourselves. I’m Dulcie Gresham,’ she told Selina.
With a small start of shock, Selina acknowledged the introduction. ‘Selina Thorn,’ she told her companion, suddenly wishing she was talking to anyone other than this woman. Now that she knew her name it was impossible not to recognise her as Piers’ mother. It was from her that he had inherited his dark hair and his navy-blue eyes, although in his mother they were softer, more compassionate.
‘Goodness, what a coincidence,’ she exclaimed warmly, ‘You’re my brother’s new PA, aren’t you? But then of course, not so much of a coincidence really is it, because the legal world is a very close-knit one and of course, you did work for the Judge previously. How are you enjoying working for Gerald, or would you rather not say?’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ Selina told her truthfully. ‘It’s very different from working for the Judge of course, but then I was ready for a change.’
‘Yes, my son tells me you’re extremely highly qualified. Have you never thought of the bar as a career for yourself?’
His looks weren’t the only thing he had inherited from his mother Selina thought wryly. Although it was less abrasive in Dulcie Gresham, Selina could see where her son got his sharp intelligence from.
Almost as though she sensed her hesitation her interrogator’s manner softened, a wry smile curving her mouth. ‘Forgive me, I’m afraid at times I do sound rather like the cross examination. Years of living with lawyers I’m afraid. My late husband was a barrister as well. In fact I should very much have liked a career at the bar myself—I find it fascinating even now, but of course in those days…’
Charmed against her will Selina heard herself admitting. ‘I should have liked to make a career in law, but after university there just weren’t the funds.’
Her