The Bride Wore Scarlet. Diana Hamilton
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whether to change and decided against it. Whatever she put on she’d still be noticeable. Unpacking took five minutes, washing and renewing her make-up—sunblock and her usual scarlet lipstick—took another five, while brushing the tangles out of her windblown mane took ten.
Irritated with the whole situation now, she dropped her brush down in the clutter she’d already created on the pretty Victorian dressing table and headed for the door. Only another forty-eight hours or so to get through, so she’d just have to grin and bear it—and remind herself to harden the mush that passed for her heart if her boss ever asked her to do him a favour again!
Halfway down the twisty stairs, feeling sick, still trying to remind herself of exactly why she had agreed to come here as Mark’s weekend guest, she felt very ill indeed when she recognised the austerely handsome face and power-packed frame of Daniel Faber as he suddenly rounded one of the quirky bends in the sixteenth-century staircase.
‘I’ve come to bring you down. Everyone thought you’d probably got lost. This house is something of a warren!’
But Annie had already subsided in a heap, sitting down on the nearest tread because her legs had given way, muscle and bone turning to water.
Perhaps he wouldn’t recognise her. It had been dark out on that terrace. They hadn’t been introduced at the party, either. And she and Rupert had left before he’d come back into the room. She’d made sure of that! And the embarrassing happening had been more than eight months ago...
‘Just what the hell are you doing here?’
Annie gave a faint groan. As soon as he’d had a proper look at her, he’d recognised her all right—and the quietly rasping tone told her he didn’t remember their brief encounter with any pleasure whatsoever!
But then, neither did she, she reminded herself bracingly, gingerly hauling herself back to her feet, hanging onto the banister. And even though it had been she who had hurled herself at him, he hadn’t passed up on the opportunity to kiss her back—he’d done more than that, too, she recalled, righteous anger momentarily quelling severely intense embarrassment.
‘I’m here as Mark’s guest, as I guess you must already know. Surely you were told who to fetch.’
Proud of her cool tone, she made the mistake of raking her eyes over him, slowly, from top to toe. And once she’d started the appraisal she couldn’t seem to stop.
How she could ever have mistaken him for Rupert, even in pitch-darkness, she would never know. Long legs encased in cool cotton chinos, topped by a body-hugging black T-shirt—his superb physique owed nothing whatsoever to expensive tailoring.
At six feet, Rupert was tall, but Daniel Faber could give him a good three inches. Plus, he was far wider in the chest and shoulder region and narrower in the hip. But she had known the difference hadn’t she? her ever-active conscience reminded her, bringing hot colour to her face.
As soon as his mouth had covered hers she’d known. And hadn’t been able to resist the startling effect of what the intimacy of his lips and hands had done to her.
His dark-browed frown made a deep cleft between the smoke grey eyes as he returned her minute scrutiny, as if mentally stripping away the silky shorts and top was something he had to do but didn’t want to.
‘I’ve only just arrived,’ he said through the slow build-up of sizzling tension. ‘Dad took me aside and told me Mark had brought a woman guest, that you’d been put in the rose room. He didn’t tell me who you were. I took it on myself to fetch you. I wanted to judge for myself how serious Mark might be about you. None of us are entirely happy about the situation. Now I know who you are, I’m furious.’
He looked it, too. Quietly and coldly furious. So he was the adoring Enid’s champion, too. Mark had implied as much. Yet her brow furrowed. ‘How can you be brothers?’
‘Half-brothers,’ he corrected impatiently. ‘My mother remarried after my father died, and a year later Mark arrived. At the time of the marriage I was eight years old. Old enough to know I wanted to keep my own father’s name.’
So he’d been a self-opinionated little boy, too. That figured. Her body was still tingling almost painfully where his eyes had wandered, and she’d had more than enough of this pointless and potentially embarrassing conversation.
She said, ‘Shall we join the others before they send the dogs to find us?’ and watched his wickedly sensual mouth curve cynically as the steely eyes stabbed her, reaching right into her soul and hurting it.
‘And we wouldn’t want anyone—Mark especially—to think we were doing anything we shouldn’t, would we?’
Flinching at the taunt, Annie willed her legs to stop shaking, held her golden head high and pushed past him. The weekend had barely begun and it had already turned into a nightmare. She had hoped she would never come face to face with Daniel Faber again, telling herself that even if she did, he wouldn’t recognise her.
Now the worst had happened. Face to face with him and not only had he recognised her, he was rubbing her face in her indiscretion. Would he tell his family? Make a joke of it? Or would he make something darker out of a simple mistake?
Only it hadn’t been a mistake. Not after his arms had closed around her, his lips making demanding love to her mouth.
Just thinking about it made her face go hot, and a gasp of shock, charged with wicked excitement, burst from her as he caught her hair with one hand, twisting the length of it round his wrist, forcing her to turn back, face him.
‘I can’t stop you being a menace to the male sex. But don’t mess with my family, Annie Kincaid.’ Another slight twist of his wrist and she was closer to that tough male body. The harsh, handsome face bent over hers, his breath sweet and clean. So close she could feel his body heat, his power, his contempt See that contempt in the dark grey eyes.
The contempt withered her; she fought against it, a battle twinned with the crazy desire to get closer still, to touch and be touched, to feel the long, hard length of him against her soft, receptive female curves.
She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, too. She was no man-eater. But that would be giving his jaundiced view of her a credibility it didn’t deserve. Desperately trying to clear her head of the accumulated muddle he had created, she narrowed her eyes at him.
‘You’re overreacting, Mr Faber. If what happened that night—and it was only a kiss, remember—affected you so strangely, then I’m sorry. But that’s your problem. There’s nothing I can do about it.’
The moment the words were past her lips she knew she’d said the wrong thing. The sudden hiss of his indrawn breath, the dark glitter of his eyes, told her that her piece of bravado had been taken as a challenge.
Too late to retract now, though. The damage was done. And more was to come as that sensual mouth came down on hers, his tongue diving deep between her parted lips with instinctive, bred-in-the-bone male possession.
And just as suddenly, just as she recovered from the stunned shock of engulfing excitement, her blood fizzing dizzily through her veins as she began a feverish response, he put her away, his hand sliding through her hair, right through the thick and crinkly golden length of it to where it tapered to a curling point in the small of her back.
‘Nothing you can do about it? How about carrying on where we left off? When I feel like it,’ he drawled. ‘For now, though, go on down to lunch. And remember, I’ll be watching you. There isn’t a corner you can hide in without my eyes finding you.’
Lunch? An impossibility. How could she swallow a thing? She pretended to, though, because to do otherwise would let him see he’d won, ruined her appetite, made her needle-sharp-aware of every inflection of his voice, every flicker of those enigmatically veiled eyes—those watching eyes.
The table in front of the birthday girl had been piled with gift-wrapped packages. Molly Redway indeed looked like an excited girl as she tore through