Whisper Of Scandal. Kathryn Ross
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I have, Brina. I wanted to see you tomorrow...we have so much to discuss.’
‘No, Garth.’ Sabrina’s voice was adamant. ‘You must put your wife first——’
‘I’m not prepared to argue about this,’ Garth cut across her. ‘I’m spending tomorrow with you and there is an end to it. I thought that we could drive into the country——’
‘No,’ she interrupted his plans firmly.
‘Good, that’s settled, then,’ Garth continued smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’ He rose to his feet and smiled down at her.
‘You are incorrigible,’ she said on a note of dry humour.
‘But you love me anyway?’ He winked down at her.
‘You know I do,’ she answered huskily.
For a moment his eyes lingered on her. “Thank you, Brina. You don’t know how happy that makes me.’ He hesitated and seemed about to say more, then glanced over as his stepson started to walk back across the restaurant towards them. ‘Brina, do me a favour, will you?’ he asked quickly.
‘If it is within my power, you know I will.’
‘Don’t let anything slip to Marc about us. I’d hate Nadine to find out like that.’
‘You know I wouldn’t say anything,’ she reassured him quickly.
Garth nodded. ‘Marc is a very shrewd man. Also a very charming one. Just be careful, Brina.’
‘Well, I’m not easily charmed.’ Sabrina smiled. ‘Now, will you go to Nice tomorrow and see your wife?’
He shook his head. ‘I will be seeing you tomorrow. Ten o’clock sharp.’ He moved away then before she had time to argue the point further.
She watched him go with a mixture of impatience and affection. He had to be the most pigheaded, stubborn man that she had ever come across. He had probably accepted Marc’s offer to run her home just so that she didn’t get the chance to try and change his mind.
She watched him stop and talk with his stepson on the way out of the door. She had always thought that Garth was a powerfully built man, yet next to Marc Kingsley’s lean, broad-shouldered frame he looked almost small.
For a moment she racked her brain to remember any information that Garth had given her on his stepson.
He was a successful man, a wealthy industrialist who spent most of his time in Paris but also had a home in Surrey. She knew that his mother Nadine was French and that his father had been English. They were the only facts that she could call to mind. With a sigh she got to her feet and went over to join them. Somehow she had the feeling that she needed to know much more about Marc Kingsley in order to step very warily around him.
Did he have to watch her like that? she wondered angrily as she moved nearer to them. His eyes were raking over her slim figure in the pencil-straight skirt and jade blouse as if he were assessing how much she would fetch on the open market.
‘Ready?’ he asked abruptly as she reached his side.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was very strange, but this man seemed capable of stirring up her temper without even saying anything. Just one look from those eyes seemed to increase her temperature rapidly.
The darkness outside was a relief. It was a few minutes’ respite from Marc Kingsley’s probing eyes, a few minutes to compose herself. A bright red Porsche drew up beside them and the car-park attendant got out and handed Marc the keys.
Her eyes ran disdainfully over the sleek lines of the red Porsche. Nothing subdued for Mr Kingsley, she thought wryly. His taste in women was probably the same as his taste in cars. He would like them flashy and elegant.
He surprised her by opening the passenger door for her before going around to the other side. At least the man had some manners.
She frowned. What on earth was the matter with her? It wasn’t like her to be so aggressive, especially towards a perfect stranger. The man was doing her a favour by taking her home and here she was tearing him to shreds. In fact ever since he had first looked down at her she had been on the defensive—it was most unlike her.
She watched him as he secured his seatbelt and then started the powerful engine. His face was lit for a moment by the street-light as he turned towards her. It looked all planes and angles in the half-light, emphasising just how ruggedly attractive he was. For a crazy second her heart seemed to dip downwards and thud like a sledgehammer against her chest.
‘Aren’t you going to put on your seatbelt?’ he enquired lazily.
‘Oh... yes.’ For some reason her fingers felt like thumbs as she struggled awkwardly with the belt.
‘Here, let me do it.’ He leaned across and took it from her hands with a brisk impatient movement. Inadvertently his fingers brushed against the silk of her blouse as he pulled it across her, the soft touch sending a million sensory nerve-endings throbbing into life.
‘There.’ The belt slotted firmly into place and he was swinging the car out into the stream of traffic, the large hands looking strong and capable on the wheel.
Sabrina swallowed hard and looked away from him out through the window. She felt confused and angry with herself. She was twenty-five years of age and had been out with plenty of men in the past, but none of them had made her body respond the way it had done just now from a mere casual contact. Marc Kingsley was having a very strange effect on her. She was undeniably attracted to him, just as every woman who ever came into contact with him would probably be. But there was something else. He inflamed her senses. Angered her, excited her, frightened her. She couldn’t understand how a total stranger could arouse such emotions.
She tried to switch her thoughts away from him as they drove down busy roads through the heart of London. It was a magical city at night, she thought idly, with all the beautiful buildings illuminated by a warm orange glow against the velvet darkness of the sky.
Marc was pulling up outside her apartment in Kensington before she realised that he had driven her straight to her door without having to ask where she lived.
She turned to him with a frown. ‘How did you know my address?’
‘Garth told me before he left.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Marc turned off the engine and the sudden silence seemed heavy and oppressive. The only sound that filled Sabrina’s ears was the wild thud of her heartbeats.
‘Well, thank you for the lift home,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, reaching for the door-handle.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in for coffee?’ he asked silkily.
She hesitated, taken back by the request. ‘Well, I...yes—yes, of course.’ Hell, she was babbling like a teenager. What on earth was wrong with her?
He stood behind her as she opened her front door and she was annoyed to find that her hand shook as she tried to get the key in the lock.
‘Do you need some help?’
His drily amused voice flustered her even more.
‘No, thank you.’ Thankfully the door swung open and Sabrina led the way into the elegant hallway.
The apartment was very large and decorated in a stylishly modern way. Crystal lights illuminated warm peach walls and highlighted the thick beige carpet that ran through each room.
‘Nice apartment,’ Marc remarked as his eyes moved over the lounge with its large cream leather suite and the modern pictures that lent vibrant splashes of colour to the room. ‘Working for Garth must pay well.’
Sabrina’s eyebrow lifted at such a remark. Really, who did the man think he was? It was none of his business where her money came from.
She