Taming the Rebel Tycoon: Wife by Approval / Dating the Rebel Tycoon / The Playboy Takes a Wife. Элли Блейк
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passion, sweetness. It both gave and took, coaxed and effortlessly mastered.
When finally he lifted his head and drew away, she felt radiant, enchanted.
Satisfaction in his voice, he remarked, ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first moment I caught sight of you standing there in the rain.’
Though—now she had seen his house—common sense told her he was right out of her league as far as any serious relationship went, she was filled with pleasure and excitement. He’d felt the same kind of instant attraction that she’d felt and, for the moment at least, that was enough.
Though it could lead nowhere.
And it was dangerous.
Especially if Richard had seduction on his mind. And, after the way he had kissed her, she could no longer rule that out.
But she wasn’t one to have affairs or indulge in casual sex, so if he did intend to try and seduce her, she would just have to stay cool and uninterested.
Cool and uninterested! Who was she trying to kid?
So she would have to appear to be cool and uninterested. In the past she had always been good at quietly freezing men off, she reminded herself. But then she had been genuinely uninterested or, for one reason or another, unwilling to take that particular relationship any further.
Though it was old-fashioned, almost ludicrous in this modern age, she had been brought up to believe that love and commitment went hand in hand and that sex should belong within the framework of marriage.
It hadn’t made her narrow-minded or critical of other people’s behaviour. It was simply a standard that had been set for her and that she had so far adhered to.
While some of her friends laughed and said she was mad and others admired her, Ruth had suggested it was because she had never been seriously tempted. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten Kevin,’ she had said, ‘but while he was tall, dark and handsome, he obviously hadn’t got what it takes to turn you on.
‘It’s a jolly good thing you didn’t marry him,’ she had added seriously, ‘otherwise you might have ended up just going through the motions and missing out on one of life’s most wonderful experiences…’
‘Penny for them…’
Richard’s voice brought Tina back to the present.
Her cheeks growing warm, she stammered, ‘I—I was just thinking about something my friend said.’
‘You’re not angry that I kissed you?’
She shook her head.
Sounding confident, he added, ‘And I take it there’s no current boyfriend to object?’
A little piqued by that assumption, she said, ‘What if there is?’
With a kind of wry self-mockery, he told her, ‘If there is I’ll have to wrest you from him…’
She had the strangest feeling that he would be prepared to wrest her from the archangel Gabriel himself should it prove necessary.
‘Is there?’
She shook her head.
‘But you didn’t like me assuming that?’ he queried shrewdly.
‘As it happens, my fiancé and I split up earlier in the year.’
He raised a brow, not expecting her to have had such a serious past relationship. ‘How long were you engaged?’
‘About three months.’
‘Officially?’ he queried.
‘You mean did I have a ring?’
He looked casually down at her left hand. ‘Did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who broke things off?’ Richard queried.
‘I did,’ Tina answered.
‘Why?’
She paused, then looked up at him. ‘I caught him playing around with another woman.’
‘Do you still love him?’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said, and knew it was the truth.
‘But you still feel upset about it?’
She had until now. Though it wasn’t so much that it had happened as the way it had happened.
Realising he was waiting for an answer, she said, ‘I did at first, but now it no longer matters.’
Suddenly wondering if her words had been too revealing and feeling uncomfortable, she began to sip her drink once more.
Nursing his whisky and soda, Richard sat down on the other side of the hearth and changed the subject with smooth aplomb. ‘I understand the sunny summer and autumn they’ve had on the Continent has helped to produce an excellent grape harvest…’
While they talked about the good weather they’d been enjoying and the climate in general, though he barely touched his own drink, an attentive host, he refilled her glass once more.
At length he rose and, having put some fresh logs on the fire, remarked, ‘We’d better get something to eat before you starve to death.’
As they walked to the door, he told her, ‘The dining-room is at the other end of the hall.’ Adding, as she favoured her injured ankle, ‘Can you manage?’
A little flustered, she said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’
‘Sure? I can see your left ankle’s swollen and I’ve noticed you limping from time to time.’
‘I’m sure I can manage, thank you.’
The gold and ivory dining-room was elegant, the table laid with cut glass and porcelain, while a bottle of wine encased in a silver cool-jacket waited to be poured.
Dinner, though simple, proved to be most enjoyable. Richard played the part of host with panache, filling Tina’s plate and helping her to some of the excellent white wine.
Somewhat to her relief, he chose impersonal topics of conversation and as they ate they discussed books, music, art and the theatre. It didn’t take long to discover that their tastes matched in most things and they both much preferred reading to watching television.
‘I sometimes think television is the bane of modern living,’ he observed, ‘especially when the set takes over the room and becomes the focus of it.’
She agreed entirely and said so.
By the time the leisurely meal came to an end and Tina had finished her second glass of wine, starting to feel distinctly light-headed, she elected to take her coffee black and refused a liqueur.
It was getting late by the time their cups were empty but, knowing it made sense not to rush this part, he led the way back to the study.
Having stirred the glowing fire into life and settled her in front of it, he suggested, ‘Let’s have a small nightcap before we turn in.’
As, hazily happy just to be here with him, she was gazing into the flames, he handed her a balloon glass containing a swirl of golden cognac. Then, taking a seat opposite, he raised his own glass in a kind of toast and took a sip.
When she followed suit, he asked conversationally, ‘How did you hurt your ankle?’
‘I slipped when I was getting out of the shower.’
‘Hardly a good start to Friday the thirteenth,’ he commented dryly, ‘and I gather things didn’t improve very much?’
‘Not a lot,’ she said and, when he waited expectantly, went on to tell him about having a flat tyre and being late for work.
‘Then at lunch time I discovered I’d forgotten to pack any sandwiches…’
He