Rescue Operation. PENNY JORDAN
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he reached for her.
In his arms on the dance floor it came as a shock to realise how long it had been since a man had held her like this. She had danced, of course, but never with this intimacy, since Darren, and the hard brush of muscled male thighs against the softness of her own body as they moved in time to the music became increasingly disturbing as frissons of awareness spread upwards from her thighs. Revulsion coursed through her in waves and the need to tense her body against the alien intrusion of arrogant male flesh became overpowering, but she refused to give in to it.
Slade’s hand caressed her spine, sliding upwards to stroke the vulnerable nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat. Dear God, what chance would Kirsty have against a man like this if he chose to submit her to the full force of his sexual expertise?
She missed a step and was drawn still closer to the lean male body of her partner, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest, his breath fanning her temple. The revolving spotlight suddenly caught them in its beam and Slade raised his hand to the dusting of glitter along her cheekbones, tracing it lightly. The music stopped and she withdrew from him, smothering a gasp as his fingers left her face to trace instead the glitter-dusted curve of her breasts above the bodice of her dress.
‘Very enticing.’ He smiled at her and in the darkness there was no irony in his smile, and Chelsea felt her breath catching in her throat at the unbelievable appeal of that smile.
For the rest of the evening she clung to him like ivy, firmly closing her mind against what she was doing. He left her once to collect some food for them both from the buffet tables, and Ann hurried across to whisper,
‘Keep it up—you’re doing marvels’ You should have seen poor Kirsty’s face when she saw you dancing with him! She hasn’t said anything, but I suspect she’s discovered that her idol most definitely has feet of clay. Just to make sure I thought it might be as well if she were to see you leaving with him, if you can engineer that. He’s attractive enough for the fact that other women are attracted to him to add a dangerous piquancy.’
Unable to do anything other than agree with her sister’s observation and worried about her niece’s reaction to her behaviour, at first Chelsea almost missed Slade’s cool, ‘Do you have your own means of transport for getting home?’
For a moment she was tempted to tell him that she intended getting a taxi, and then she remembered Ann’s whispered suggestion, and summoned the last of her flagging courage to say with a slow smile,
‘I’m afraid not. I was hoping someone would be kind enough to offer me a lift.’
She couldn’t have made her meaning any plainer, and she almost shuddered to see the cynicism carved deep in the grooves running alongside his mouth, as he drawled, ‘Allow me.’
As luck would have it Kirsty was standing with a group of teenagers by the foyer, and as they walked past the group Chelsea couldn’t bear to look at her niece.
At last they were out in the cool night air, crisply autumnal with the intensely evocative and faintly mournful scent of woodsmoke and frost hanging in the stillness.
‘Here we are.’
Slade stopped alongside a svelte, powerful-looking car, its dark paintwork gleaming, and paused to unlock the doors before helping Chelsea inside. Expensive hide moulded itself to her body, its rich smell filling the dark interior, mingling with the tangy aftershave Slade was wearing.
‘You haven’t asked me for directions,’ Chelsea pointed out to him as the long bonnet nosed its way out into the traffic.
In the darkness she could feel him glance at her, and a nervous fluttery feeling began in the pit of her stomach and spread outwards as he said smoothly,
‘First I thought we’d go to my place, have a cup of coffee.’
For a moment Chelsea’s brain refused to work. When she had been planning the evening she had never thought as far as this. Somehow she had imagined that it would end with her leaving the hotel with Slade and then getting a taxi home. She turned towards him to protest, checking as she saw the cold cynicism of his smile, and anger suddenly welled up inside her. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that ‘coffee’ wasn’t all he had in mind. The arrogance of the man! she seethed. Did he expect her to jump into bed with him simply because she had accepted a lift from him?
It wasn’t purely because she had angled for a lift, honesty made her admit; she hadn’t exactly kept him at a distance during the evening. Forcefully she pushed aside the thought. So Slade Ashford thought she was going to allow him to make love to her. Perhaps it was time that someone showed him that when it came to women he wasn’t as overpoweringly irresistible as he seemed to think.
This thought was enough to boost her spirits and keep her doubts at bay for the fifteen minutes it took them to reach Slade’s flat; one of half a dozen in a prestigious luxury two-storey block on the outskirts of the town set in the grounds of what had once been the old manor house.
With a cool economy of movement that made it impossible for her to object Slade drove the car into a garage at the back of the apartments, locked it, and escorted her into an attractive communal hallway.
‘My apartment’s on the second floor,’ he told her, indicating the lift.
It whisked them upwards so swiftly that Chelsea felt that she had left her stomach behind. She was twenty-six, she reminded herself dryly as they emerged from its claustrophobic confines, and this wouldn’t be the first time she had had to fend off unwanted advances; and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Shrugging aside the tiny inner voice that warned her that Slade Ashford was different, she allowed him to usher her into a small inner hall. As he snapped on the light she had a brief impression of stunningly effective faux-marble walls in rich brown and cream, one of them mirrored to add to the illusion.
‘Not my choice,’ he told her, noticing her expression. ‘I needed a place in a hurry and this one was vacant. I believe the previous owner was a businessman who let it to a … friend.’ His voice was expressionless, but the meaning was plain nonetheless, and Chelsea suppressed a sudden shudder as she contemplated how narrowly she had escaped being Darren’s little ‘friend’, his kept mistress.
‘Living room’s through there,’ Slade told her, opening another door.
It was decorated in varying shades of pale blue and grey; with expensive silk-covered settees, and a thick pile carpet, and Chelsea wondered if it was merely her imagination which made her think that despite its luxury this wasn’t a happy place.
‘I’ll take your coat. Make yourself at home while I get us both a drink.’
This was the moment when she should tell him that she wanted neither a drink nor his company, but he was gone before she could speak. She would tell him when he came back, she decided. Fortunately they weren’t very far from her own flat, and if he refused to take her home, she could always walk. She was studying a painting when he returned, and her first intimation that she was no longer alone came when she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her round to face him, his expression hidden from her as he bent his head and touched his lips to the soft flesh swelling above the top of her dress, following the line of gold glitter.
‘Opium,’ he murmured appreciatively against her skin. ‘Tell me, is all of you as deliciously scented as this bit?’
‘Let me go!’
The persona she had assumed fell from her like a borrowed cloak, her eyes darkening with anger and fear as she pushed ineffectively at his hard shoulders.
‘Don’t you think it’s a little late to play hard to get?’ he laughed sardonically. ‘You should be honoured. I don’t normally fall for such obvious ploys, but there’s something about you …’
‘I asked you to give me a lift home, not … not maul me!’ she managed on a choked whisper.
‘Maul?’ His expression was ugly as he raised his head and looked at her. ‘Believe me, if I really wanted to I could make