Marriage On Trial. Lee Wilkinson
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And whether or not I sleep with him is entirely my affair.’
A look that seemed to hold both anger and pain crossed Quinn’s dark face, but a split second later it was gone, and Elizabeth knew she must have imagined it.
After a moment, his expression thoughtful, he pursued, ‘Though you clearly weren’t at home in the apartment, I got the distinct impression that you were intending to stay the night?’
‘What if I was?’ She tried to sound offhand.
‘Yet you seemed to be unprepared, not even a sponge bag, which leads me to believe that it hadn’t been planned in advance…
‘It’s my guess that he only proposed to you this evening, perhaps on the way to the sale, and that he asked you then to go back with him.’
Her expression telling him more clearly than words that he was right, he smiled sardonically.
When she remained determinedly silent, he went on, ‘He was certainly expecting you to stay, and though he did his best to act like a gentleman he was furious when he realized you really were going to leave…’
Then, like a cobra striking, he asked, ‘Why did you change your mind? Was it because of me?’
‘Why on earth should it be?’ She made an effort to sound dismissive.
‘You tell me.’
‘It was nothing to do with you,’ she lied hardily.
‘Then why?’
‘I had a headache. Now, I really would like to go to bed, so if you could finish your coffee…?’
Picking up his cup, he drained it, before remarking, ‘My, but you seem uncommonly eager to be rid of me.’
When she made no effort to refute that statement, he turned to look at her, his green eyes gleaming. ‘Bearing in mind that I still have the Van Hamel, I’m surprised you can’t bring yourself to be a little more gracious.’
It was a threat, however subtly worded.
‘I don’t care a damn about the Van Hamel.’ The retort was out before she could prevent it.
‘You may not, but your fiancé certainly does. In fact, judging by the amount I was able to push him to tonight, I’d say he’s set his heart on having it…’
Once again Quinn was one hundred per cent accurate.
‘So if you don’t want to see him disappointed…’
She didn’t.
Possibly because of his nature and privileged upbringing, Richard wasn’t a good loser. Like a spoilt child, he was unable to forget a failure. Losing the Van Hamel now would rankle, and could end up souring their whole engagement.
No matter what other precious stone he chose for her ring, Elizabeth knew quite well that, in his eyes at least, it would always be second best, and every time he looked at it he would feel angry and dissatisfied.
Gritting her teeth, she made an effort to be civil. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been ungracious…’
‘That’s better,’ Quinn murmured encouragingly. ‘Now perhaps you could make me some supper and another cup of coffee? Oh, and please do join me. I dislike eating alone.’
Though politely framed it was undoubtedly an order.
Knowing only too well that he was playing with her, deliberately provoking her, she felt a fierce desire to smack his mocking face and tell him to get out.
Instead, she rose to her feet without a word, and, picking up his empty cup, carried it through to the kitchen.
This time she got out the cafetière and warmed it, before taking a wholegrain loaf from the bread bin, and ham and cheese from the fridge.
She was cutting bread, when a movement in the doorway distracted her and the knife slipped and nicked her finger, making her gasp.
‘Let me see.’ Quinn was by her side in an instant. Lifting her hand, he examined the cut where a blob of red blood was welling.
‘It’s nothing,’ she assured him.
All at once her stomach clenched and fire flashed through her, as he put her finger in his mouth and sucked. While he kept it there, his green eyes met and held hers, as though assessing her response.
It seemed an eternity before, head spinning, she was able to tear her gaze away.
Inspecting the now bloodless cut, he asked, ‘Where do you keep your sticking-plasters?’
Trembling in every limb, and feeling as though she’d narrowly survived some disaster, she said jerkily, ‘There’s a first-aid box in the cupboard.’
When, with deft efficiency, he’d put a plaster on her finger and replaced the box, he remarked, ‘You look shaken.’ He sounded smug and self-satisfied, as if he knew perfectly well that it had nothing to do with cutting herself. ‘Perhaps I’d better make the sandwiches?’
‘No, I’m quite all right, really.’ It seemed easier to be occupied.
While he leaned against one of the oak units and watched her, she finished making the sandwiches and filled the cafetière.
When it was assembled on a tray—and remembering his ‘do join me’ she’d added an extra plate and cup—he straightened. ‘Let me carry that.’
With a sense of unreality, she followed him back to the living room.
She was about to take a seat in one of the armchairs when, having put the tray on the low table, he motioned her to sit beside him. Then, as though he owned the place, he pressed the plunger and poured coffee for them both.
Passing her a plate, he urged, ‘Won’t you have a sandwich?’
‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth took a sandwich she didn’t want and toyed with it, while he began to eat with a healthy appetite.
She had presumed that, in asking for supper, he was simply demonstrating his power, but he seemed to be genuinely hungry.
Catching her look of surprise, he said, ‘I missed dinner tonight.’ Then he added wryly, ‘You thought I was just practising being obnoxious, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t think you needed any practice.’ The words were out before she could prevent them.
‘Oh, well, I suppose I asked for that.’
To her amazement he was laughing, white, healthy teeth gleaming, deep creases appearing at each side of his chiselled mouth.
She felt her heart lurch then begin to race as she remembered the feel of that mouth touching hers…caressing her throat…finding the soft curves of her breasts…closing on a taut nipple…bringing a pleasure so exquisite it had been almost pain… Arousing a hunger that had made her shudder against him in an agony of need…
Perhaps she made some small sound, because he turned his head to look directly at her. In an instant her face flooded with scalding colour.
‘Erotic thoughts?’ he asked quizzically.
Knowing it was useless to deny it, she lied huskily, ‘In spite of the headache I was just wishing I’d stayed with Richard.’
Hoping desperately that Quinn would believe her, she knew he had when his face tightened.
But why should he be angry? What she did was nothing to do with him.
Slowly, he said, ‘If you can look like that when you think of him, your feelings must be a great deal more passionate than I’d imagined. I doubt if I’ve ever seen such naked longing on any woman’s face…’
She bit her soft inner lip until she tasted blood, before saying with what equanimity she could muster, ‘It’s getting very late…’
Desperate