by Carole Mortimer - Bachelor Cousins 03 - To Marry McAllister
Sabina remained standing exactly as she was, recognising that transfixed look from some of her photographic sessions; a master was at work, and for the moment she, as a person, did not exist.
Which was fine with her. She was here under protest, and the last thing she wanted was any more personal conversations with Brice McAllister while she was here. Especially of the kind they had just had.
‘Will there have to be much of this?’ she finally felt compelled to ask him an hour later. The fireplace was really rather nice, but after looking at it for the last hour she definitely knew it didn’t hold much scope for the imagination!
Brice looked up at her frowningly, his thoughts obviously still engrossed in his sketching. ‘Much of what?’
‘These sittings—or, in this case, standings,’ she added wryly. ‘Will I need to do many of them?’
He put the sketch-pad down on the table beside him, flexing stiff shoulder muscles as he did so.
He really was a very handsome man, Sabina acknowledged grudgingly. Those dark, brooding good looks were almost Byronic, that over-long dark hair giving him a rakishly gypsy appearance. Although Sabina was sure the romantic Byron had never quite had that totally assessing male look in his eyes. Deep green eyes that even now were trying to look past her façade of politeness to the inner Sabina!
‘Why?’ he finally drawled softly.
She shrugged. ‘As I’ve already explained, I’m—’
‘Rather busy,’ he finished derisively. ‘Yes, you have explained that. Several times, as I recall,’ he added mockingly before picking up his cup and drinking the now cold tea in one swallow. ‘The question is, why are you so busy?’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘As I understand it, you’ve been one of the top models in the world—if not the top model in the world,’ he allowed mockingly, ‘for the last five years. Why do you need to keep working at the pace that you do?’
Because work stopped her from thinking, from remembering, meant she was too tired at night to do anything more than fall into bed and go to sleep!
But none of those thoughts betrayed themselves in the calmness of her expression. ‘So that I remain one of the top models in the world,’ she replied dryly.
Brice pursed his mouth. ‘And is that important to you?’
Her cheeks became flushed at the mockery in his tone. ‘Is it important to you to be one of the world’s most sought-after artists?’ she returned caustically, deeply resenting the slight condescension towards her career that she sensed in his tone.
Okay, so it didn’t need great intelligence to initially become a model, just the right look, and a certain amount of luck, but it certainly took more than those things to remain one. She worked hard at what she did, never gave less than her best, and she deeply resented his implication that it should be otherwise. She had always regarded herself as something of an artist too, in her own way.
‘Touché,’ he allowed dryly. ‘I just can’t imagine doing what you do, day in and day out.’ He shrugged.
Sabina narrowed cornflower-blue eyes on him. ‘Are you meaning to be insulting, Mr McAllister, or does it just come naturally?’ she said slowly.
He grinned unabashedly. ‘A little of both, probably.’
She shook her head, incredulous at his arrogance. ‘You just don’t care, do you?’ she murmured slowly.
He looked puzzled. ‘About what?’
‘About anything,’ she realised in wonder.
How she wished she still had that tolerantly amused outlook to life, that she could laugh at herself as well as other people. But she knew that she didn’t. That she never would have again, thanks to—
No, she wouldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of that.
‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she decided abruptly, glancing pointedly at the gold watch on her wrist. An engagement present from Richard. That, and his diamond engagement ring, were the only two pieces of jewellery she ever wore.
Brice McAllister was watching her consideringly, head tilted slightly to one side, green gaze narrowed speculatively. ‘Why?’ he finally challenged.
It was a challenge Sabina easily picked up on. And chose to ignore. ‘Because I have somewhere else to go,’ she told him determinedly.
‘Home to Richard?’ he taunted softly, standing up slowly, his sheer size totally dominating the room.
Sabina took a step back, suddenly finding the room oppressively small. She also found herself backed up against the unlit fireplace.
Brice walked slowly towards her, his narrowed gaze not leaving her face. He stopped about a foot away, that gaze searching now as he continued to look at her.
For the second time since she had met him Sabina found she couldn’t breathe.
This close to, she could feel the male warmth of him, could smell the slight tang of the aftershave he wore, could see every pore and hair on the darkness of his skin. But it was none of those things that constricted her breathing. She knew it was his sheer physical closeness that did that.
She swallowed convulsively. ‘I really do have to go,’ she told him breathlessly.
Brice looked at her steadily. ‘So what’s stopping you?’ he prompted huskily.
Her legs, for one thing. They refused to move. In fact, she felt so weak at the knees they were only just succeeding in supporting her. She felt like a mesmerised rabbit caught on the road in the glare of car headlights, incapable of movement, even in the face of such obvious danger.
And Brice McAllister, as she had half guessed on their very first meeting, been even more convinced of it at their second, was exactly that—dangerous!
She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘If you would just move out of my way…?’
He stepped slightly to one side. ‘Be my guest,’ he invited softly.
Sabina forced her legs to move, quickly, determinedly, crossing to the door, putting as much distance between herself and Brice McAllister as was possible in the confines of the studio.
‘I’ll call you.’
Sabina turned sharply as he spoke, her trembling hand already on the door-handle. ‘Excuse me?’
Brice raised dark brows, his mouth twisted in mocking amusement. ‘I said, I’ll call you. For your next sitting,’ he explained derisively as she still looked totally blank.
Get a grip, Sabina, she ordered herself sternly. What had really happened just now—Brice McAllister had stood what she considered was too close to her? So what? And yet she knew that wasn’t really all that had happened, that there had been a frisson of awareness between the two of them that she wished weren’t there…
‘Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of taking my call this time?’ Brice prompted confidently.
Colour darkened her cheeks at his certainty she had no choice but to do exactly that. ‘If I happen to be at home,’ she bit out harshly.
He shrugged. ‘If you aren’t, I’m sure that Richard and I can sort out a time between the two of us,’ he drawled softly.
Sabina’s eyes narrowed. ‘Contrary to what you may have assumed otherwise, Mr McAllister—I make my own appointments,’ she snapped coldly.
Once again he gave that humourless smile. ‘That wasn’t my impression at our last meeting.’
Because at the time she had been at the disadvantage of not wanting him to tell Richard she had been avoiding his telephone calls for the past week!
She looked at him consideringly for several long seconds. ‘You know, Mr McAllister,’ she finally said softly, ‘I really don’t give a damn what was or wasn’t your impression at our last meeting,’ she told him scornfully. ‘In fact, nothing about you is of the least interest to me,’ she added scathingly.
He raised dark brows. ‘No?’
‘No!’ she confirmed hardly. ‘Goodbye, Mr McAllister.’ She wrenched the door open.
‘Au revoir, surely, Sabina…?’ he taunted softly.
Sabina didn’t even turn and acknowledge the obvious challenge, striding briskly out of the room, closing the front door softly
behind her as she left.
It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in the back seat of the car, Clive driving back to Richard’s house, that she allowed free rein to her feelings.
She didn’t like the way Brice McAllister looked at her. Didn’t like the way he had of talking to her on a very personal level. Didn’t like him near her. In fact, she just didn’t like him!
And she had no idea how she was going to achieve it, but she had no intention of being alone with Brice in his studio ever again!
CHAPTER FOUR
BRICE cursed himself, for what had to be the hundredth time in a week, for the way he had behaved with Sabina last Tuesday.
He had already seen the fear and apprehension in her eyes at their first meeting, had realised she was inwardly like a startled fawn getting ready for flight, and yet some devil had driven him on to try and get a reaction from her, to taunt and mock her in an effort to get behind the cool façade she liked to present to the world at large.
But all he had succeeded in doing was totally alienating her.
Oh, it hadn’t resulted in her refusing to take his calls this time. She had taken all four of them—she had simply come up with a legitimate excuse for every suggestion he’d come up with for a second sitting!
And what had she left him with? She could spare him one hour this morning, but it would have to be at home. Probably with the quietly watchful Richard in attendance!
As he was only at the sketching stage, Brice hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t be the one to go to her home. But that didn’t mean he liked it…
Although he had to admit a few minutes later, when he was shown into the sitting-room where Sabina waited—alone—that she was much more relaxed in her own surroundings. In fact, she was the epitome of the gracious hostess, smiling at him politely as she offered him tea or coffee. Both of which he refused.
She looked the part too, in a cream silk blouse and pencil-slim black skirt, the latter finishing just above her knee, her hair gathered up in a neat chignon at the back of her head. Altogether, she looked nothing like the woman Brice wanted to capture on canvas!
‘Practising for domesticity?’ he drawled mockingly.
He had been determined to be totally professional today, to put Sabina at her ease. But somehow he couldn’t help himself; this new Sabina brought back that devil inside him even more strongly than the other one. She was playing a part, adopting a role—and Brice didn’t doubt for a moment that it was for his benefit. Only confirming for him that he really had struck a sensitive nerve with his behaviour the previous week!
She smiled across at him coolly. ‘You were right last week, Brice—being rude does seem to come naturally to you.’
Which was his cue to apologise. But he couldn’t do that, either. Something about this woman made him want to grip her by the shoulders and shake her, to see her laugh, or cry, to show some impulsive emotion. Which would probably result in him being thrown out of here on his ear!
He shrugged. ‘Merely being observant,’ he dismissed lightly. ‘I’m sorry, but your hair has to come down, at least,’ he added frowningly, having settled himself down in a chair with his notepad and pencil.
She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I’m going out to lunch immediately after this, and I won’t have time to redo my hair,’ she refused.
Brice bit back his irritation; she really was only giving him the hour! ‘You look as if you’re about to meet your bank manager,’ he rasped insultingly.
Sabina’s gaze didn’t waver from his for a moment, although there was, he thought, the briefest flare of anger in those deep blue depths.
‘My mother, actually,’ she drawled coolly.
Brice raised dark brows. ‘Her daughter is the most famous model in the world—and she likes you to look like this?’ He couldn’t hide his incredulity. And so much for his arrogance in assuming she had dressed in this way as a barrier against him!
Sabina bristled resentfully. ‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’
It would be easier—and quicker—to say what was right with it. Nothing! Oh, she looked elegant enough, but that hairstyle and those clothes took away all her personality. She certainly had none of the provocative beauty of the model Sabina at this moment.
‘My mother has lived in Scotland since my father died, so I only see her a couple of times a year,’ she told him defensively. ‘She’s rather—conventional, in her outlook,’ Sabina continued abruptly when he still didn’t reply.
Brice’s gaze narrowed. ‘In what way?’
Sabina shrugged. ‘She and my father were very career-minded, both teachers of history at university level. I don’t think they ever intended having children, but accidents happen.’ Sabina grimaced. ‘They were rather older than most parents when I was born, my mother forty-one, my father forty-six. Although I think my father coped with parenthood rather better than my mother did,’ she said frowningly. ‘But then, I suppose he didn’t have to put his own career on hold for five years, until I was old enough to go to school,’ she added fairly.
Considering this was the most Sabina had ever spoken to him, Brice could only think she had to be as nervous of this second sitting as he was.
‘You must have been rather a shock to them,’ Brice said ruefully.
In more ways than one. Suddenly being presented with a very young baby must have been shock enough, but how on earth had her aged parents coped with Sabina’s unmistakable beauty? She must have looked like an angel when she was a little girl.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged wistfully. ‘It was a strange childhood,’ she admitted abruptly.
Probably a very lonely one too, Brice realised frowningly. Something he found difficult to contemplate. He had grown up in a young, fun-loving family, and when he hadn’t been with his parents he had been in Scotland, with his grandfather, and his two cousins, Logan and Fergus. He had never particularly thought about it before, but his own childhood couldn’t have been more perfect.
‘Which one of your parents do you take after?’ he probed interestedly, going carefully so as not to break the spell; he had a feeling that Sabina rarely spoke of her parents and her childhood, and that to draw her attention to it now would only result in her clamming up again.
Sabina gave the ghost of a smile. ‘My father.’ That smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. ‘He died five years ago,’ she added flatly.
And her mother had lived in Scotland since that time.
‘I’m sorry.’ And he was. Even from the little she had said, it was obvious Sabina had been much closer to her father than her mother.
And perhaps that closeness to her father, and his death five years ago, explained the reason for her engagement now to a man so much her senior?
Sabina shrugged. ‘He had been ill with cancer for some time; it was a welcome release for him.’ She spoke unemotionally. ‘But I’ve always regretted that he wasn’t there to see me get my own degree in history. Oh, yes, Brice—’ she smiled at his obviously surprised expression ‘—I went to university. I haven’t always been a full-time model,’ she added derisively, for his derogatory remarks about her chosen career the previous week.
And her derision was well deserved, Brice acknowledged inwardly. He had been scathing and rude about her career, without really knowing anything about this woman; no wonder she looked on him as an inconvenient intrusion!
Sabina’s humour faded, her expression becoming noncommittal once again. ‘My mother—obviously—is a great believer in further education for women, believes women should have as many choices in life as they can possibly achieve.’ Her mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I don’t think she’s too impressed with the fact that, for the moment, I’ve chosen modelling.’
‘But it is obviously by choice.’ Brice shrugged, frowning suddenly. ‘And if your mother is so conventional in her outlook, what does she make of your living here with Richard so openly?’
He hadn’t even finished saying the words before kn
owing he had just made a terrible mistake. And the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t interested in how Sabina’s mother felt about her living arrangements; he wanted to know the answer to this particular question himself.
Because he found the idea of Sabina sharing Richard Latham’s house, Richard Latham’s bed, completely unacceptable.
Sabina had stood up abruptly as soon as he’d asked the question, blue eyes blazing angrily across the room at him now. ‘You’re being extremely personal, Mr McAllister!’ she snapped, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks.
And her anger, Brice realised, wasn’t all directed towards him; she had also realised, having been drawn into an unguarded conversation about her parents, that she had actually left herself open to Brice’s overfamiliarity. And she was obviously furious with herself because of it.
Brice remained seated. ‘Talking of Richard…where is your fiancé today?’ he enquired mildly; he really had expected the other man to be here today. If only to keep an eye on one of his ‘priceless possessions’!
‘He’s in New York until tomorrow,’ Sabina bit out economically.
‘In that case—will you have dinner with me this evening?’ Brice heard himself asking.
And then kicked himself. What on earth did he think he was doing? Sabina was an engaged woman. More important, she had given no indication whatsoever that she was in the least interested in spending time in his company. In fact, the opposite seemed true!
Sabina looked as stunned by the invitation as Brice felt at having made it.
The angry colour had faded from her cheeks, leaving them pale as alabaster, her eyes dark and unfathomable as she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Almost as if she didn’t believe what she had just heard.
As if to taunt Brice for his audacity, the diamond ring Sabina wore on her left hand winked and shone in the sunlight shining in through the large bay windows. Richard Latham’s ring…
Brice held his hands up in apology. ‘It was just a thought. A bad one,’ he accepted dryly as she continued to stare at him. ‘But it was only a dinner invitation, Sabina,’ he continued angrily as she stood unmoving across the room. ‘Not an improper suggestion!’
