‘Conjecture makes for fascinating conversation, don’t you think?’
‘If the objective is to denigrate.’ She deliberately allowed her gaze to rove from guest to guest until she reached full circle. ‘If anyone has further questions, I suggest you raise them now.’ There was a deathly silence. ‘No?’ She managed a credible smile. ‘Then perhaps we can declare the subject closed.’
Alex began to clap to a slow beat before offering, with thinly veiled mockery. ‘Well fielded, Romy.’
In what capacity had he accompanied Chanel? As a friend, lover? Arm candy…or merely a social handbag?
‘Catching balls is one of my acquired skills.’ There, make of that what you will!
The number of courses seemed interminable, and it took an effort to consume a portion from each one as she was drawn into conversation. Questions about schools, the art of teaching, and she shared a few anecdotes that drew several smiles and some laughter.
‘Your wife is quite the raconteur,’ one of the male guests offered by way of a compliment, which drew agreement, and it was something of a relief when the meal came to a conclusion and the guests were invited to adjourn to the lounge for coffee.
It was almost midnight when Xavier indicated the need to leave, and Romy thanked their hosts, acknowledged the remaining guests, and accompanied Xavier to their car.
She chose silence during the drive home, aware that if she resorted to speech she’d probably utter something regrettable.
‘No comment, pequeña?’ Xavier posed as he drew the Mercedes to a halt in the garage.
‘On the trial by fire?’ She sent him a dark glance that had no effect whatsoever. ‘You could have supported me.’
‘You were coping admirably on your own.’
Thanks for nothing. ‘The woman is a bitch!’
‘Chanel?’
‘Who else? She obviously felt she had a claim.’ She wouldn’t ask, told herself she didn’t care…and knew she lied.
‘Only in her mind.’
‘Why do I find that difficult to believe.’ It was a statement, not a query, and his mouth curved a little as he captured her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it so she met his dark gaze.
‘I choose not to go where countless men have been before.’
Oh, my.
‘Does that answer your question?’
One of them.
Romy released her seatbelt, undid the door clasp and slid to her feet, aware Xavier copied her actions.
The foyer was lit, awaiting their arrival, and she moved towards the staircase as he reset the alarm.
The large bed looked inviting, and she shed the stilettos, followed them with her clothes and made for the en suite where she removed her make-up and reached for the pins in her hair.
Only to find Xavier there, his fingers dispensing with her own as he completed the task.
He’d discarded his clothes, with the exception of black briefs, and she met his darkening gaze.
‘If this is foreplay, you’re wasting your time,’ she managed in a stiff voice as he shaped her shoulders.
‘Why, when it gives us both pleasure?’
He lowered his head and touched his lips to the vulnerable curve at the edge of her neck.
At the same time he cupped each breast and teased the sensitive peaks and felt them tighten. Sensed her faint indrawn breath…and trailed his mouth to the sensitive place behind one ear.
With infinite care he slid one hand down to her waist, lingered there, then slipped slowly to rest at the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.
His hand lowered a little as he slid one finger between the sensitive folds and felt the instinctive tightening of highly sensitized muscles.
‘Want me to stop?’ He eased two fingers deep inside, heard her faint gasp, and began a rhythmic stimulation designed to drive her wild.
‘No…damn you.’ The breath hissed through her teeth as he deftly turned her to face him.
He took her mouth with his own in an erotic kiss as he brought her to climax. Then he captured her waist, positioned her carefully to accept his turgid length…and surged in to the hilt.
She shook her head, and her hair swung from side to side as he began to move, and it was he who drew in a deep breath as she sank her teeth into him.
‘You want to play?’
It was crazy to traverse that path. For it led to a long, leisurely and highly erotic tasting designed to drive her to the edge of emotional sanity.
Yet some devilish imp compelled her…and this time it was she who bucked against him as he sought the sensitive swell of her breast, nibbled a little, then nipped with the edge of his teeth before shifting to take the hardened peak into his mouth and shamelessly sucking until she whimpered for him to stop.
Without a word he carried her into the bedroom and tumbled them both down onto the bed.
It became more than she needed…much more, and it was she who begged for his possession as he brought her body so incredibly alive; she became aware of every sensitive nerve and pulse, each distinct beat of her heart. Dear heaven, every skin cell. His, solely his.
Afterwards he curved her close against him, drew up the bedcovers, and extinguished the lights, then he trailed a hand slowly down her back until her breathing eased and she fell asleep.
He should check the overseas markets, make a few calls, shift some funds and transfer stock. Except it could wait.
The comfort and well-being of the woman in his arms held more importance.
So petite, he mused as he touched his lips to her forehead. Slender, with delicate curves. Generous and giving, with an inner strength he had long admired.
She touched him in places no other woman ever had. Creeping beneath his skin, invading his senses and threatening his very existence. He, who had never relied on anyone since the very early days of his life. Having learnt the hard way the only one he could trust was himself. A defence mechanism that prevented him from allowing anyone to come too close.
It had earned him the ruthless tag in the business arena…and while his bedroom techniques were lauded by the women he’d bedded, those who dared accused him of missing a sensitivity chip.
Affection, fondness…he could feel those emotions.
He’d been Romy’s first lover. A rare gift, especially from a young woman in her twenties. He’d experienced a need to protect and care for her…and he had, until she’d walked.
Because he hadn’t been able to give her what she’d wanted.
Not marriage…or even commitment.
Just his love.
Romy’s last class for the day was Grade twelve English. A class where a few students chose to give her a hard time. It wasn’t personal…any teacher who taught this particular group incurred lack of interest, heckling and general misbehaviour.
Ten minutes in, and she needed to marshal all her resources to provide a degree of order. After another ten minutes, she was strongly tempted to cut to the chase and turn the five miscreants in to the principal.
Instead, she challenged them to take one of Shakespeare’s sonnets and change the words to gangsta rap idiom. It had worked with a previous class. Possibly it might hit the mark with this one.
‘Gettin’ with it, teach?’
‘It’s language, bud,’ she responded without missing a beat. ‘Show me what you can do.’
‘Don’t know if I want to.’
‘No prob. Just do the curriculum version.’
He eyeballed her, weighed up his options, then he took up paper and pen, opened the textbook, chose the specified page, rolled his eyes…and appeared to check the first line.
Not so Ace, the known leader of the five, a gangly youth with attitude who’d learnt to cover his dyslexia well. There was help available, and she’d approached him about it, offered to consult with his parents, only to have him resort to denial and belligerence. The fact she knew of his dyslexia worked as a mark against her, and his defence mechanism ensured he made her life during class as difficult as
possible.
Today was no exception, and the fact that one of his gang of five had defected, so to speak, at her suggestion, only made it worse, and he began tapping his desk in a rhythmic beat, increasing the volume until it reached a crescendo.
‘You might want to stop that.’ Romy’s voice held a tone that promised action, and he merely smirked.
‘Whatcha goin’ to do, teach? Suspend me?’
‘Why would I do what you want?’
‘Cos then I get to hang…way out of this hellhole.’
She deliberately arched an eyebrow. ‘On a one-way ticket to police detention…next step jail?’
‘Roof over my head, three square, and a prison tatt.’
Not to mention the hardened criminals who’d regard him as fresh meat.
‘You want a lecture?’ One she was compelled to give. Except reverse psychology occasionally hit the mark when little else did. ‘You make your own choices, Ace,’ she said quietly in the hope it would sink in.
At least he didn’t lurch to his feet and stomp out.
Instead he saved the anger for when the buzzer announced the end of the school day, and as the students filed out, he ensured he was last, shifting close to where she stood.
For a moment he just subjected her to a hard look, then he deliberately shouldered her to the floor…and added insult to injury by laughing as he went through the door.
Hell.
Romy picked herself up, smoothed a hand over her clothes, winced a little as she slid paperwork into her satchel, and ran a quick eye over the empty desks before heading for a scheduled teachers’ meeting.
One which ran over time and ensured she encountered peak-hour traffic during the drive home.
Since when had she begun thinking of Xavier’s Brighton mansion as home? she reflected as her Mini Cooper languished among many vehicles forming a long line at a traffic intersection. An unconscious acknowledgement she’d accepted his terms…when she wasn’t sure she had?
If only…except she didn’t do if only any more. Life was now, the day, and whatever transpired, for survival of self meant dealing with the bad and focusing on the good stuff.
Psychology 101, she perceived as the line of traffic in front of her began to move.
It was almost six when she entered the foyer, and she made for the kitchen and checked in with Maria, then she ran lightly upstairs to the master suite.
A leisurely hot shower would do wonders, and she discarded her clothes, set the water dial to hot, and stepped beneath its flow.
Romy lathered shampoo into her hair, and soon the rose-scented soap she favoured filled the room.
It felt good, and she stretched to iron out the kinks, inordinately glad the day was almost over. Soon she’d enjoy a pleasant meal, after which she’d retreat to mark homework, then maybe slot a DVD into the player and relax.
Pleasant thoughts, she perceived as she used a towel to remove the moisture from her body, then she secured it sarong-fashion, blow-dried her hair, and emerged into the bedroom to find Xavier in the process of discarding his clothes.
He regarded her with a warmth that set her pulse moving up a notch.
‘Pity,’ he drawled. ‘I was about to join you.’
‘Sex in the shower…before dinner?’
His husky laugh almost undid her. ‘You disapprove?’
That was the thing, she thought silently. She exulted in his touch, adored what they shared…even though it was becoming increasingly difficult to distance the desires of her body from the dictates of her head.
There was a danger in thinking too much. Analyzing each word, his every action, for it served little purpose.
Men, she perceived, were driven by sexual pleasure…while women required emotional involvement.
Romy offered him a winsome smile. ‘I’d prefer to eat, sip a glass of wine…’ She trailed to a halt and regarded him pensively. ‘Perhaps when I’m done marking homework, I’ll consider the sex thing.’
Xavier closed the distance between them and cradled her face between his hands. ‘Consider, hmm?’ His mouth closed over hers, briefly, teasing in a manner that made her want more.
Then he released her and walked naked into the en suite. Seconds later she heard the shower, and his powerful image came too readily to mind as she shed the towel and dressed in jeans and a fashionable top.
She slid her feet into comfortable flats, added a touch of gloss to her lips, then she ran lightly downstairs to help Maria with the table.
Xavier entered the dining room as Romy placed a serving dish containing an aromatic paella on the table, and he tended to the wine.
It was a pleasant meal, the paella a delight to the palate, and the wine helped soothe the cares of the day.
Afterwards they took coffee, and Xavier retreated to his home office while Romy returned upstairs to mark homework assignments.
It took a while, longer than she’d anticipated, and when she came to a page with a profanity written in bold letters, she simply scrunched it into a ball and binned it.
Ace. It had to be. It fit—an expressive action deliberately designed to goad her.
Except it hadn’t worked. He wanted a reaction, and ignoring the missive would be more effective than any chastising punishment she could offer.
It was late when she heard Xavier enter the room, and she glanced up as he crossed to her side.
‘How long before you’re through?’
Romy checked her list. ‘Two to go, then I’m done.’
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she couldn’t prevent a faint gasp of pain.
‘You’ve hurt yourself?’
She attempted a light shrug as he tilted her face towards him. ‘I knocked it against something.’
‘Knocked it against what?’ he demanded quietly, and his eyes narrowed a little. ‘Where? At school? During class?’
‘Will you stop with the twenty questions?’ she protested. ‘I fell. It’s just a bruise.’
He released her, and she returned her attention to the assignment, read and marked it, and added it to the others.
Last one, thank heavens, as she looked at the paper…only for the breath to hitch in her throat at the sight of yet another note.
The words were neatly printed, as the previous notes had been, the message similar.
‘Is this the first?’
He had the silent tread of a cat…a very large jungle cat, she perceived as he towered over her.
‘Romy?’
She could tell he wasn’t going to let it go, and she turned to face him. ‘I’ve had a few. Like this,’ she indicated the note. ‘Slipped in among homework.’
‘You’ve kept them?’
She inclined her head. ‘They’re in my satchel.’
‘Show me.’
She retrieved them and handed them to him, watching as he read each one.
‘You don’t know who wrote them?’
She met his level gaze. ‘It could be anyone.’
‘Do you have any suspicion as to who it might be?’
Ace? It wasn’t his writing. But that didn’t exclude him. ‘No.’
‘Have you reported it?’
‘Not yet.’
His expression hardened. ‘Do it, Romy. Or I will.’
‘My territory, my problem.’
‘So butt out?’
‘Yes.’
‘On the condition you tell me if any more notes appear.’
‘Yessir.’
He curved a hand to her cheek and pressed his thumb against the centre of her lower lip. ‘When you’re done, I’ll check your shoulder.’
He was too much…too close. And the temptation to nip his thumb with the edge of her teeth was irresistible.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he meant to seek retribution. Except he merely crossed the room and began shedding his clothes…an action which tore her concentration level to shreds.
She managed to mark the final paper, then collected her papers and
stowed them in her satchel. Then she emerged from the bathroom minutes later, attired in a sleep singlet and light cotton sleep trousers.
It was impossible to avoid Xavier’s attention as he probed the slight swelling surrounding her shoulder. The bruise would be a doozy, and she deliberately avoided meeting his gaze.
‘Whatever you’re not telling me,’ he said with silky indolence. ‘I suggest you do…soon.’
‘Or else you’ll play the heavy?’
‘With you? No.’
For a moment she couldn’t think of a single word.
The air between them became electric, and she stood locked in its thrall, unable to move. He managed to attack the fragile tenure of her control, his disruptive sensuality a potent force that captured her emotions and made her incapable of rational thought.
There was only him and a capricious consuming need.
‘Come to bed,’ he said gently. ‘It’s late, and we both need to sleep.’
Sleep? He could arouse her with a look that promised much…then calmly suggest they sleep?
He had to be joking!
Except he merely drew her close when they slid beneath the bedcovers, doused the light, pressed his lips to her forehead…and within minutes his breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed, and he slept.
How did he do that?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FORMAL, on this occasion, meant dressing up, Romy conceded, aware she’d almost reached the end of her evening wear selection as she selected a red gown in silk chiffon with a ruched bodice held by spaghetti straps and a skirt that fell from the waist in layers to her feet. Her only jewellery was a small diamond pendant on a delicate gold chain with matching ear-studs gifted by her parents for her twenty-first birthday.
The auction fundraiser drew invitation-only attendance by the city’s social elite, given the number of guests milling outside the hotel’s function room.
The nominated charity for tonight’s event was in aid of children stricken with leukaemia, while the auction itself featured a selection of donated antique furniture and valuable objets d’art.
Items, catalogued and priced according to valuation, were displayed in colour within a glossy folder gifted to each guest on entry.
Waiters circled the lounge offering trays filled with flutes of champagne and orange juice, while waitresses bore platters containing a variety of canapés to sample.
Bride, Bought and Paid For Page 11
