by Sara Wood
She gulped again. Help again! Now what? He couldn’t possibly see her as his bride, so he must be interested in her as a ‘good-time girl’. There were enough hints in his sultry eyes for even the most unsophisticated woman to interpret correctly. No doubt he thought that she was such a fun-loving modern woman she’d be willing to go to bed with him!
It was a nightmare situation that she’d created. She could hardly go back to being dull again.
This called for drastic measures. She’d raise her game. Become so eager for a ring on her finger that he’d run a mile.
And so she leaned towards him, her eyelids working overtime.
‘They tell me you’re a multimillionaire,’ she breathed, hoping her expression looked greedy enough.
And she was sure he winced before the megawatt charm was turned back on. After all, she reasoned, no man wanted to have his wallet admired more than himself.
‘Can’t deny that,’ he said with a sickly smile.
‘Good. I adore rich men. My sort of guys.’ She drew in a steadying breath and daringly forced herself to say, ‘Couldn’t lend me fifty quid, could you?’
This time, to her delight, he gulped visibly. But he reached inside his jacket again and peeled off several escudo notes. She took her time counting them and did a rough calculation, deliberately using her fingers and moving her lips to appear stupid. Approximately one hundred pounds!
‘That do?’ he enquired.
Conscious that the whole table was watching them in stunned silence, Maddy eagerly took the notes, held them up to the light in what she hoped was an expert way, then stuffed them into her cleavage, wondering how far he’d go in his attempts to lure her into his bed.
‘Nicely, thanks—for the moment. I adore a generous man,’ she husked, giving him the full Mata Hari come-on. And more loudly she added, ‘What can I do for you in return?’
A glass crashed to the floor at the other end of the table. Maddy saw Mrs Fitzgerald struggling with her blood pressure while a waiter replaced the champagne flute she’d smashed and beckoned for reinforcements to clear the broken glass on the tiled floor.
‘I have a very long list of suggestions,’ Dexter said quietly, and she found herself trembling at what those might be, the warmth in her loins pooling as her imagination ran riot.
‘And for you, madam?’ murmured the maître d’ close by Maddy, his pen poised, notebook in hand.
A bucket of water and lots of ice, she almost replied in panic. No. Make that two: one for Dex, one for herself.
She looked up, glad of the diversion from Dex’s hot, mesmeric eyes. The maître d’ was having difficulty controlling his mouth. He dearly wanted to laugh. She pulled herself together hastily.
‘I’ll have orange sweet-potato soup with chilli and coriander, then sole with samphire and girolles—and could you do a side-dish of chips with that and a bottle of brown sauce, please?’ she asked loudly, disconcerted by Dexter’s smothered chuckle.
‘Certainly, madam,’ the man said, still desperately trying to keep a straight face.
‘You’re a doll,’ she told him, affectionately patting his arm. And whispered, ‘Go on. Laugh. You know you want to.’
He grinned and she laughed with him, glad of a crack in the funereal atmosphere. Then, greatly daring, she jumped to her feet and declared to the mute and miserable guests, ‘A toast!’ Politely but warily they raised their champagne glasses. Sofia looked daggers at her. She beamed. ‘To marriage!’ she cried. And when the glasses were hovering uncertainly in mid-air she added recklessly, ‘May the rich always marry the poor and even things out.’
No one moved. But Dexter was laughing and drained his flute with enthusiasm.
‘You’re fantastic,’ he cried in genuine amusement, much to her disappointment. ‘Utterly unique. Where have you been all my life?’
Damn, she thought. ‘Clapham,’ she answered.
And tried to engage the man on her left in conversation. However, the dullness of his responses flattened her mood, and it wasn’t until her soup had come and she was wickedly slurping it with noisy appreciation that her spirits lifted again, perhaps aided by the arrival of an electronic-keyboard player who’d begun to fill the dining room with a medley of old favourites.
No one clapped when he finished, so she did—vigorously. And from then on a few other diners—none in the Fitzgerald party, though—gave the hard-working musician a desultory clap too.
Frantic to be declared unsuitable as a bride and to be thrown out, she racked her brains for something to seal her fate.
The rest of the guests at her table sat in morose silence and would have crushed the most determined optimist, but she cheered herself up with her pièce de résistance, picking up the soup bowl and drinking the final dregs from it.
‘Waste not, want not,’ she declared chirpily.
And judging by the cold stare from Sofia she’d succeeded in killing any lingering thoughts of marriage.
Relieved beyond measure, she beamed at everyone, seeing herself packing her bags in a few days, once she’d established the terrible events following her father’s disappearance.
Very satisfactory, she thought smugly. The lecherous Dexter could find himself both a mistress and a bride from other sources.
It was then that she realised how odd it was that a man as wildly eligible as Dexter was still single. Of course, it hadn’t been surprising when she’d believed that he was an older version of the emotionally restrained boy she’d once known.
But now she’d met the new and charismatic Dex his single status didn’t make sense. By all rights he ought to have been snaffled up ages ago, by a willowy beauty with an aristocratic background and a taste for lusty men.
Being outspoken had its advantages. She was able to ask.
‘Dex, do you have hidden flaws I don’t know about?’
He quirked an amused eyebrow at her.
‘Only the kind you’d enjoy.’
Her throat dried at his wicked expression but she kept her bright smile going.
‘I meant,’ she said reprovingly, giving him a playful push and feeling way, way out of her depth, ‘the kind of flaws that would explain why you’re not already married.’
She thought his mouth thinned, but then he put his arm around her chair and leant close to whisper intimately in her ear.
‘Perhaps I’ve been waiting for the right woman. Someone with hair the colour of rhubarb wine, the directness of a Roman road and a way with social niceties that would make a Neanderthal blink.’
Was he mocking her? He’d said all that with intense passion, as if he adored her unconventional behaviour. And yet his choice of words wasn’t exactly flattering. Whatever he’d intended, she’d call his bluff.
‘You say the nicest things,’ she preened, patting his smooth, warm cheek and marvelling at the flurries of pleasure that such a simple action had aroused in her. He smelt gorgeous. Felt even better.
‘The things I do are even nicer,’ he breathed huskily.
From any other man that comment would have been corny and worthy of a laugh. Not the way Dex had said it and not the way he’d looked at her. Hot. Steaming. Bone-meltingly sensual.
Hardly able to think straight, Maddy did a bit of eyelash fluttering and hastily tore off a chunk of roll and chewed it, wondering how she could stop Dexter blowing on her ear because it was causing mayhem throughout her body.
Fortunately, clearly worried about the danger Maddy posed to her precious grandson, Sofia called out imperiously from the end of the table.
‘Tell me, Maddy. Do you work?’
Overjoyed at the diversion, she made a face. ‘I did. I’m unemployed now. I think women are meant to be supported by men, don’t you?’
Pinch-mouthed, Sofia shot Dexter warning glances, but he stroked Maddy’s arm as if mesmerised and wouldn’t mind a parasitic wife at all.
And now she felt an unwelcome tingle spreading deliciously along her veins. Heavens. The loathsome man was dynamite!<
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‘Don’t you have any ambition?’ persisted Sofia sternly.
Maddy adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Other than to be rich?’
‘Other,’ agreed Sofia in choking tones, ‘than to be rich.’
Maddy tried to concentrate. It wasn’t easy and took all her will-power, because she really wanted to grab Dexter and let him kiss her stupid.
But she was stupid enough, she mused with a rueful smile. Otherwise she would never have been attracted to such a smoothie as Dexter Fitzgerald.
‘I thought about being a lap dancer,’ she replied honestly, having discussed the occupation with her friends—though in a tone of astonishment that anyone could find the nerve to do such a thing.
‘A…lap dancer!’ cried Sofia in undisguised horror.
Maddy took a deep breath, knowing she had to be as unappealing as possible.
‘Fabulous wages, lovely sparkly clothes, loads of admirers—what more could a girl want?’ she enthused evasively, thinking, A heck of a lot more!
‘She’d be good,’ Dexter avowed with earnest enthusiasm. ‘You should see her move! Maddy,’ he urged, his black eyes wickedly taunting as they dared her, ‘why don’t you cheer everyone up and show them the true extent of your talents?’
For a moment she was nonplussed, and then realised this would be a perfect opportunity. After her display Sofia Fitzgerald would disinherit Dexter if he continued to show interest in her!
She beamed in relief, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that. It would, in addition, get her away from Dexter’s overpowering presence for a while.
‘I will,’ she purred seductively. ‘Hold on to your hats, folks.’
And, grabbing the nearest waiter, she tottered onto the small area in front of the musician, gleefully aware that the Fitzgerald guests—including Sofia—had been struck dumb by her choice of partner.
To her delight she discovered that the waiter was a great dancer. She began to relive the happiness she’d felt in her early teens, partnering her grandfather at the business functions they’d attended when he was struggling to attract investors.
The hotel guests began to smile and clap and one or two couples came onto the restricted square of floor to join them. Because of her evident joy, the atmosphere in the dining room had changed from a whispering stuffiness to one of laughing chatter. She’d broken the ice. And she realised she was having a fantastic time.
This was true freedom, something she’d never known. Not being subjected to her grandfather’s increasingly petty commands. Not listening to his bitter complaints about the injustices he’d suffered. Not being browbeaten into wearing unattractive clothes, and not, absolutely not, biting her tongue if she disagreed with his pronouncements.
As she dipped and swayed and laughed for sheer delight, her body strangely supple and responsive to the music, she knew she’d never be the same again. She felt strong. A woman reborn.
The dance ended, the waiter reluctantly excused himself and the maître d’ took his place as a rock tune began. Happy beyond belief at her liberation, she let out a whoop and enthusiastically gave herself to the fast, exhilarating rhythm till the notes died away and she stood breathless and pink from exertion, glowing from the storm of applause.
Until she was swept into stronger arms and pressed, chest to knee, to a harder, hotter body.
Dexter, her senses told her before she even glanced at his dark, sensual face.
She gasped, overwhelmed by sensations that crowded her brain and body with illicit thoughts. Dreamy music flooded her ears. Dexter’s now familiar scent of clean masculinity filled her nostrils.
The pure angle of his tanned, satin-touch jaw and smiling mouth transfixed her eyes, and the feel of him, the sheer authority of his powerful body, wrecked her former sense of being in control.
He breathed into her ear again. His clasp was possessive and commanding. The languid, smoochy melody lured her muscles into liquid compliance as the two of them moved as one person in an effortless response to the slow, haunting beat.
She seemed to be melting in his arms. And he was hard and hungry against her, leaving her in no doubt as to the extent of his lust.
Bemused, she tried to speak, but found herself gazing into his eyes and drowning instead, her entire body liquefying and seeming to flow into his. Their heat mingled and flames began to lick through every vein she possessed.
‘Maddy! You’re everything I ever dreamed of! What a bride you’ll make!’
‘A—a bride?’ she stammered, hastily revising her opinion that he only had lust on his mind.
‘I can see it now,’ he rhapsodised. ‘Lace. The rustle of taffeta. And you could wear something nice, too—’
‘You’re kidding me!’ she said crossly, highly suspicious of his sense of humour and terrified that he was responding so positively to her shocking behaviour.
‘I’m thinking of our wedding night now…oh, Maddy,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t stand being so close to you and going no further! Shall we slip away? I can show you my flaws, one by one,’ he murmured, nibbling her sensitised ear.
Yes, oh, yes! was her knee-jerk response. Fortunately her mouth was slower.
‘We couldn’t! It would be rude,’ she stumbled out thickly.
‘To look at my flaws?’
‘To leave!’
He laughed. ‘That sounds an unusually prim remark. I’m surprised you give a damn. You seem singularly unconventional to me.’
Maddy could have kicked herself. He was right. A heartless tramp wouldn’t have good manners.
‘I thought it would bother you if we vanished,’ she amended hastily. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to upset your grandmother.’
He ignored her excuse. ‘Look at this! Your snake transfer has smudged,’ he whispered, the tip of his forefinger tracing its outline.
She couldn’t breathe. With a huge effort of will she drew back, on the pretence of checking.
‘I must get that permanently tattooed,’ she husked out.
‘It occurred to me that you’re such a modern woman I would have thought you’d have your navel pierced,’ he mused, his fingers surreptitiously investigating her abdomen with insolent thoroughness. His head lifted and his eyes met hers with lazy amusement. ‘Unless you’ve gone in for body adornment somewhere else?’
It was a moment before she could speak.
‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder,’ she countered archly.
‘Perhaps,’ he purred, his breath making the hairs on her neck stand to attention, ‘you could take me on a mystery tour of the places of interest.’ And Maddy knew he wasn’t talking about tourist sites. ‘You know, I’m looking forward to being with you over the next few weeks—’
‘I doubt I’ll stay that long,’ she replied, managing to sound regretful. ‘I don’t think your grandmother is convinced of my suitability as a future wife for you.’
‘What’s she got to do with it? It’s not my grandmama you have to convince,’ he whispered. ‘You must realise what you’re doing to me, Maddy.’
Maddy stared at him wide-eyed, horrified by the shocking, wilful urges that tempted her to encourange Dexter. The strong hand on her hip, the fingers sifting gently through her hair and the husky voice telling her in breath-shortening detail what he intended to do with her once they were alone, told her that Dexter had been well and truly hooked.
Everything had gone wrong! She’d wanted to frighten him away! And her numb and stupid brain was too busy with the exciting images conjured up by his hoarse, sexy suggestions to focus on a way out of her dilemma.
‘…Touching you, every inch, kissing the line of your hipbone, inhaling the warmth of your—’
‘Please!’ she whispered faintly.
‘I have every intention of doing so, as soon as we can escape,’ he assured her. ‘I assume you prefer action to advance information?’ he muttered thickly.
Her huge eyes met his and she was both aroused and unnerved by the returning blaze of p
assion. She wanted him to kiss her, more than anything in the world. Her body swayed and he held her tightly, his mouth inches from her upturned face.
Hopeless! It was all going haywire, she thought helplessly. Horribly, messily wrong.
CHAPTER SIX
HER eyes closed. And in a flash she had her answer. Almost weeping with relief, she managed a sigh, patted his cheek with a shaking hand and said with genuine regret, ‘Down, tiger. It’s out of the question.’
His response was a low, tigerish growl of desire. Breathing hard, she managed to make a gap open up between them by pushing against his chest. Her fingers toyed flirtatiously with the top of his open shirt until she accidentally felt the fierce beat of his pulse at his throat.
Feeling desperately light-headed at the erratic leaping beneath her fingers, she tried to remember what she’d intended to say. Get a grip, Maddy, she told herself sharply. Don’t weaken. And she removed her fingers from the temptation of his warm, satiny skin.
‘Why is it out of the question?’ he breathed.
In the subdued light of the now crowded floor, he ensured his broad, obscuring back was to Sofia’s table before capturing her fingers in his. He brought them to his mouth and kissed them. Then he gently sucked her forefinger, his gaze hotly intent on hers.
Corny again. Horribly effective, though. She could barely think, let alone speak coherently.
‘Grandfather,’ she husked shakily. And decided to be honest. ‘You’re driving me crazy, Dexter,’ she admitted, allowing her lips to assume a pout. ‘But he’d never forgive me if I didn’t get a ring on my finger before I let you beyond first base.’
She was released. His expression was unreadable.
‘Marriage first, sex after?’ he asked in strangled tones.
She’d got him. He didn’t want marriage at all and her insistence on it was putting him off.
‘That’s about it. A girl has to look after her interests,’ she ventured, trembling like a leaf.
His jaw suddenly looked as solid as granite and she knew that he was annoyed. A man thwarted in sex was potentially dangerous.
