‘So sorry, Nick,’ she said sweetly, and closed the doors of the walk-in wardrobe. She locked the doors.
Nick watched with narrowed eyes. ‘Why are you locking the doors?’
‘Just a habit.’ She smiled at him, watching him through her gilt-tipped lashes.
His lashes flickered on razor-sharp cheekbones. ‘Not hiding your lover in there, I hope?’ he murmured, and suddenly the mockery was gone from his face, the ruthless cut-throat shark sending waves of excited fear through her.
‘We don’t all live like you, Nick,’ Serena said with cold contempt. ‘We don’t all indulge our carnal desires with impunity!’
He laughed softly, blue eyes insolent as they roved to her breasts. ‘Carnal desires? Now there’s an interesting phrase…’
That look took her breath away, made her veins pulse with sudden fierce heat, and she hated him for it, hated his stark sexual appetite and the ruthlessness with which he indulged it.
‘I thought we were going out!’ she snapped, furious to find she was almost trembling as his blue eyes moved lazily, cynically over her body, taking in the narrow waist and the sensual curve of her hips, so seductive in the peacock-blue silk shift dress.
He straightened, bored with toying with her. ‘Sure. Come on. Let’s hit Manhattan and buy a few stores.’
They went down in the luxurious lift. Nick was coolly indifferent to her, jingling change in his pockets, eyes narrowed in thought. Serena stood beside him, feeling superfluous, as she always did, and hating him.
New York was in the grip of this heat wave, and the sun blazed down on the city that was a living twentieth-century masterpiece of modern art, its jagged spires piercing a hot blue sky, its pavements moneyed and fast-paced. It was the Oxford of ambition.
‘Hi, Mr Colterne!’ The doorman saluted cheerily. ‘Lady Serena!’
‘Hi!’ Nick strode by him like a whirlwind. The chauffeur opened the limousine door. Nick got into the luxurious rear. All very fast, very smooth. Nick didn’t have to alter his stride once.
Serena slid in beside him. The door shut. Her green eyes surveyed his tough profile in the back of the limousine as he looked at his watch, the crisp white cuffs shooting back, the Rolex glittering on his hair-roughened wrist.
‘Eleven,’ he said flatly. ‘Take us to Faulke’s.’
The chauffeur pulled away with a smooth surge of power. Serena glanced out of the window. She adored New York. The pace, the cosmopolitan atmosphere, the stark steel skyscrapers and the elegance of the older establishments.
Nick prowled around Faulke’s, ordering things left, right and centre. Saleswomen followed him with admiration, fluttering their eyelashes while he cynically inspected their red mouths and slim bodies. Serena watched him operate, hatred in her eyes.
They had lunch at the Plaza. Heads turned as they walked in. Waiters swarmed all over them, and Nick dismissed them with a curt wave of his hand, striding across the restaurant with Serena behind him.
‘We haven’t done this in a long time,’ Nick observed as they sat at the elegant table drinking Château Lafite and waiting for their main course. ‘When did I last bump into you, anyway?’
‘Christmas,’ she said flatly. ‘At Flaxton Manor.’
‘That’s right. And it’s June now.’
‘How the months drift by,’ she said, disliking him intensely.
‘Do they drift by, Serena?’ he asked with a cool lift of dark brows. ‘Or are they beginning to speed up for you lately?’
She tensed, watching him with sudden wariness. ‘Speed up? Why should they speed up?’
A slow, sardonic smile touched his hard mouth. ‘Well, now, they might one day. You never know. After all—you can’t spend the rest of your life flying aimlessly around the world with nothing to do and no lover to make—’
‘I do wish you’d try to be polite!’ she said tightly, green eyes flashing as she cut into his insulting sentence midstream. ‘It’s bad enough having you here without warning, without having to put up with your bad manners too!’
His face tightened into a hard mask. ‘Don’t speak to me like that, Serena,’ he said, his blue eyes suddenly as ruthless as his steel-edged tone.
‘Or what?’ she challenged suddenly, although her blood pulsed in fierce, unexpected response to the look in his eyes, and her voice was unsteady, threaded with sudden desire to provoke.
‘Or I’ll take you home and take you to bed,’ he said under his breath, menace lacing his voice, his mouth very hard. ‘How’s that for a threat?’
She was breathless, her lips parted and her breathing erratic.
‘Good girl,’ he murmured, hard mouth curving with a cynical smile. ‘Now—tell me what you’ve been up to since Christmas at Flaxton Manor. I feel I ought to have some idea of my wife’s activities.’
‘As if you care!’ she said thickly, loathing him intensely. ‘You only married me for my title and my inheritance. I could die tomorrow and you wouldn’t care.’
‘Hardly,’ he drawled. ‘We don’t have any children yet, so nobody would inherit a damned thing.’
‘You know what I mean!’ she said angrily.
He laughed under his breath, watching her with steely eyes. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to avoid answering any of my questions?’
That made her catch her breath and look at him closely, deeply aware of that ruthless mind and the speed at which it moved. Her heart was thumping unsteadily and she realised she was under threat of exposure if she didn’t tread very carefully indeed.
‘Ask anything you want,’ she said with a sudden, curving smile.
His dark lashes flickered. He was coolly amused. ‘A dutiful wife,’ he mocked.
Their main course arrived at that moment, ending the conversation, to her relief. Her sole was delicious, light and very fresh, served with crisp vegetables. Nick ate steak tartare, one of his favourite dishes, and typically Nick, all that blood and raw meat.
‘So what do you do in your spare time these days, Serena?’ Nick deftly swung that lethal weapon back on her as they drank coffee. ‘You have so much of it. You must do something.’
She gave him a sweet smile. ‘I have cocktail parties, see people for dinner.’
‘Ring-a-ding-ding!’ drawled Nick sarcastically.
‘I like being lazy,’ she said coolly. ‘We don’t all have to run around the world axing people to bits and making billions of dollars.’
‘I don’t axe people to bits,’ he said flatly. ‘And without my billions of dollars, your precious manor would have gone to the wall. Remember that, next time you start levelling criticism at me.’
‘How could I forget?’ Serena said tightly. ‘You bought me along with the manor, and ruined my life!’
He gave a dangerous smile, drawling, ‘Well, honey, you sure weren’t worth the price!’ and her face went white with appalled realisation of how painful their marriage could become if they ever spent too much time together.
Suddenly, Monique Dupré was advancing on their table, ravishing in flame-red, her bony face and even bonier body those of an ex-model, now moved on to become the art critic of one of the quality New York papers.
Serena stiffened with jealousy and dislike. Her eyes flashed back to Nick’s tough face. Monique was one of his mistresses. She didn’t know how many he had, but she knew she would hate every one of them as much as she hated Monique.
‘Nick, darling!’ Monique purred, sliding red-taloned fingers over his powerful shoulders. ‘I didn’t know you were in town.’
‘Surprise visit,’ drawled Nick, standing up, cynical eyes on her red mouth as he bent his dark head and kissed it.
Searing jealousy flooded Serena’s veins like acid. Bitterly, she looked the other way. What else could she do?
‘Lady Serena,’ Monique said politely, noticing her white, tense face. ‘Long time no see.’
Serena looked at her with angry dignity. ‘Hello, Monique. How’s the art world of Manhattan?’
&nb
sp; ‘I would have thought you’d know more about that than me,’ Monique said softly, her dark eyes watching Serena’s face as colour flooded into it.
‘What on earth makes you say that?’ Serena said at once, her tone icy, then looked at Nick. ‘We ought to be getting back. The pilot may have called. Or don’t you want to leave now?’
There was a brief silence. Nick studied her with narrowed eyes, then said briskly, ‘Sure. You’re right.’ He beckoned a waiter with one hand, and stroked Monique’s bony cheek with the other. ‘I’ll give you a call, Monique. Take care.’
The limousine took them back to Fifth Avenue and their apartment. Serena prayed there would be a message on the answering machine. The sooner Nick left, the better.
As they walked into the apartment Nick said curtly, ‘Get me my schedule, would you, Serena? It’s in my bedroom, on the dresser.’ He strode to the answering machine, bending his dark head.
Serena tightened her mouth, hating the way he was suddenly ordering her around as though she were an employee. He’d never done it before. Had three years of this empty marriage made him despise her?
Her hands shook as she picked up his schedule and examined it. If Nick despised her…she couldn’t bear to think of it. The pain it aroused was too deep, too unfamiliar, too unexpected to cope with.
‘Any message?’ Serena asked flatly as she walked back into the living-room.
‘Yes,’ he said coolly, erasing the tape. ‘The jet’s going to be out of action for another twenty-four hours.’
Serena stopped, frowning, staring at him. ‘But that’s ridiculous…’
‘These things happen.’ He shrugged.
She stared at the answering machine. Her lashes flickered. ‘Why are you erasing the tape, Nick?’
There was a little silence. He looked at her, his face cool. ‘It was full. You must get a lot of calls.’
Serena tapped the schedule in her hands thoughtfully. ‘Not that many.’
He swung away from her, striding to the drinks cabinet. ‘At any rate, I’ll have to stay another night.’
Her heart stopped beating at the prospect and she heard her voice say in an odd, hoarse note, ‘I don’t want you here, Nick. Please don’t stay.’
‘It’s my apartment,’ he drawled, unscrewing a bottle of whisky. ‘I can do what I like.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘We agreed a long time ago that we would live separate lives!’
‘And we do.’ He poured a small measure of whisky. ‘Come on, Serena. I’m not that bad. We can surely spend one night together without this kind of row.’
She moistened her lips, her eyes racing over his powerful head, shoulders, the tapered hips and long muscular legs. He was so potently masculine, his sex appeal a tangible force that was like a rocket.
‘You’ll be leaving tomorrow?’ she asked thickly. ‘First thing in the morning?’
‘First thing.’ He turned, a hand thrust in the pocket of that impeccably cut grey suit, legs apart in a stance of masculine authority that sent a quiver through her.
Breathless suddenly, she nodded her red-gold head. ‘I suppose I can live with you until then.’
A tight smile hardened his ruthless mouth. ‘How very kind of you to say so.’ There was a biting edge to his voice that threatened an argument, and Serena suddenly knew it was imperative they get through this disastrous surprise visit without an argument.
They never argued. They never really saw each other, and when they did they were surrounded by relatives who managed to keep their relationship on a superficial, easygoing note as they talked like polite strangers and just got through the awful moments together.
‘Well…’ Serena put his schedule down on the telephone table, her eyes wary ‘…I’ll just go and tidy my
room. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’ Turning, she walked the very long, tense distance back to her bedroom, and closed the door quietly, leaning on it, breathing hard.
What on earth was she going to do? It was like being locked up with a stick of dynamite, and she was beginning to realise there was a lot more to his ‘surprise’ visit than met the eye.
But what? What…? Serena sat in her room alone for the rest of the afternoon, struggling to find an answer. Why would he come here out of the blue like this? What on earth did he want from her?
At seven she realised she couldn’t stay in here forever or she would go slowly mad. Better to face the pacing tiger that was her husband than her own rapidly growing boredom and frustration.
Nick was in the dining-room, working. He looked up as she came in. Papers were scattered all over the elegant mahogany dining-table. The phone was next to him, his computer switched on and a calculator at his side.
‘Yes?’ he asked curtly as he saw her.
She pursed her full mouth. ‘I’m bored.’
There was a brief silence. His blue gaze flicked over her and he sat back suddenly, a hard smile curving his cynical mouth. ‘Oh…?’
‘I thought I might go out,’ she said, prickling against the swift excitement his gaze provoked so unexpectedly in her. ‘See some friends.’
His smile faded, his mouth hardening as he tensed. ‘I thought we could have dinner alone together tonight,’ he said with a frown. ‘I booked a table at Twenty-one.’
Serena swallowed, said huskily, ‘We’ll only argue, Nick. You must see that. We’ve been on the edge of a row since you arrived.’
‘We’ve been on the edge, all right,’ he said under his breath, a hard look in his eyes, and she responded to that look without warning, her heart skipping beats and her body flooding with hot excitement
‘I won’t spend any more time in your company than I have to!’ she said more fiercely than she had meant to, and slammed the door, heard him leap up and come running after her, and quickly grabbed her handbag from the living-room, dashing out of the apartment.
He broke out of the front door like a whirlwind as she waited for the lift. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he bit out, striding towards her, blue eyes flashing with rage. ‘You’re my wife! If I want to have dinner with you, I damned well will!’
‘I’m a human being!’ she said hotly, jabbing the call button with a shaking hand. ‘You can’t—’
‘Oh, can’t I?’ he said tightly, and took a ruthless stride towards her, grabbing her wrist and dragging her suddenly against his hard body. ‘I bought you, I paid for you, and I can do what I like with you!’
The lift arrived.
‘No!’ Serena shouted hoarsely, shaking as she pushed at his broad shoulders and backed into the lift, green eyes blazing with rage. ‘You damned well can’t!’
Their eyes clashed as she stood in the lift and he stood in the corridor. He was darkly flushed, breathing harshly, his mouth white with rage. So was Serena.
The lift doors slowly closed.
Leaning weakly against the wall, she felt close to tears. Their marriage was almost ready to smash to bits like deadwood on the rocks and the pain clawing at her stomach would not go away, no matter how much she told herself she hated him, no matter how bitter this had become, no matter how angry he made her with his ruthless, heartless words.
Serena went out on to the hot New York pavement, shaking.
How did we reach this point? she wondered, closing her eyes.
How…?
CHAPTER THREE
SERENA got back to the apartment at midnight. She had visited some friends in the upper eighties, but the evening had been ruined by her deep-running feelings about Nick and her fear over why he was here.
With trepidation, she opened the front door and went in, heart thudding, to find the apartment empty. The antique clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Beside it lay a note, telling her he had gone out for the evening.
With Monique, I bet, thought Serena bitterly, and crumpled up the note, shaking suddenly with such overwhelming jealousy and hatred that she almost burst into tears.
She went to bed and lay awake in agony until he came home at thr
ee in the morning. He bumped into a piece of furniture and she heard him swear under his breath.
His footsteps stopped outside her room. He tried the door, found it locked, and there was an electrifying silence. Serena could sense his rage as he stood outside the locked door. She could almost hear him breathing, thickly, almost see his blue eyes blazing. For a horrifying second she wondered if he would kick the door to splinters and crash in…
Then he walked away, slamming his bedroom door, and she felt a flood of disappointment so violent that she was appalled. I don’t want him to be anywhere near me, she thought, shaking. I hate him.
Next morning she woke early. Had Nick gone? She went into the living-room, found it silent, empty. His bedroom door was open. He had gone.
Pain clutched at her heart and she was baffled by her own reactions to him. She had wanted him to go—hadn’t she? He was a bastard and she was well rid of him.
Phil was arriving at eleven-thirty for drinks and lunch. He was one of her newest friends, an American art dealer who was interested in her paintings. She had brought the latest stack of paintings from London to show him, and it was as well that Nick had left before Phil arrived.
Going into her bedroom again, Serena pushed Nick from her mind, took a shower and got dressed. At eleven-fifteen she was ready, her long red-gold hair a cascade of silken waves falling to her waist, green eyes slanting, full pink mouth emphasised with coral lipstick. The green silk shift dress skimmed her slender curves with sensual emphasis, and her high-heeled shoes were the final touch of gloss and sophistication that she had so gradually developed.
Nick was in the living-room when she went out. He stood by the mantelpiece, devastatingly attractive in a black business suit, a gold watch-chain glittering across his taut black waistcoat.
Whitening, sucking in her breath, Serena froze. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded hoarsely.
‘I decided to stay,’ he drawled with a hard smile, hands thrust in black trouser-pockets, his ruthless air of power making her eyes race over his body with fierce, prickling attraction. ‘Any objections?’
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