Ruthless Lover

by Sarah Holland

  ‘You know perfectly well I don’t want you here!’

  ‘And I want to find out why,’ he said, arching black brows at her.

  Her heart hammered. Defensively, she said, ‘Did you have a good time with your mistress last night?’ Her green eyes flared. ‘I heard you bumping into furniture at three in the morning!’

  ‘Jealous, Serena?’

  Hot colour flooded her face. ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said flatly, hating him. ‘I’m delighted you have so many women. It keeps your disgusting attentions away from me!’

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. ‘Speaking of which, I’m afraid it’s time I made a little confession. I’ve decided to stay on here with you for a purpose.’

  Dry-mouthed, she said thickly, ‘What purpose?’ but her blood was racing and she knew…she knew from the way he had been looking at her…that special look, that ruthless sexual power in his eyes that told her he wanted her in the worst way, and suddenly she couldn’t stand the tension any more. ‘Your jet didn’t break down, did it? You planned this surprise visit from start to finish! That’s why you’ve been talking about sex, looking at me like that…’

  ‘Think of our marriage as a business deal,’ he drawled. ‘And this is where you have to keep your side of the bargain.’

  ‘Bargain!’ she said bitterly. ‘You can’t talk about marriage like that, Nick, but you do! You always have done! That’s why there was never a love-clause written into our contract!’

  ‘What the hell is love?’ Nick drawled with a ruthless smile.

  She lowered her lashes, hating him.

  ‘You’re twenty-three,’ he said, watching her with those penetrating blue eyes. ‘And I’m now thirty-three. I want to be young enough to enjoy my children, Serena, and the clock is ticking fast.’

  Her face was white. ‘Is this a demand, Nick? Are you going to—enforce it if I refuse?’

  ‘Force you to make love with me?’ He slid those blue eyes over her body, smiling sardonically. ‘An interesting idea. But I’d find it infinitely more exciting if you gave me a hot look, slid your dress off and said, Come to bed, sexy.’

  She caught her breath, rage flooding her veins. ‘My God, you bastard!’

  ‘Sexy bastard,’ he drawled, walking towards her. ‘That would do the trick.’

  Serena backed, heart hammering, and he caught her wrist.

  ‘You can’t get out of it again, Serena,’ he said softly. ‘I let you off the hook three years ago because you were twenty and obviously too young to handle it. But you’re not twenty any more. And the way you kissed me the other night told me all I needed to know.’

  ‘That’s why you did it,’ she whispered, staring at his ruthless mouth. ‘You came here out of the blue at three in the morning with the express purpose of—’

  ‘Turning you on,’ he said under his breath, and her legs felt suddenly weak, her lips parting, breathing erratically as she stared at him.

  His strong hands were sliding to her waist. She started to push weakly at his broad shoulders, but he just smiled that hard smile, and his blue eyes dropped to her mouth.

  ‘I need more time…!’

  ‘You can’t have it,’ he said softly.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked rawly, her legs shaking beneath her as her hands fluttered weakly on his broad shoulders. ‘Just go into the bedroom with you and—?’

  ‘No. I think I’m going to take this one step at a time,’ he said under his breath. ‘And I’ll enjoy every step, because I’ve wanted to see you lose control sexually for a long time, Serena.’ His hands tightened on her waist, his dark head bending, hard mouth brushing against hers as he whispered, ‘I’ve dreamt about it. I’ve prayed for it. I’ve spent years driving myself crazy with lust over—’

  ‘I hate you!’ she said, her mouth shaking. ‘I hate you!’

  A sardonic smile touched his mouth. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he said softly, and leant towards her, his blue eyes moving in slow, leisurely inspection of her mouth, sliding down her taut white neck to the swell of her breasts beneath the green silk.

  ‘Don’t!’ she said shakily. ‘Don’t look at me like that…!’ She felt overpowered by the sexual threat he was imposing.

  ‘Why not, Serena?’ he asked with lazy sardonic mockery, and ran one long finger over her quivering mouth. ‘Does it disturb you?’

  ‘Yes!’ she whispered furiously, and he smiled, his dark head lowering slowly, his blue eyes terrifying her, and as his mouth closed over hers with hard authority she gave a quick cry of alarm, her hands instantly coming up to fight him, raining blows on his broad shoulders.

  Nick took her hands, pinned them to her waist, and his kiss turned savage, making her open her mouth to him with a helpless little cry, forcing her to kiss him back as the blood began to drum in her ears.

  He was kissing her with fierce desire, and she was struggling with hot moans of angry excitement, heart drumming, pushing at his shoulders uselessly, then at his chest, and all the time that savage mouth was claiming ownership, obliterating her helpless struggles until she was dragged into the dark sea of sexual excitement by his skill and experience.

  Dizzy, she stood with her eyes closed, helpless beneath the onslaught of his kisses, her mouth opened to him in hot, untutored response. His strong hands slid slowly up her body, over her flat stomach, making her quiver and moan little refusals against his mouth until those hands closed over her breasts and she gave a long, hoarse cry.

  Nick made a rough sound under his breath, his mouth increasing the pressure and his strong fingers dextrously stroking her erect nipples as she gasped in overwhelming excitement, unable to fight him or herself any longer, drowning in that dark sea of sexual hunger that he had so deliberately unleashed on her.

  When he drew his head away she was shaking, gasping hoarsely, her mouth bruised with passion and her green eyes flickering open with a fierce glitter of excitement to stare at him.

  ‘The doorbell,’ Nick said thickly under his breath, a quick frown on his darkly flushed face as he released her. ‘I’ll get it.’ He broke away from her, raking a hand through his thick black hair as he strode off towards the door.

  Phil! Serena struggled back to reality, fear making her pale as she pushed shaking hands through her red-gold hair, appalled at what had just happened, and even more appalled at the thought of what Nick would think when Phil came in…

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry…’ Phil’s voice in the expensive hallway made her groan. ‘I thought this was Lady Serena’s apartment—’

  ‘It is,’ Nick’s arrogant voice drawled flatly. ‘I’m her husband. Who the hell are you?’

  Serena was trembling, going to the luxurious hall of the apartment with a sinking heart just as Phil’s startled voice said, ‘Her husband!’

  ‘Hello, Phil!’ Serena tried to inject some good cheer into her voice, but it was ragged and her face was deeply flushed as she met Phil’s astonished dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry about this. I should have telephoned and let you know—’

  ‘Let him know what?’ Nick asked at once, turning to her, blue eyes sharply narrowed.

  Her flush deepened. ‘I had arranged to lunch with Phil, spend the day with him.’

  ‘Darling,’ Nick drawled in a dangerous voice, smiling at her with his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed, ‘don’t you think you should introduce me to your friend?’

  Her heart skipped a beat ‘Yes, of course…ill-mannered of me…forgive me…’ She swallowed convulsively, and turned to Phil. ‘Phil Greyson. This is my husband, Nick Colterne. Nick—’

  ‘How do you do?’ Nick was towering over Phil, extending a strong tanned hand in a firm shake, his eyes hostile. ‘My wife seems to think my presence makes your lunch impossible. I, on the other hand, do not. Won’t you come in?’

  Serena met Phil’s eyes and saw the look of enquiry in their dark depths. She had told him nothing of her marriage. He had asked her questions about Nick, of course, because he was such a wel
l-known figure in American society. Nick Colterne’s wealth and power were as formidable a force as his personality. He had cachet in the eyes of most Americans, and his hard face was frequently in the gossip columns.

  ‘Thank you,’ Phil was saying, walking in with a smile, his blond hair smooth and his grey suit fashionably cut. ‘I must say, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last, sir! I’ve heard so much about you!’

  ‘How charming!’ Nick drawled, casting a steely look at Serena. ‘I’m afraid I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you. Sit down, Mr Greyson! Let me get you a drink while you tell me all about yourself!’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Phil said, smiling broadly as he sank into a pale gold armchair, obviously very much at home in the apartment. ‘A gin and tonic would be lovely.’

  Serena walked shakily into the room, sank on to the couch, watching Nick’s hard body as he swung to the cocktail cabinet, opened the carved French wooden doors and began unscrewing the lid of a bottle of gin.

  Why was he being so charming to Phil?

  ‘What do you do, Greyson?’ Nick asked, casting a cool glance over one broad shoulder. ‘You don’t look like a financier or—’

  ‘I’m an art dealer,’ Phil said with a smile, his New York accent at odds with the cool, clipped Bostonian drawl of Nick Colterne. ‘I run the Vane Gallery on Park and Eighty-third.’

  ‘Really?’ Nick’s eyes narrowed on Serena, who hurriedly averted her gaze, pretending to examine a speck of fluff on the couch. ‘That must be a very interesting job. Tell me how you met my wife.’ He turned, a hard smile on his mouth as he strolled arrogantly to Phil and handed him a tumbler of gin and tonic.

  ‘Well, it was all very much a chapter of accidents.’ Phil laughed, flicking an affectionate glance to Serena. ‘She kept haunting the gallery, I noticed her, then she suddenly disappeared. A month later I went to London for an exhibition, and there she was.’

  ‘How romantic!’ Nick said in a dangerous voice, and shot a look at Serena through his black lashes that made her heart miss a beat.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t romantic!’ Phil hurriedly assured him, flushing. ‘But it did feel rather fated.’

  ‘And when was this…fatalistic but unromantic meeting?’ Nick drawled, with a smile like a lazy tiger.

  ‘Last month,’ Phil said with a flicker of dark lashes, oblivious to the danger in Nick’s voice. ‘We’ve been friends ever since, haven’t we, Lady Serena?’

  Serena nodded warily, her eyes pinned on Nick.

  ‘Well, I think that’s very nice,’ Nick said softly, examining his glass of whisky on ice. ‘And I take it that, as such very good friends, you see each other at least every day….?’

  ‘More or less,’ Phil agreed, nodding. ‘Except Lady Serena’s just popped back to England to fetch these paintings for me. I haven’t actually seen her since last week—I’ve been away, and—’

  ‘Paintings?’ Nick said, very softly.

  Serena got to her feet, saying quickly, ‘I’d better ring the Four Seasons and cancel lunch. I really don’t think this is the time or the place for—’

  ‘Cancel?’ Phil stared at her. ‘But you can’t cancel!’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Nick drawled with a hard, sardonic smile as he flicked his lashes in Serena’s direction. ‘But do ring the Four Seasons, darling. And change the booking to a table for three. In my name.’ He looked back at Phil with a lazy blue gleam in his eyes. ‘My treat, Greyson. I insist…’

  The Four Seasons was packed with the most fashionable New Yorkers, and the most startlingly avant-garde décor. Glittering bead curtains hung over thirty-foot windows. The heat wave outside was reflected within, as smart businesswomen normally in power suits seemed to have melted in the heat into soft, feminine creatures in floaty summer dresses and floral scents.

  ‘Mr Colterne!’ The maître d’ bowed to Nick.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Nick clipped out coolly, striding up the steps with a nod, devastatingly authoritative as he turned, waited for Serena to join him and slid a strong hand to the small of her back as she reached him.

  They were given the best table in the house. Serena felt the stares of other women as they passed. Nick always attracted attention from women. His height and rugged good looks were laced with a predatory sexual menace that most women found irresistible.

  ‘Champagne,’ Nick ordered coolly, flicking the wine list shut and handing it back to the maître d’. Turning to look at Serena, he drawled lazily, ‘It seems to me this lunch is something of a celebration.’ His smile was alarming. ‘Is that correct?’

  ‘Well, it should have been!’ Phil said, laughing. ‘I wanted it to be the close of a deal, but—’

  ‘Shouldn’t we study the menu?’ Serena cut in hurriedly, desperate to keep the subject firmly away from her real reasons for this lunch.

  ‘I know it by heart,’ Nick said flatly with a warning look. ‘And so should you. You eat here often enough.’

  Her eyes widened. Nick obviously paid close attention to her expenses or he wouldn’t know that.

  Nick treated Phil to a slow, charming smile. ‘What deal would you have been closing with my wife, Greyson?’

  ‘It doesn’t mat—’ she began urgently.

  ‘Well, the exhibition deal,’ Phil said at exactly the same time.

  There was a brief silence. Nick was staring at Serena, his face hard. Suddenly, his black lashes flickered.

  ‘Exhibition…?’ he asked softly, smiling.

  ‘Phil, please…’ Serena whispered under her breath, but he was already talking, and he didn’t hear her.

  ‘…such an accomplished artist!’ Phil’s dark eyes were alight. ‘I was staggered when I saw her work. Of course, I haven’t seen all of it, which is why I couldn’t arrange an exhibition on the spot, but by the end of this afternoon I’m sure the deal will be set.’ He turned, smiling at Serena. ‘You did bring the paintings back from England, didn’t you?’

  White, she nodded, unable to look up for fear she would encounter Nick’s blue gaze.

  ‘Good girl!’ said Phil, and put his hand over hers, smiling, as though they were alone and he could be as familiar as he always was; but of course they weren’t alone, and Nick saw that familiarity, his eyes lifting to Serena’s face with an expression that made her hair stand on end.

  The waiter was pouring their champagne. Chatter was going on all around them. Phil was still talking about art, galleries, exhibitions…

  ‘Yes, of course you must come back to the apartment with us,’ Nick said sardonically as their hors-d’oeuvres were served. ‘And we must all look at my wife’s paintings.’

  After lunch, which Serena had barely even picked at, they drove back in Nick’s long black Cadillac limousine to Fifth Avenue. The chauffeur was cool, silent, efficient, gliding through the heavy New York traffic with great skill.

  ‘So—’ Nick strode into the apartment, his face set like stone ‘—where are your paintings, my love?’

  ‘In my wardrobe,’ she said with a deep sense of growing alarm.

  He looked at her. ‘Go and get them.’

  Serena swallowed, looking at Phil accusingly through her lashes. He frowned at her, as he had done throughout this very uncomfortable meeting, and she wondered if he was stupid. Couldn’t he sense the tension between herself and her husband?

  Serena opened her wardrobe and took out the paintings, all fifteen of them, unframed and unseen by anyone but Serena until now.

  Clutching them with shaking fingers, she felt a deep resentment that this had happened. They were her life. Her identity. And she had nurtured them with possessive care. Would this moment of revelation smash them forever, and her growing sense of identity with them?

  Nick suddenly knocked at the door and came in, halting in the doorway, his face a cool mask.

  Their eyes clashed across the bedroom floor. Resentment shimmered like green fire in Serena’s eyes. She felt a sudden new wave of hatred for him, and it showed.

  ‘I ca
me to see if you needed a hand,’ Nick said coolly.

  She clutched her paintings, unable to reply for fear she might break down and cry. He was looking at her oddly, studying the paintings as she clutched them to her breasts.

  ‘I’d also like to see them first,’ he said flatly. ‘Would you mind?’

  She stared, taken aback, then coloured, shaking her head. ‘Of course not.’

  Nick walked coolly towards her, taking them as she stepped away from him. He laid them all out, propped against the wardrobe. He stepped back, hands thrust deep in black trouser-pockets, and surveyed them with a hard expression.

  Serena trembled inside with nerves. What did she care what Nick thought of her work? He was just her owner, the man who had bought her from her parents for the price of Flaxton Manor! Yet suddenly his eyes on those paintings were more important to her than all the exhibitions in the world…

  He stared at the swirls of barbaric colour, the fire leaping from the canvases, the bright flashes and flares of light against darkness, the passionate use of oils, thickly applied with knife and brush.

  ‘You’re a primitive!’ he said at once, and shot her a thoughtful look.

  Her lashes flickered and she felt a smile curve her mouth. ‘Oh…I know…someone told me that before…’

  Nick’s mouth tightened. ‘Greyson?’

  She nodded, watching him.

  He looked back at the paintings, then a smile touched his mouth and he murmured, ‘That one is fantastic…!’

  She frowned. ‘Which…?’

  He pointed to the gypsy dancer in red, swirling in vivid slashes of colour against a blazing camp-fire. ‘It looks like you…’

  Serena laughed softly, flushing and lowering her lashes.

  ‘Don’t be shy,’ he said under his breath, and suddenly his strong hands were sliding to her waist as he turned, and before she could look up he was pulling her against his hard body, saying thickly, ‘You’re very talented, Serena. I had no idea…’

  Heart thudding at his touch, she tried to pull away. ‘Phil will be late for work if we don’t hurry…’

  ‘Damn Phil!’ he said tightly, anger creeping into his blue eyes, but he released her and collected the paintings up, his mouth hard as he picked them up and carried them into the living-room.