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‘Ned?’
‘Nice guy, writer, good-looking if you discount the moustache he’s trying to grow. Have a heart, Rosalind; the guy follows you with his eyes like a faithful spaniel.’
‘Of course I know who Ned is.’
‘He asked me if I thought he stood a chance with you.’
‘He did what?’ She’d found him friendly and helpful, but it hadn’t occurred to her for one minute that he imagined…
‘Do I have to spell it out? He’s lusting after you.’
‘What did you say? Did you tell him…?’ she began in alarm. She hoped she hadn’t been giving off any false signals.
A spasm of anger twisted his features. Though why he should be annoyed because she didn’t want to advertise their relationship she couldn’t imagine. He was the one who took care not to broadcast the situation. In her darker moments she imagined it was because she wasn’t the sort of female who was good for his image. She was always ashamed of these persistent thoughts, because she knew that Sam wasn’t either vain or superficial.
‘What do you think I said?’ he bit back. ‘You don’t stand a chance because the lady is sleeping in my bed. At least she would be if I had my way.’
‘You’re the one who thought things were going fast.’ He made it sound as though this was a bone of contention between them, she thought indignantly.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it that way,’ he pointed out pedantically.
She gave a small grunt of irritation. ‘What did you say to poor Ned?’ she persisted.
‘‘‘Poor’’ Ned,’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘A man dreads that prefix,’ he intoned solemnly. ‘It’s so maternal. Roughly translated, it says, You don’t stand a chance, you poor slob.’
‘I’ll sit on you if you don’t answer me!’ she threatened.
‘Promises, promises. OK, OK,’ he conceded, shielding his head from her fists with his brown forearms. ‘I was gentle and tactful.’
‘That would have been a first.’
‘But I wasn’t encouraging.’
Something in his expression made her do a double-take. ‘Were you jealous?’ she asked incredulously.
Sam shrugged, but didn’t deny it, much to Lindy’s secret delight. ‘For all I knew you might be secretly lusting after him. A man doesn’t like to hear from another guy how gorgeous the woman he’s sleeping with is. How great her legs are, or how kind she is to children and animals. I think I showed great restraint, but I made it clear you were heavily involved with another.’
‘You deserve a badge. Did you say ‘‘heavily’’?’
‘‘‘Heavily’’ is what I said,’ he confirmed. ‘And a badge is not what I deserve,’ he growled.
The musky masculine odour of his body made her toes curl and wrenched a deep, shuddering sigh from her lips. ‘Don’t you need to steer or anything?’ she gasped as his fingers slid under the cropped top she was wearing.
‘I’ve been thinking about this all week,’ he groaned. The dark, sultry look in his eyes as he rolled her onto her back and came to rest on top of her made Lindy’s stomach do several backward flips.
‘Then why did you invite Hope along?’ She couldn’t prevent the pique from entering her voice.
‘My dear, darling Rosalind.’ Laughing, he stripped the thin top from her unresisting body. ‘I was going through polite motions. Hope wouldn’t have been indiscreet enough to say yes.’
‘You think she knows?’ Rosalind tried to get up but a large hand on her ribcage prevented her.
‘Hasn’t she warned you about my reputation?’
‘In a roundabout manner,’ Lindy recalled with a frown. ‘She hasn’t been around much and I thought we were being very discreet…’ Her voice trailed off as he laughed again. ‘I’m only thinking of you,’ she complained. ‘You obviously want to keep this a secret.’
‘I don’t care if the world knows how I feel about you.’
‘You don’t?’ I wish he’d share it with me, she thought, seething with frustration. His expression was impossible to interpret and it would be a fatal error to read what she wanted to hear into his words.
‘Enough said on the subject.’
Not nearly enough for her.
He seemed to read the bafflement in her face. ‘I don’t volunteer personal material for public consumption. You have to draw a line somewhere or they’d eat you up alive,’ he elaborated. ‘Worse still, I might start to believe all the publicity hype. I’ve known people who do and, believe me, it’s a pathetic sight. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not precious enough to bad-mouth the media—they’ve got their job to do, and I often reap the benefits. I play the game, but they’re my rules. Photo opportunities are one thing, but you won’t find one of me on this deck.
