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Luke said rawly, 'I want to take you to bed,' and her heart kicked beneath her breastbone, her thighs turning to liquid fire at the mind-pictures that statement presented.
But, above the thundering of her blood she heard her own voice clipping thinly, 'Why? So that you can scurry back to Norman, boasting of how you seduced me?'
'Why should I do that?' There was a strange glitter in his eyes and his mouth was hard, cynical.
'Because you'd hardly known me for five minutes before you were accusing me of marrying him for financial security,' she reminded him acidly. 'They say blood's thicker than water, so it might make you feel good to protect your cousin from a gold-digger!'
She picked up the hamper and was walking away from him, her sneaker-clad feet slapping the ground as if she would imprint the flinty subsoil with her determination.
'Not financial security,' he corrected, following her, his big body a handspan away, making her want to scream. 'Norman already told me you'd inherited a packet from your father.'
They had reached the car now and she faced him. There was nowhere else to go.
'And what else has he told you about me?' she growled, stung by the revelation. How much more of her personal affairs had Norman divulged to Luke? She hadn't imagined him as being disloyal, a tattler; she was beginning to feel she didn't know him at all.
'Enough.' He took the hamper from her and tossed it carelessly into the back of the car. 'Enough to tell me that he's no more in love with you than you are with him.' His eyes narrowed, impaling her with glittering intensity, the soft huskiness of his voice a devilish contrast that totally unnerved her. 'There are other kinds of security, Annie. With Norman it's a need to be pampered and comfortable, to know that the best research assistant he's ever likely to have—and one, moreover, who won't be a financial or emotional drain on him— is willing to stick around and make him nice and cosy until death do you part. And you, Annie, what is it with you?'
He moved closer, slowly, and the fierce chemical reaction there was between them kept her where she was, her eyes riveted on the tangle of dark body hair against the bronzed satin skin revealed by the open-necked shirt he wore.
'You use Norman like a security blanket because you're afraid of something. Not of financial hardship—we've proved that. And not because you're afraid of being left on the shelf—you're too damned attractive for that prospect to worry you. So what is it?'
His voice had deepened, the lines of his mouth softening as he lifted her small rounded chin with the tip of one finger, probing blue irises meeting wary brown.
'Not telling, hmm?' The slow, easy huskiness of his voice raised goosebumps on her burning flesh.
'Not to worry.' His lips brushed hers lightly, teasingly, before he turned away to unlock the car door. 'I fully intend to find out—and that's something I'm going to enjoy.'
CHAPTER FIVE
With the sounds of that threat echoing through her brain Annie retained a stiff, ungiving silence for the remainder of the journey, and Luke, thankfully, seemed lost in thoughts of his own.
He had arbitrarily decided that she and Norman didn't love each other, had openly admitted he wanted her in his bed, and had talked about getting to know what made her tick as if the exercise would be an amusing game. Well, she was a person in her own right, wasn't she? Not some pliable, doll-brained creature fashioned for his temporary sexual gratification. Her body, her emotions, were not his to be used simply because, for the moment, he fancied her! And the sooner she made him understand she wasn't about to fall into his arms and into his bed, the better!
She gave a sudden, decisive snort and turned her attention to the view. The afternoon sky had become overcast and the mountains brooded, stark and ancient on either side of the narrow track they had taken, the cloud shapes, gathering and thickening, darkened the wild landscape.
It had begun to rain as they'd passed through the huddled village of Bryn-y-draig, and it had turned into a deluge by the time they turned off the narrow mountain road between two stone pillars, both of which had the name Plas-y-draig carved into their sides.
Thank heavens, Annie thought. She couldn't stand much more of this stinging silence. The shaming memory of the way he'd kissed her, of the things he'd said, made her brain ache.
The grey stone house itself was of such dour and Gothic proportions—complete with turrets and mock battlements—that under any other circumstances Annie would have laughed aloud. As it was, she could only think of getting herself inside the monstrosity and sticking to Professor Rhys for protection!
Protection more from herself than from the silent man at her side, she admitted in a mood of self-disgust. He had said, with an audacity only he was capable of, that he wanted her in his bed but, whatever his faults—and they were legion as far as she was concerned—he wouldn't stoop to rape. If she found herself in his bed it would be because she had gone there willingly. And with the memories of how it had felt to be in his arms still making her skin quiver she knew she could easily find herself in that humiliating and degrading situation if she weren't very careful!
'Go wake the Professor up,' Luke instructed as he switched off the ignition. 'I'll bring the bags. There's no sense in both of us getting soaked.'
He had drawn the Ferrari up behind a rusty Mini and the rain was coming down in thick silver sheets now, shrouding everything but the facade of the wet grey house and the encroaching giant rhododendrons from view. Annie nodded, her smile grim, wondering if a thorough soaking would dampen his damned ardour, then scuttled through the deluge to the relative shelter of the massive porch.
The heavy door was dragged open before she had time to knock and a wiry, elderly woman, who was holding a sleepy-eyed small boy in her arms, said, 'Thank heaven you've come. Miss Ross, isn't it?'
Annie nodded, stepping inside as the woman held the door wider. She had button-black eyes in a monkeyish face and looked about at the end of her tether.
Luke had come in by now, carrying the gear and shaking his head like a big dog coming out of water. The monkey-faced woman tutted. 'Such weather! It's all we need on top of everything else! I'm so sorry—'
'Sorry about what, Mrs…?' Luke's gravelly voice was warm, assured, and the elderly woman visibly relaxed. She stopped twittering and shifted the child from one bony hip to the other, smiling now as if encountering Luke had made her day.
'Morgan,' she supplied. 'I come in to do for the Professor once a week. Today's my day, and that's a blessing if ever there was one. I found him collapsed—' She lowered her voice, glancing down at the child, aged about three, who was now sucking his thumb as dark lashes fanned his tear-streaked cheeks. 'I thought the old man had snuffed it—and this poor mite was sobbing his heart out.'
She seemed set to continue in this macabre vein for hours and Annie gave Luke an instinctive glance of sheer gratitude as he took over the situation with gentle but firm authority.
