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Luke was dangerous, she admitted, almost drowning in those steady eyes. She had known that at the first moment of seeing him. She had to get a grip on herself. Her feelings were her own, weren't they? It would be folly to share them with him, to allow him to get closer to her.
If he had cared for her, and she had cared for him, she would have willingly have told him about her lonely childhood. But all he cared about was the chase, the conquest, and he would use any information she gave him about herself to serve his own devious ends! She didn't trust him; he was shallow.
So she said blandly, 'Spend much time with him? Not so as you'd notice,' and smiled. And her smile felt painful, as if it had been nailed to her face, and she was thankful when Jamie shipped half a gallon of water out of the bath and on to her feet, glad to have the excuse to break the steadily mounting tension, glad of the excuse to escape Luke's hypnotic presence. Her voice was oddly breathless as she made for the doorway.
'I'll fetch my things up from the hall and get into something dry.'
Later, when Luke had finished reading to Jamie from a story-book he'd found on the bedside table and Annie had changed into a long, woollen housecoat which zipped from her neck to her ankles, she poked her head round the bedroom door.
She had heard the soothing murmur of his voice trail off into silence, heard the snick of Jamie's bedside light and guessed the child was asleep. So now was the time to say her own goodnights. That way he wouldn't come looking for her, that way he would understand that she had no intention of spending a long, cosy evening with him!
'I'm turning in now,' she announced firmly. 'And I've mopped up the mess in the bathroom, so it's all yours now.'
'Is that so?' A half-smile tugged at his mouth. He advanced, just a little, very slowly. Annie felt colour rise to her face as her heart began to race frantically. He was altogether too potent, too male, too knowing. It frightened her.
She made to turn away, to close the door right in his face if that was what it took, but he reached out a hand and took her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
'I want to talk to you.' He sounded reasonable, not coaxing, not that, not from him. Bu
t reasonable, very relaxed.
She felt her skin burn beneath his fingers, the thick fabric no barrier at all. Her blood clamoured in hectic response to his magnetism. And she wanted to cry because she was losing something, she knew she was. And if she didn't move, didn't put an end to this—this whatever it was that drew her so strongly to him—there would be no going back for her, not ever.
She wasn't going to lose her self-control, her self-respect, her peace of mind, for the tawdry, all-too-fleeting excitement of physical pleasure. Years ago she had made that vow to herself and she wasn't going to break it now. When she gave herself to a man it would be because she loved him, and he loved her. She was capable of loving—despite Willa's off-putting example. And, in a blinding flash of insight, she realised that Luke, in some strange way, had taught her that much about herself. Had taught her that one day she would meet the man she could truly love. And she knew that that was the reason she had really decided to break with Norman. She had never loved him and never would.
'Please let me go. I can think of nothing you might want to say to me that I might want to hear.' She tried, she really tried, to sound uninterested, but her voice emerged throatily, and he grinned slowly, as if he knew that the words her brain strung together had nothing whatsoever to do with what her body was saying.
'I might surprise you.' There was an infuriating edge of laughter to his voice and, far from releasing her, he pulled her closer. She could feel the heat of his body now, and, desperately, she pulled back, her movement violent, knocking her head on the doorpost so that she winced, biting her tongue against crying out with the sharp pain because she wouldn't permit him to see such weakness.
'Surprise me? Not you,' she hissed, the sharp, transitory pain in her head fuelling her anger. 'I can read you like a book. It begins with the chase and ends with the conquest and there's nothing else. No substance. Nothing!'
'And that is exactly why we have to talk.' His mouth had tightened fractionally but his tone was quiet, level, as if he remembered the sleeping child so close at hand. 'We have a lot of talking to do, you and I, and we can't do it here.' He reached behind her and closed her bedroom door. 'Fighting me won't achieve a thing—unless it's another self-inflicted blow on the head. So you come willingly' —his words were dangerously soft—'or I'll carry you and let you face the consequences of unavoidable bodily contact! The choice is yours.'
CHAPTER SIX
Some choice! Annie fumed silently. She could scream and yell and wake Jamie, but that wouldn't be fair, or kind, to the child. Or she could silently resist and find herself scooped up in those strong arms, held closely against that hard male body.
She had no choice, none at all, and she trudged sullenly at Luke's side, determined at least to handle whatever came next with dignity. A quiet, self-contained dignity was the only defence she had left.
'In here.' He didn't touch her; he simply stood aside as he opened the door to the Professor's study, motioning her to enter. He was being cagey, handling her with polite reserve, but she didn't know how long that state of affairs was likely to last. She didn't trust him an inch.
He had put a match to the kindling and the fire was burning well now, the flames making a curiously comforting pattern of mellow light and shade on the book-lined walls, aided only by a single, low-wattage table-lamp.
It was warm in here, the wind that rattled the casement windows serving to emphasise the cosiness of this particular cocoon. But she wasn't going to be lulled into a false sense of security.
Taking the initiative, she sat in the armchair facing the fire, tucking the long skirts of her robe demurely around her legs.
'Well?' she questioned with a hint of asperity. 'Say what you want to say. I'm tired and I told Jamie I'd be next door if he woke and needed me.' She hoped he couldn't detect the way her heart was thumping.
'He'll be out for hours,' Luke said with irritating confidence. It was on the tip of Annie's tongue to tell him he was talking through the top of his head, having already admitted he knew little of the ways of children. But she contented herself with one withering glance. She wasn't going to pick a fight. Coolly and unemotionally was the way she was going to play it.
Her scornful glare elicited only the merest flicker of humour before he passed in front of her to toss another log on the fire. Then he straightened, dusting his hands off.
'I want to talk to you and we're going to be very adult and civilised about it. Both are qualities you pride yourself on having, aren't they, Annie? That being so,' he casually draped himself into the chair adjacent to hers, 'you should be perfectly at ease.'
At ease! she thought scornfully. She would be more at ease alone with a cobra! Already the tension—sexual, she had to admit—was getting to her, and she had been alone with him for less than five minutes! It made her feel disorientated, out of her depth, and she wished he would say what he wanted to say and get it over. Instead he just sat there, watching her, giving her the uncomfortable impression that he was privy to her secret thoughts, was able to get inside her body, to directly detect the rate of every last pulsebeat. And, later, she was to recall someone once saying, 'Never make a wish—you might just get it granted!'
'So…' He looked totally relaxed, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his eyes lazing over steepled fingers. 'So when do you intend breaking your engagement to Norman?'
