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He left the shadows and strolled towards her, projecting a totally relaxed manner. Amanda was relieved to see he was fully dressed although he had changed his clothes. He wore black. Easier to merge with the night, Amanda thought. Then she saw the sheen of silk in his shirt and knew that his choice had more to do with sensuality than darkness. It was an invitation to touch, to feel, to lose herself in a night with him.
He paused at the table where the drinks were laid out. ‘I have taken the liberty of ordering some Dom Perignon to celebrate your promotion,’ he said with a smile that was both whimsical and seductive. ‘Will you partake of a glass with me?’
He was already having an intoxicating effect on her...a man of mystery, of immense fascination. She couldn’t risk heightening it by any relaxation of her defences. ‘I don’t drink when I’m on duty,’ she said quickly.
‘And I don’t drink at all,’ he said slowly. ‘Nevertheless, these are challenging times in which we live, Miss Buchanan.’
He picked up the two glasses and brought them to her, standing close, making her extremely conscious of her vulnerable femininity. Something primitive pulsed from this man. It was muted by the civilised clothes, the civilised man-ner, yet her every instinct recognised the barbarian in him, the hunter, the conqueror, the possessor.
Amanda had the sense, the feeling of potent danger. He was so vibrant, so intensely alive, as though he thrived on challenge, as though it was meat and drink to him, the very essence of life.
‘Let us dare to break our own rules,’ he tempted softly, his eyes engaging hers with mesmerising directness.
She had to speak, to keep him talking. Only words could battle the effect he was having on her and keep him at a distance. ‘Wouldn’t that be flirting with chaos? You struck me as a man who appreciates and demands order, Mr Up-grade.’
‘Chaos can be brought into order, if the will is strong enough.’
‘Do as you will, but I shall not put my sense of order at risk. I prefer to keep my promotion than lose it on a glass of champagne.’
One black eyebrow arched quizzically. ‘Surely you make something out of nothing.’
‘I find it somewhat surprising that I was chosen for the position of general manager. That was something out of nothing.’
‘Call it impulse.’
‘With an already signed letter from Jebel Haffa?’
‘Xa Shiraq provides for all contingencies.’
‘Was it your...impulse...or that of Xa Shiraq?’
He smiled as if at some secret irony. ‘All was provided for. You need to know nothing more.’
‘What does Xa Shiraq know of me?’ she asked boldly.
‘Everything and nothing.’
‘Can you stop speaking in paradoxes and talk directly?’
He laughed softly, completely in control of the situation. ‘Yes and no,’ he replied.
Amanda realised he was toying with her, deliberately provoking her, inciting her to some rash step. She was equally determined not to be provoked, not to be played or toyed with, not to take some hasty, rash step.
‘An admirable response,’ she retorted dryly, ‘which answers all my questions.’
He hadn’t expected that. He eyed her again, let his gaze slide down her body, then turned aside to set the glasses back on the table, having abandoned any further thought of pressing the champagne on her and apparently not inclined to drink by himself. ‘I believe what I see and feel. I believe in myself, Miss Buchanan,’ he said quietly.
The light from the table lamp played over his chin and cheekbones and she thought he had the kind of profile that had once been struck on ancient coins, a noble, immortal face. Then he straightened up and the illusion was lost in the vital furnace of his eyes, desire that curled around her, encompassed her, and tugged on something basic inside her that made Amanda feel alarmingly out of control.
‘As deeply and with as much conviction as you believe in yourself, and in what you see and feel,’ he said, his voice a low velvet throb.
How did he know that? Could he see into her mind and heart?
‘You judge character quickly, Mr Upgrade,’ she remarked, knowing she must keep him talking, keep him at a safe distance.
His hands were free now, free to touch...and if he touched... She felt her skin yearning for it, her palms itching for it. Never before had her body reacted like this to a man, and she didn’t even know who he was. Didn’t want to know. If he gave her his name, his identity, she suspected that would make him a more powerful memory. Unforgettable.
‘One look at a person and much is revealed. You were described to me as a striking blonde. That suggests certain images. None of them was accurate.’
