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'No, Dex, it is you who has to forgive me.' Turning her head to dislodge his fingers, she twisted out of his arm, not at all sure her trembling legs would support her. She sat down in the one comfortable chair, her head bowed, her hands curled tensely over its arms, and added, 'I left a note with your secretary at the casino, telling you I had to visit a sick friend in hospital.'
Beth had thought it out carefully. Judging by the temporary secretary's outburst in Beth's hearing, it was highly unlikely the woman would ever return to work at the Seymour, so Beth felt reasonably safe with the he. The timing was wrong, she had left long after the secretary, but no one had seen her leave, and she was banking on the great Dexter Giordanni not bothering to enquire. Why should he? He didn't give a damn about her.
For a long moment there was silence, and Beth could sense the force of his gaze upon her downbent head. It took all her self-control to lift her head and look at him.
'I didn't receive a note, but then I didn't see the secretary leave,' he said, his puzzled gaze holding hers.
'There you are, then. . .a simple mistake. Let's forget it.' And in an abrupt change of subject she went on, 'So tell me, did your sister have a nice birthday party? You never said.' Beth couldn't resist asking, hoping just once to dent his insufferable self-assurance. Cynically she watched as his grey gaze roamed over her and rested where her hands lay curled on the edges of the armchair.
'Yes, I don't see her very often, so it was a nice change.' He frowned and continued, 'A pity you could not come with me.'
Liar, she thought scathingly. He had never asked her. Probably too worried that Paul Morris would be there, and Beth would spoil his sister's chance with the man. His careful avoidance of her gaze only reaffirmed what she already knew.
But suddenly his head jerked back and his eyes narrowed intently on her face, a flash of some unidentifiable emotion flickering in their icy depths; then they became hard and implacable, his massive body unnaturally still.
'Forget the small-talk, Beth. You haven't visited any sick friend; you're lying, and I want the truth,' he warned inflexibly. 'And it had better be good. I am not known for my patience, and you are testing it to the limit.'
The temptation to tell him precisely what he could do with himself and his patience was almost impossible to ignore. But pride and common sense raised their logical heads just in time.
'Yes, I did. Mary from work,' she responded flatly, lying through her teeth and praying Mary would forgive her. 'Appendicitis,' she tacked on for good measure.
'Really?' Dex drawled, his tone telling her he didn't believe a word she said. 'Nice outfit. Chanel, isn't it? It suits you. Your friend must have been flattered.'
'Yes,' Beth said shortly, cursing her own foolishness yesterday, which had seen her spending her lunchbreak shopping in the designer section of London's most stylish fashion store. She had spent all her savings, and her next month's salary, on the elegant red suit and complementary camisole, plus ruinously expensive undergarments, all for Dexter's benefit.
'Surely a bit over the top for visiting a sick friend,' Dex commented derisively. 'Nor, to my knowledge, do hospitals extend their visiting hours until this time of night. What kind of fool do you take me for?'
She glanced up. His tanned, perfectly carved features were set in a cold mask, only the nerve twitching in the side of his face revealing his inner tension.
'I don't know what you mean,' she mumbled. Her courage had deserted her, and she couldn't control the nervous leaping of her pulse, or the shiver of fear that trickled down her spine as her eyes met his.
Suddenly, like a dam bursting, 'Basta!' Dex roared. 'Enough of your lies!' His hands crashed down on her shoulders, the long fingers biting into her skin as he hauled her to her feet, fury evident in every Une of his hard body.
'Now,' he snarled, 'you are going to tell me the truth.' His long fingers fell to her jacket and flicked it open, revealing the lace edged body-hugging camisole and the obvious absence of a bra.
She flushed scarlet. 'What do you think you're doing?' she snapped, but Dex ignored her, and in one lithe movement he slipped the jacket from her shoulders to drop it carelessly on the floor.
His glittering eyes raked over her, from her flushed face, then lower, to the soft fullness of her breasts. To her horror, she felt her nipples harden beneath his studied appraisal. With chilling slowness his glance lingered on her chest, her throat, and finally back on her face. He smiled and her blood ran cold.
'Very nice, but you are not the type to dress so for another woman.' His hand snaked around her slender wrist and hauled her hand up between their two bodies, holding it pressed tight against her breastbone.
'And I seem to remember giving you a diamond ring, cara mia. Lost it, have you?' His mouth twisted in a chilling, cynical smile. 'Or found someone wealthier? Someone who excites you more?'
Beth swallowed hard, remembering some of their more intimate moments together, and glanced bitterly up at him. Surely he knew? He was the only man who had ever aroused her to any great degree. How dared he insinuate she was a money-grubbing, flighty girl—she who had never known a man? For a moment Beth was too angry with him to form a reply. When she did open her mouth to speak, she discovered she had waited too long.
'Your silence is answer enough. Are you going to tell me who he is?' he demanded in a threatening voice. 'Or do I have to get it out of you?'
His other hand tightened imperceptibly in her hair, and she moved her head back and stared at him. But the fury in his eyes, she realised, was more bruised ego than any genuine concern for her. He had jumped to the conclusion there was another man, whom he probably thought was her godfather, so why not humour him? Grasping the chance Dex had given her, she boldly held his glittering gaze.
'All right, all right. I will tell you the truth.' She gritted her mouth tight with bitterness as she prepared to compound her lie. To make Dex walk away from her. It was what she wanted. But as Dex towered over her— the heat of his body, the subtle scent of him enveloping her—it was the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life.
'You're right, in a way. I'm sorry, Dex. I didn't know how to tell you.' When it came down to it, she didn't dare mention Paul Morris. For all she knew, Dex might have seen him in Italy. Instead, she rattled on like a steam train.
'I realised almost as soon as you left: you're not really my type, we belong to two different worlds. I like living in London, I love my work and I like going out with my own circle of friends. Some more than others.' She forced herself to smile into his eyes, subtly implying there were other men in her life, without naming any names. 'You and I had a brief fling. It was fun, but now it's over.'
His face darkened. His mouth tightened into an angry line and a dull flush spread over his high cheekbones. His fingers tightened on her wrist and she lowered her thick lashes to hide her lying eyes from his narrowed, too intent gaze. Then suddenly she was released and fell back into the armchair, all the breath expelled from her lungs by the force of her fall. When she finally found the courage to raise her head and look at Dex again, she knew she had succeeded in her plan.
He had gone very pale. His silver eyes, burning with contemptuous fire, clashed with her wary green. He shook his dark head. 'You're just like all the rest, a lying, cheating, little bitch,' he drawled deliberately, watching her for a moment. Then, turning, he headed for the door.
