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Aware that she was indeed very tired, she did not dare soak for too long for fear that she might fall asleep, but she washed her hair, noting that all the luxury beauty products were exclusively French and that it felt like sheer indulgence to use them. It was like being in the most gorgeous hotel, only better.
She had just wrapped herself in a thick towelling robe, and was rubbing at the damp tendrils of her curls, when she heard the sound of a door opening and then closing again. She frowned, standing dead still and thinking that she must have imagined it.
But she had not imagined it. She felt the unmistakable sense of a presence in the adjoining room, and her heart began to pound strong and loud and fast.
She would not run away. She would confront her fear—except that it was not strictly accurate to define it as fear. Not when she knew almost certainly the identity of the person who was moving around. And there was no way she was ever going to be frightened of him.
She walked into the bedroom and there, leaning against the shuttered window, his thumbs looped arrogantly in the belt of his trousers, as if he had every right to be there, in her room, was Darian.
Lara opened her mouth to speak, and never had speaking seemed such an effort. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’
He gave a smile, the kind of smile which a cobra would probably give if it could, just before it devoured a small animal—whole.
‘I’m just waiting for your towel to fall,’ he drawled, running his eyes over her with a look of smoky anticipation. ‘To see you in all your pink and white nakedness, with little droplets of water still clinging to your soft skin. I would lick them off with my tongue. Every one,’ he finished on a murmur, and his tongue snaked out as if to illustrate his words—if any illustration was needed.
Lara tried to look outraged, but the reality was that her body was betraying her sense of shock and debilitating sensual awareness as she imagined him doing just that. Beneath the towel she felt the prickling of her nipples, budding and pointing almost painfully in response to his words. Even worse was the honeyed rush right at the very cradle of her, and she found herself squeezing her thighs together—the way you were taught to in an exercise class. But, oh, what a long way away the gym seemed right at this moment!
‘Get out,’ she whispered.
He laughed, but it was a cruel, cold laugh.
‘You don’t want me to go anywhere, you lying little bitch,’ he taunted.
She recoiled from his harsh words as if he had struck her. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Oh, no.’ His voice became a caress of silk and of velvet. ‘You want me. You want me to touch you.’
‘You’re mad!’
He nodded. ‘Quite probably,’ he mused. ‘I must have been mad to have wondered why you were so deliciously compliant on our so-called “date”. I may have had a moderate degree of success with women, but they usually require a little more wooing than one course at an inexpensive restaurant and a short massage around the shoulderblades.’
It was as insulting as it could possibly be, but that was what he wanted. He wanted her to react. And she wouldn’t.
‘You were the one who invited me out—remember?’
‘True.’
He removed one hand from where it had been poised over his belt, like some gun-slinger, and rubbed thoughtfully at the darkening shadow which emphasised the masculine jut of his jaw. As macho gestures went, he really couldn’t have bettered it, thought Lara weakly.
‘But you played the siren, didn’t you, Lara? That super-smart confidence at the casting. The way you spoke to me as if you didn’t care.’ He nodded, as if he had been shown a glimpse into the workings of a criminal mind. ‘Very clever. Did someone once tell you that what powerful men crave more than anything is for someone to speak to them as if they aren’t? To treat them just like everyone else?’
Lara gave
a low laugh. ‘I wish I had a tape recorder,’ she vowed fervently. ‘Then I could play this back to you in the morning—I think that even you might be appalled at your own arrogance and conceit.’
He raised his eyebrows in a mocking challenge. ‘It would make for a very interesting morning,’ he agreed laconically. ‘But, there again, it’s going to be an interesting morning anyway—isn’t it?’
It took a moment or two for his meaning to sink in, and when it did Lara underwent an uncomfortable sensation of shock coupled with excitement, which made her want to squirm—except she didn’t dare to, for fear that he would misinterpret it. Or—even worse—interpret it correctly.
‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that you’re spending the night here? With me!’
‘Of course not.’
Lara frowned, feeling like a mouse being teased by a very clever cat. ‘You’re…not?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Lara. Just stating a fact. Of course I’ll be here in the morning—we’re sharing a room.’
It was like that feeling you got when you’d eaten three chocolate biscuits and knew that you were going to eat a fourth, even though you shouldn’t.
