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“Oh, no,” the blonde pooh-poohed. “We have two children. I don’t get these women who work when they should be home. Parenting is the most important job in the world. You can’t bring back those years.”
His wife went ramrod straight. “No, you can’t,” she agreed. “But if there were no female surgeons we’d have a serious shortage of doctors to take care of your children. And then where would we be?”
The blonde shrugged a shoulder. “It worked just fine when women were at home.”
The other woman must have read the antagonism painted on his wife’s face because she swiftly backtracked. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about you,” she demurred. “I’m sure you’re fabulously talented. I just think women take it a bit far sometimes...forget their priorities.”
Diana’s fingernails bit into his side. Sensing an imminent explosion, he gave the other two women a smile. “Would you mind if I steal my wife away for a moment? I wanted to show her something before dinner.”
Without waiting for a response, he nudged his wife forward. “Don’t let her get to you,” he murmured. “What is she going to say? She doesn’t have your skills.”
“You’d rather I be like her,” she muttered. “I should be at home lying on the bed eating bonbons waiting for you to come home.”
“Don’t give me ideas.” He slid his hand lower to cover her bottom. “If I thought I could have you spread out and waiting for me when I walked in the door I would, but I think the world is better off with your surgical skills.”
She looked up at him, a fierce glitter in her beautiful brown eyes. “Don’t flatter me to get me to cool down. I am not a button to be pressed.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” he countered silkily, his palm shaping her bottom. “And I intend to press every last one before I’m done with you tonight.”
Her eyes widened before her long lashes fanned down over her cheeks to cover them. “Why don’t you go press the young blonde’s buttons? She’ll be more than willing I’m sure.”
Temper rose in him, swift and sure. He stopped at the railing that overlooked the sea and stepped close enough to cage her in. “This is the last time I’m going to say this, Diana, so hear me when I tell you I have no interest in any other women. Nor will I in the future, even when you are round with my child. You are the only woman who can turn me inside out. You are the only woman I want warming my bed. That’s always been the way.”
Her breathing fractured as he stood with arms on each side of her on the railing, his heated gaze holding her in place. The darkening of her eyes to almost black said he might finally have gotten his message through.
“Say it once more,” he promised, electing to hammer his message home while he had her attention, “and I will find a room, a corridor to convince you of it.”
His wife’s body went slack against the railing. The glitter in her eyes said she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. That corridor wasn’t a half-bad idea.
“Dinner is served.” Arthur walked past them on his way to alert the other guests, an amused expression on his face. “Unless you have another type of sustenance in mind.”
Diana’s face went beet red. He stepped back and guided her to the table set under the stars. His wife was primed and ready for him. Good thing, too, because his own very primed and ready body had had enough.
* * *
Diana was seated to the right of her husband at one end of the long, rectangular table laid with ornate silver place settings and tall candelabras. Dana sat at the head of the table to her right, thankfully keeping her across the table from the blond temptress. If she’d had to sit beside that lipstick-encrusted wolf in sheep’s clothing she might have burst a blood vessel.
As it was, she was having difficulty relaxing with her smoldering, very sexy husband by her side. He seemed determined to take every opportunity he could to touch her as he passed the butter and filled her water glass. His threats had made her stomach churn with a sexual awareness of him that was getting worse with every minute that passed.
She focused desperately on her hostess, who it turned out was a very talented artist who painted scenes from the islands sold for high price tags in a London gallery. The surgeon in her loved hearing about the creative process and how she worked with her hands to achieve certain effects.
At some point after their salad plates were cleared and before the main course was laid down, Coburn’s hand landed on her thigh. She stiffened as his warm fingers curved into her heated flesh, staking a firm ownership. She might have kept her composure had he not moved his hand down to her knee during the main course and gradually worked her dress up her thigh. She flashed him a look full of daggers, but he went innocently on talking to Dana as if he wasn’t seducing her at a table of twelve diners.
