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She lifted her chin, her hands clenched into fists, and he knew that she was itching to thump him.
‘I do have a conscience, and I don’t feel guilty about anything I’ve done.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
He took a step forward, almost enjoying the flare of fear and anger in her blue eyes as she backed away unsteadily. That was why he’d invited her here, wasn’t it? To let her know where she stood and to demonstrate his complete and utter contempt for her.
‘But let’s forget about the past for the moment. I want to talk about the present, and how you’re going to behave for the next few months.’
‘I know how to behave.’ She glared at him.
‘Good. Make sure you keep it that way. Because I’m only interested in two things, sweetheart: my sister’s happiness and my family’s reputation. And if you do anything—anything at all—to jeopardise either of those, you will wish you had never crossed my path.’
‘I wish that already,’ she snapped.
They were so close he could see her flawless skin and the flecks of green and gold in the blue of her eyes. As he took another step forward he heard her breath catch, and instantly his blood was beating a path to his groin. For a split second he forgot everything—his anger, her family’s crimes. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to slide his hands over the damp skin of her waist and pull her against his tense, overheated body...how desperately he wanted to kiss her.
‘Tough,’ he said coolly. ‘I’m going to be your shadow at this wedding, Ms Miller, so get used to it.’ Pushing back the cuff of his suit jacket, he glanced at his watch. ‘Antonia has prepared lunch. We eat at one. Make sure you’re on time.’
He let his gaze drift over her damp skin.
‘And make sure you’re properly dressed. Or I might accidentally confuse you with dessert.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HAVING SHOWERED AND CHANGED, Mimi made her way down to the dining room at exactly one minute past one o’clock. She would have liked to make Basa wait longer, as a sort of tit-for-tat for making her wait for him at Fairbourne, but even if he made the connection it would only make her look petty.
Lunch was somewhat strained. She was itching to tell Basa exactly what she thought of him, and only by constantly reminding herself that she was here for Alicia did she hold back her indignant words.
Obviously she got it that he hated her stepfather and her uncle. They weren’t exactly top of her Christmas card list either. But it wasn’t as if you got to choose your family, and his constant sniping was getting on her nerves. Besides, what gave him the right to have a go at her anyway? It wasn’t as though his actions had been beyond reproach.
Picking up her glass of water, she took a sip, concentrating on the chill of the liquid and not on the heat that always accompanied her memories of that night at Fairbourne. Memories of the heat of a passion that had left her breathless, swiftly followed by a different kind of heat—the warm, sticky flush of shame at knowing that Basa would rather disinherit himself than tangle with the woman whose family had brought scandal to his doorstep.
And, judging by his comments earlier, and at that lunch with Alicia and Philip, he still felt the same way. No doubt this lunch was just another opportunity for him to lay down the law. But could he not just be civil for five minutes, given that this stupid weekend had been his idea anyway?
She felt another wave of irritation rise up inside her. It wasn’t as if he was the only one who had a reason to lash out. She could just as easily be giving him a hard time—and about his actual behaviour, not the actions of some of his relatives.
It was so tempting to tell him some home truths, and for a few highly enjoyable
moments she imagined telling Basa exactly what she thought of him—with a crushing eloquence she didn’t actually possess. But for now she was just going to have to think it, not say it. Getting into some kind of slanging match with him might be gratifying in the short term, but she would end up hurting Alicia.
Her shoulders tensed. These next two days were going to be a very challenging exercise in self-restraint, but thankfully there were some positives, she thought, glancing down at her starter of smoked aubergine in a criolla sauce.
Picturing what she would be eating if she was at home, she almost smiled. Her lunch was usually some kind of panini, bolted down with a bottle of water. Clearly, though, people like Basa didn’t have toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch.
It was just a shame he had to be here, casting a cloud over her with his cool, assessing gaze, but at least now that she had swapped her bikini for a denim shirt dress and ankle-high western boots she felt far less exposed.
However, compared to Basa’s minimalist dark suit and perfectly knotted Windsor tie, she still felt a little underdressed. Did he dress like that out of habit? Or was it a conscious choice? A sort of modern armour designed to intimidate and inspire respect using French cuffs and hand-sewn buttonholes instead of steel plates?
She glanced furtively over to where he was discussing wine options for the evening meal with Antonia. Not that it would matter what he wore. To add to his already overflowing list of advantages in life, he had the kind of beauty that elevated him above the ordinary.
Fortunately, she had plenty to look at other than his annoyingly handsome face. Like the rest of the house, the dining room was effervescently decorated, with walls sheathed in shimmering green silk, not one but five chandeliers, and a huge transparent acrylic table that looked as though it was made of moving water. But it was the two vast Basquiat canvases that dominated the room, their striking skulls and hieroglyphics making her forget to eat.
‘Do you like Basquiat?’ he asked suddenly.
She nodded, her face stiffening automatically into an expression she’d perfected during her stepfather and uncle’s trial.
In the restaurant and outside in the pool, she’d been so stunned to see him that it had been hard to do anything but gape. Now, though, the fact that she was fully prepared, and fully dressed, meant that she could compose her features, for she’d learned the hard way that self-preservation required composure.
