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‘The hell with that.’ He took her other arm, pulled her close despite her struggles. ‘You’re going to tell me what you meant. Of course I respect you—how could I not?’
‘I’m not talking about this. Not now.’ Not ever. It would just humiliate her more. He wasn’t going to make her break.
‘Oh, yes, you are. I’m sick of waiting for you to say it.’
Waiting for her to say what? But before she could figure out what the heck he was talking about, he clamped his hand on her wrist and started dragging her through the crowd. A sea of heads turned to stare at them both as he marched her out of the ballroom. She’d never been more mortified in her life. But what was worse, much worse, was the thought that he might make her crack and reveal everything—and then she’d be completely at his mercy.
He slammed into the ladies’ powder room. The elderly matron busy fluffing her hair in front of the ornate mirror glanced up.
‘Why, Connor Brody,’ she said. Daisy blinked. Had the old dame just batted her eyelids at him? ‘What are you doing in the Ladies’ Lounge, you bad boy?’
Connor smiled back, giving her the full blast of his lethal Celtic charm. Daisy barely resisted the urge to kick him. First Mitzi and now a woman three times his age. Did he never know when to turn it off?
‘Mrs Gildenstern, it’s a pleasure.’
Good God, she’d fallen for the playboy of the Western World. Daisy snorted indignantly, but they both ignored her.
‘I need a moment with my fiancée in private,’ he said.
‘So this is the lucky girl?’ the woman purred, fluffing her hair some more and sending Daisy a flirtatious wink. She got up and touched Connor’s arm. ‘You go right ahead, my boy,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.’ Her paper-thin skin crinkled as she grinned. ‘But don’t you two get up to anything I wouldn’t,’ she finished as she left the room, chortling like a naughty schoolgirl.
‘Sure, thanks, Mrs G,’ Connor finished distractedly. He turned to Daisy, all traces of that industrial-strength charm wiped out by a dark scowl. ‘Now I want to know what’s going on.’
‘I don’t need to tell you a thing.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He pressed her back against the vanity unit, hard thighs trapping her hips, hot hands clamping on the exposed skin of her back and the smell of soap and pheromones overwhelming her. ‘Think again. Because you’re not getting out of here till you do.’
The warm spot between her legs pulsed hot. She slapped her hands against his chest, and shoved. He barely budged.
She glared at him some more. He didn’t even flinch.
‘I didn’t like seeing you paw that floozy,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But now I’m over it.’ Almost.
‘What floozy? You mean Mitzi?’ he said, sounding so astonished the old red rag popped out again and ruined all her best intentions.
‘Yes Mitzi. I mean, I know this relationship is a sham. I know we’re only pretending to be engaged.’ When exactly had she lost sight of that? ‘But if you could refrain from smooching with other women in public I’d appreciate it. I happen to have some pride, you know.’ Although she’d lost sight of that too somewhere. ‘Just because I don’t have mile-long legs and breasts that will still be perky when I’m dead. As far as everyone here is concerned I am your fiancée and that ought to entitle me to a tiny iota of your respect.’
Now she sounded pathetic too. She wanted to kill him. How had he managed to turn her into a desperate, grasping, needy nutcase that she didn’t even recognise?
His scowl deepened momentarily and then his eyebrows kicked up. ‘Jesus. You’re jealous,’ he murmured incredulously.
‘I am not jealous,’ she shot back. ‘That would make me an imbecile.’ Wouldn’t it just?
‘Yes, you are,’ he said, flashing her that megawatt grin. The satisfied gleam in his eyes lit Daisy’s temper up like a Chinese firecracker.
‘That does it. I’m out of here.’ She struggled, but he simply grabbed her waist and held her still. Then his thumbs slipped under the satin of her gown, trailing goosebumps in their wake. She gasped.
‘I’ve got to tell you,’ he murmured, his fingers caressing bare skin as his hands wrapped round her, ‘you’re magnificent when you’re mad, angel.’ He chuckled, the sound throaty and self-satisfied and wholely male.
Fury engulfed her. She was not going to get sidetracked, not again.
‘Don’t you dare laugh at me,’ she said, ‘or I’ll slug you.’
She freed her arm and tried to take aim, but he caught her fist in his, laughing as he kissed her knuckles. ‘Now, now, angel. Don’t get nasty.’
Then she felt it, the solid length of his arousal, outlined against the soft swell of her belly. Heat spiralled from her core and she struggled in earnest. ‘No. No way,’ she yelped, staring into his eyes and seeing the intent on his face. ‘Forget it. We are not making love. If you haven’t noticed, we’re having an argument.’
‘Pay attention, angel,’ he said as his clever fingers whisked down the zip on her dress. ‘We’ve had the argument.’ The bodice fell away, baring her lacy push-up bra. ‘And we’re about to have the make-up sex.’
