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What she was sure of was that she wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.
What about Annabel? What about the IVF? What about a night with him?
She would never get her night, that was clear to her now, and even if she did, she probably wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway.
But Annabel...that was a different story.
‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked in his smooth, dark voice. ‘You want to offer me your what?’
He’d been sexy in those pictures in the gossip magazines, been charming in all the interviews she’d read. He’d never denied his lavish parties or his exploits with his many lovers. And when he’d been accused of being shallow, he’d only smiled as if that was of no concern.
Yet while the man who stood in front of her was still sexy, he wasn’t smiling now and the sexy charm he’d displayed out in the room with the piano was long gone. His gaze was razor sharp and there was no give in his fallen-angel face.
That should have made her more afraid, should have made her bolt from the room, because this man was harder and colder than the one in the magazines she’d read so avidly.
Yet she didn’t move, standing there exposed in the skin-tight cheap red dress she’d bought in the hope it would showcase her figure, conscious of the strangest shiver of delicious anticipation running down her spine. As if part of her was relishing the chance to do battle with him.
‘I—I w-want to offer you my virginity,’ she repeated, annoyed with herself for stuttering. ‘For a price.’
He stared at her and if she didn’t know any better she would have said that he was slightly dumbfounded.
‘Of course.’ There were traces of a lilting, musical accent in his velvety voice. ‘Your virginity, how novel.’
His obvious sarcasm generated a spark of anger inside her.
If he didn’t want her, he should just say. He really didn’t need to be quite so rude.
‘Okay, fine,’ she said, not stuttering now. ‘It’s clear you’re not interested. Just forget I said anything and I’ll be on my way.’ Then she reached for her cloak.
Only to have warm fingers wrap around her wrist.
She took a sharp breath, realising belatedly that he’d moved, crossing to where she stood and so fast she’d barely had a chance to be aware of it let alone get away from him.
‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t think you will.’
Glory trembled, a strange combination of fear and excitement tangling inside her. ‘L-let go of me.’
He didn’t move and he didn’t release her. ‘Who are you? Tell me why you’re really here.’
There was an odd intensity to him. He seemed...angry. Almost as if he thought she was lying to him.
‘I did tell you.’ She tried to pull her hand away. ‘I came here to—’
‘You really expect me to believe that nonsense?’
He looked so forbidding, his amber gaze cold. So very different to the man she’d seen talking to the woman in his lap just before, who’d smiled and then laughed that low, sexy laugh.
Yes, he was angry, she could see that. But did gatecrashing his stupid party really warrant scaring her like this? And what did he care anyway? He was rich and powerful, so why didn’t he get his security to deal with her?
Glory hated confrontation so she didn’t often allow herself to get angry. And when she couldn’t avoid a confrontation, she usually dealt with it by staying quiet until the other person had finished ranting, before apologising profusely.
Yet for some reason, there was something about this man that made her usual apologies stick in her throat.
He wasveryangry, which didn’t seem fair, plus there was the fact that he was completely, devastatingly good looking. She already knew about that—she’d been mooning over him and his looks for months after all—and yes, he had quite the sordid reputation, but did he have to be so unpleasant to her?
She was only an ordinary woman in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He could just let her go, not stand there interrogating her like she was a terrorist or something. Especially when all she’d done was gatecrash.
