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Rebel grew frantically aware of every desperate breath that passed between her lips, her own gaze unable to shift from the mouth drawing ever closer to hers.
‘I don’t need crystal balls. My human ones are more than adequate to deal with challenges from the opposite sex. But we’re straying from the subject. Tell me what you know, Arabella.’ Again that smile peeled back a layer of her skin and exposed her to sensations as alien as a distant galaxy.
‘For the last time, take your hands off me. I don’t know where my father—’
The buzz of an intercom from his desk froze her words. Draco tensed, the flex of his jaw exhibiting his displeasure at the interruption.
‘Mr Angelis, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I have Olivio Nardozzi on the line again. He refuses to leave a message or be put on hold. He says you promised to call him back fifteen minutes ago.’
He raised his head, but he didn’t let her go. Nor did his gaze move from her lips as he answered, ‘Tell Olivio I’ll speak to him in two minutes. Tell him he can either hold or wait for my call.’
‘Yes, Mr Angelis.’
The intercom clicked and silence once more engulfed them. Draco didn’t seem in a hurry to speak, or do anything but hold her prisoner.
Rebel knew she had to move, but for the life of her she couldn’t get her legs to work. So she employed her best defence. ‘Another one of your angelic, perfectly reasonable, high-maintenance clients?’ she mocked.
With a slow, deliberate movement, his thumb rose from her chin to pass lazily over her lower lip. ‘There will come a time when this delectable mouth will get you into trouble you won’t be able to escape from,’ he drawled in a low, dark voice that resonated deep within her.
‘Tick tock, Mr Angelis.’
His grip firmed, the fire branding her deeper. Then he released her with an abrupt move that spoke of barely leashed emotion. Before she could escape, he caged her in by placing his hands on the glass door either side of her.
‘You have until six o’clock tonight to tell me what you know about my money. Trust me, you don’t want me to come after you.’
She wanted to dare him to do his worst, but Rebel bit her tongue. Draco Angelis had already demonstrated that he had the power to strip her sponsors from her with nothing more than a hatred of her vivacity. Sure, she’d taken a few risks on the ski slope that had earned her a name in the sport. But they’d all been carefully calculated and had taken into account the injury she’d sustained when she was twenty-two. Without those risks, she’d have fallen even further down the rankings and lost all her sponsorship long before now.
As much as she wanted to tell Draco to take a running jump, if she wanted to get to the bottom of her father’s actions, or have a last chance at securing the Verbier championship and laying a few ghosts to rest, she needed to retreat and regroup.
A tug on her Lycra training bottoms drew her thoughts away from her mother and her errant father. She gasped as Draco slid a business card into her waistband. The backs of his fingers brushed her skin and her muscles jumped at the contact.
Before she could form an effective comeback to his audacious action he stepped back. A moment later the frosty glass cleared and a click released the door.
‘I assume I’m free to go now?’
He lifted the phone and punched in a series of numbers. ‘Provided you’re not held by my security, then yes, you may leave. But we both know you’re guilty of something, Arabella. Make the wise choice and use my private number. I guarantee you won’t like the consequences if you don’t.’ He sat down behind his desk. The infinitesimal twitch of his chair away from her was as definitive a dismissal as any as he spoke into the phone, ‘Olivio, my apologies for keeping you waiting. I hope you’re chomping at the bit to speak to me because you’ve given further consideration to my offer?’ His voice rang with charming familiarity, not at all like the ire he’d demonstrated towards her.
Rebel could barely recall stumbling from Draco’s office and summoning the lift that raced her back down to the ground floor. She assumed she was free to leave when the Angel head of security met her on the ground floor with her belongings. Thankful that she wouldn’t be required to answer any more questions, Rebel took her bag and yoga mat and hurried out into the weak February sunshine.
The light breeze that whispered over her skin brought a little clarity, but her senses were too focused on the card burning against her skin, and the grave certainty that the money she’d used to secure her place in the Verbier tournament was indeed money stolen from a man who seemed to have the lowest, blackest opinion of her, to feel the cold.
