Susan Stephens Selection: The French Count's Mistress / The Spaniard's Revenge / Virgin for Sale / Bedded by the Desert King. Susan Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ clear, Kate. There are to be no more holiday homes on the Villeneuve estate—’

      ‘And I thought I made myself equally clear,’ Kate returned tensely. ‘La Petite Maison is not going to be a holiday home. And, what’s more, it’s not for sale—to you, or to anyone else.’

      ‘You may come to regret that decision—’

      ‘Are you threatening me, Guy?’

      Rather than checking him, this challenge only served to unleash something primal in his gaze, so that what had once been so direct, so uncompromising, grew dangerously hot. Throwing his head back, he loosed a short and very masculine laugh. ‘Still so fiery, Kate,’ he growled approvingly. ‘Still my little spitfire, aren’t you, Katie Foster?’

      The possessive note in his voice…domination almost, released a tidal wave of longing inside Kate’s chest—a tidal wave that swept quickly to inhabit each one of her erotic zones. And not singly, allowing her time to adjust and conceal, but all at once so that she gasped and reddened as instinctively she swayed towards him.

      ‘A spitfire on heat, Katie?’ he suggested sardonically as he moved away.

      Reduced to shaking her head in violent denial, Kate managed to gasp out a correction on her childhood name at least. But even as she uttered the reprimand she knew by his face that it fell on deaf ears.

      ‘So,’ he said, clearly relishing the moment, ‘it’s good to see that nothing’s changed since we last met.’

      His arrogance was astounding, but at least it served as a wake-up call.

      ‘You might find that quite a lot has changed in ten years,’ Kate said tensely. ‘Not least of which is my capacity for standing up for myself.’

      ‘Excellent,’ he drawled mildly in French. ‘I love a good fight.’

      His bold stare sent ribbons of fire curling down her spine. She watched transfixed as he reached up to loosen his silk tie with one strong tanned hand and then went on to free a couple of buttons at the neck of his crisp white shirt.

      ‘Maybe some things have changed,’ he agreed as he viewed her through storm-grey eyes. ‘But, as far as I can see, only for the better.’

      Kate tried to look away as he lazily fingered the blue-black stubble shading his jaw but found she couldn’t.

      ‘Stop it!’ she warned as he prowled a step closer. ‘You were wrong about me ten years ago. And you’re just as wrong about me now.’ She saw his eyes gleam at the recollection.

      ‘Ten years ago there was some excuse for your behaviour,’ he said sternly, his mouth curving with pleasure when he saw how easily the authority in his voice melted her. ‘You were only sixteen,’ he continued relentlessly. ‘And, if I remember the occasion correctly, it was you who made a mistake, not me.’

      As he exhaled the last words on a sigh of mock-regret the thunderous pulse in her chest moved down to a lower and far more receptive area.

      ‘By imagining you were a gentleman?’ she demanded breathlessly, fighting to keep her voice steady as she tried not to betray what was happening.

      He shrugged off the insult. ‘By imagining I would take advantage of you when you were little more than a child.’ As his darkly amused glance swept over her it seemed to confirm that she no longer qualified for this consideration.

      ‘You didn’t have to—’

      ‘Didn’t have to what?’ he cut in. ‘Throw you over my shoulder and transport you back to the safety of Madame Broadbent’s arms?’

      ‘They were a damn sight safer than yours!’ She was unprepared for the sensual onslaught precipitated by the images of that one careless remark. But even remembering her clumsy attempt to make a pass at him all those years ago wasn’t to blame for the colour that rushed to her cheeks. It was his friends’ faces when Guy had hoisted her into his arms and carried her away from his party and back to her aunt’s cottage. She felt the humiliation as keenly now as she had done at the time.

      ‘I’ll forget it if you will,’ he suggested wryly. ‘Shall we start again from scratch?’

      ‘Not a chance!’ Kate flared as she struggled to free her mind from the embarrassment. She wasn’t expecting him to move at all…let alone so fast. She gasped when he seized hold of her arms in his warm, strong grip.

      ‘Still the same unbroken filly longing for a master to ride her into submission,’ he murmured.

      The surge of sensation hit with such force that Kate anchored her gaze on the fluttering pennant of a ship under full sail in an undoubtedly priceless oil painting and prayed her knees wouldn’t give way.

      But the sound of satisfaction that came from somewhere deep in his throat went on teasing her arousal. ‘I am not one of your polo ponies,’ she managed as he suddenly let her go. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’

      ‘I’ll speak to you any way I like. And I dare,’ he said, emphasising the word in a low voice full of amusement, ‘because I’m guessing there’s still everything to play for.’ And then he touched her, running his hands up and down her naked arms with a touch so light it was unbearable, while he watched her trembling with almost clinical interest.

      ‘This isn’t a game,’ Kate gasped as his hands rested then tightened again on her arms. She knew it was useless to try and pit her strength against his. Since the last time they had seen each other the Count had only grown broader, taller, stronger…and infinitely more desirable. Mashing her lips together fiercely, she refocused fast. Softening in his arms briefly defused his assault and as he released her she reclaimed her professional persona. ‘OK,’ she said coolly. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps we should start afresh.’

      The Count acknowledged this apparent change of heart with a thoughtful twist of his sensuous mouth. ‘Bien,’ he agreed, viewing her keenly. ‘You’d better tell me what you’ve got in mind.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      WHEN Kate left the château she was feeling more battle-shocked than she could ever remember but confident too that she had achieved at least a partial victory; in business that was usually enough for her to lay the foundations for something far more conclusive on the next occasion. The buzz of excitement that always accompanied a hard-won deal was thrumming through every nerve in her body. But was it the deal or something else? Even if her mind was awash with ideas for her new venture now that she had bought herself some time, she couldn’t ignore the fact that seeing Guy de Villeneuve again had really shaken her up.

      She paused with her hand on the door of her rented Jeep. The meeting had gone better than she might have expected. Guy had agreed to send his men to tear down the last of the wooden boards covering her windows and clear the worst of the weeds and brambles from the garden. He was also going to see about having the mains services reconnected for her, although the vagaries of local bureaucracy meant this might take some time. The fact that he appeared to have accepted she would not be selling the lease of the cottage back to him, but intended to live in it instead, should have been enough for her. But the part of her mind that handled less tangible matters was very badly shaken indeed. She had never come out of a business meeting СКАЧАТЬ