Part-Time Father. Sharon Kendrick

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      She wondered how one went about breaking off an engagement. She would have to tell her mother and Duncan’s mother—both widows. She herself had no other relatives, and Duncan very few. She wondered briefly whether the older brother in America had been informed—the rich, successful one, who Duncan and his mother both seemed slightly in awe of.

      Probably not. They’d only become engaged last weekend—hardly time to make it properly official.

      As Kimberley stared out of the window at the magnificent grounds of Brockbank House she heard a soft noise behind her. Not a footstep exactly, it was much too subtle for that, but she suddenly experienced the unease of being watched. She turned round slowly, to discover who her silent scrutineer was, feeling her skin ice with some unknown fear as she stared at the dark, silent man who stood before her.

      She had seen photos of him before, of coursevarious portraits of him scattered around the house and, latterly, newspaper clippings from gossip columns—but Kimberley would have known without being told that this was Harrison. Harrison the rich, the powerful, the blessed older son. Not that he looked in the least bit like Duncan, although the familial similarities were there.

      But this man was Duncan’s very antithesis. Where Duncan’s eyes were soft, smiling, this man’s were hard and crystalline and bright. Where Duncan’s mouth was full and kissable, this man’s lips were a thin, hard line. Cruel lips, thought Kimberley wildly, and tried but failed to imagine them kissing her, her cheeks flaring red as she saw those same lips twist into a contemptuous curve.

      For one frozen moment Kimberley sat staring up at him, unable to move, to think, to speak, unable to do anything other than acknowledge the dark and potent and sensual rush of desire which flooded over her with the heavy pull of a tidal wave. She stared into eyes which no longer looked grey but black as the night, she saw the heated flare of colour which scorched along his high, perfectly chiselled cheekbones—and she felt dizzy with a shameful longing.

      Unnerved by that still intense scrutiny, and by his silence, Kimberley scrambled to her feet.

      ‘You must be Harrison,’ she blurted out, in nothing even resembling her usual calm, confident manner.

      ‘And you must be the fortune-hunter,’ he observed caustically, withering contempt written all over his face.

      For a moment Kimberley thought that she must have misheard him; it was just not the sort of thing which one expected to hear, certainly not in civilised company, but there again, with that raw, scornful censure blazing from those amazing eyes, this man didn’t look in the least bit civilised. He looked…

      Kimberley shuddered.

      Almost barbaric.

      She forced herself to remain calm, because some instinct told her that if she responded on his level she would live to regret it. She raised her eyebrows fractionally. ‘What did you just say?’ she queried, quite calmly.

      ‘Oh, dear,’ he said mockingly, and sighed. ‘I should have guessed that it was too good to be true—you couldn’t possibly have brains as well as beauty. I called you a fortune-hunter, my dear. It’s an old-fashioned term, whose meaning is quite simple——’

      ‘I’m well aware of what it means.’ Kimberley cut in, but her voice was shaking with rage, and deep within her a seed of hostility blossomed into rampant life. ‘How dare you?’

      He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Quite easily. You see, you might find this peculiar, but I happen to be rather protective of my kid brother. And what else am I supposed to think when I hear that he’s about to marry someone he hardly knows, who happens to be years older——?’

      ‘Only three,’ she interrupted furiously. ‘And what difference does that make? Lots of men marry women older than them.’

      ‘Do they?’ His look was cool, assessing. ‘And do lots of older women marry inexperienced collegeboys, who stand to gain huge inheritances? Is that what turns them on—Kimberley?’

      She shivered with some dark nebulous recognition as he said her name, the way his tongue curved round it making the very act of speaking into the most sensual act she had ever encountered.

      ‘I don’t have to stay here and listen to this,’ she said shakily, but her feet were rooted to the priceless Persian carpet and she was incapable of movement as she gazed into mesmeric grey eyes.

      ‘But stay you will,’ he ordered silkily. ‘And listen.’

      She watched, horrified, as his eyes dropped to her body and lingered insolently on the lushness of her breasts beneath the thin cotton T-shirt she wore, and Kimberley was powerless to stop what that appraising stare was doing to her.

      She felt a dart of something which was a combination of pain and acute pleasure, felt her breasts grow heavy, hard, swollen. She saw his mouth twist with derision as he observed the blatant tightening of her nipples, and at that moment she felt utterly cheap.

      He nodded his head, as though satisfied by something. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘As I imagined. A hot little body and a face like a madonna—quite exquisite, but unfortunately they are such ephemeral assets. And, wisely, you’ve decided to capitalise on them. But I’d prefer you to do that with someone other than my brother. Understand?’

      Kimberley bit back her rage, her normally sharp mind in dazed turmoil because he was still staring at her breasts, and her nipples were torturing her with their exquisite need to have him take each one into his mouth, to suckle slowly and lick and…

      Horrified, she stared back at him, her body’s appalling reaction to his scrutiny stinging her into defending herself. ‘I don’t have to capitalise on any assets I might have, actually,’ she retorted. ‘Because I happen to have a very successful career in a merchant bank.’

      ‘And how did you get it?’ he queried insultingly. ‘On your back?’

      His hostility rode every other thought out of her mind. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered incredulously.

      He shrugged. ‘I told you. I’m looking out for my brother—and he needs shielding from women like you.’

      ‘Women like you’.

      Her face flaming, Kimberley lifted her hand and slapped him hard—very hard—around the face. She should have been shocked at her violent reaction but she wasn’t; it was the most satisfying thing she had ever done in her life. But he didn’t flinch. Only the angry spark which glittered ominously from the grey eyes betrayed his emotions.

      ‘In a minute,’ he said calmly, ‘I shall respond to that. But first I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m going to tell you.’

      ‘I don’t have to listen to anything you tell me. You insulting——’

      ‘Spare me your misplaced anger and shut up, Kimberley,’ he said in a voice soft with menace, and Kimberley felt a shiver ice its way down the entire length of her spine. ‘My brother is on the threshold of his life. Emotionally he is immature. If he marries now it will be a huge mistake. He is not ready for marriage.’

      And neither was she, though Harrison Nash did not know that. She saw the grim determination on his face, the arrogance and the dominance. A man used to getting his way at all costs. How far, she wondered, would he go СКАЧАТЬ