Bad Influence. SUSANNE MCCARTHY

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СКАЧАТЬ play a great deal rougher than you, and I can assure you that you’ll be the one who comes off worst.’

      The kiss he inflicted on her was pure punishment, his lips crushing hers apart, his plundering tongue swirling deep into her mouth, asserting his mastery. She struggled wildly but she couldn’t escape—he was far too strong for her and she was only hurting herself. When at last he lifted his head, his mocking laughter inflamed her fury.

      ‘Let me go!’ she raged fiercely. ‘How dare you treat me like this?’

      ‘Well, now, isn’t this what you were after, frolicking around my boat?’ he sneered with icy contempt. ‘Why waste time playing coy little games? Like I said, you’re not the first pretty mermaid to try that kind of trick to get herself on board, but you’re the first who’s gone to such bold extremes.’ As he spoke, and his eyes raked coolly down over her body, the blanket had fallen away, and with a sudden stab of horror she realised that her bikini had gone—leaving her completely naked. It had been just a flimsy thing, designed for lounging around in the sun rather than serious swimming, and in her floundering around in the water it must have come unfastened without her even noticing. A deep blush of humiliation suffused her cheeks, and she turned her face away from him in total defeat.

      ‘Hey, what’s this?’ The harshness was suddenly gone from his voice. With a gentle hand he turned her face back towards him, brushing away a tear that sparkled on her cheek. She gazed up into those fathomless dark eyes, feeling herself once again drowning…

      And then abruptly he let her go, rising to his feet and tossing the blanket back over her in a gesture of scornful disdain. ‘OK, Blondie—you get the Oscar for that one. I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s a new one on me, and until I know the rules you can deal me out’

      Still dazed with shock, she wrapped the blanket around herself, curling herself up into a defensive ball on the sofa, warily watching his every move.

      ‘And spare me the Sarah Bernhardt impersonation,’ he rapped acidly. ‘It won’t wash. Just get your cute little backside through that door and find yourself something to put on—there’s a dressing-gown of mine in the bathroom.’ He jerked his thumb towards a panelled door in the corner of the saloon. ‘Once you’re decent, you can come back in here—and then we’ll play the game by my rules.’

      Without waiting to argue, she rolled off the sofa, landing in an undignified heap on the thick-piled carpet. Picking herself up, tripping over the trailing corner of the blanket, she dived through the door he had indicated, closing and locking it behind her. And then she leaned back against it, sliding slowly to the floor, her eyes closed, her whole body shaking in reaction.

      Anyone who knew her only as the cool, self-assured chief executive of the huge Geldard Corporation would have been hard-pressed to recognise her as this frightened, bedraggled creature, huddled on the floor, trembling and crying, trapped on a stranger’s yacht—a stranger who had made his intentions absolutely clear.

      But then she was the only one who knew how false was the faąde she showed to the world. At twenty-seven years old, with never even the slightest hint of a romantic involvement, it was inevitable, perhaps, that certain myths had grown up around her—indeed, she had deliberately cultivated them as part of her defence. Her eyes could freeze impertinence at twenty paces—few saw the hint of vulnerability in the softness of her delicately drawn mouth.

      As sole heir to her grandfather’s substantial fortune, she had always known that any man who showed an interest in her was only trying to get his hands on her money or control of the Geldard empire. And she had learned to recognise the shallow compliments on her looks for what they were. Her blonde colouring and fine skin were well enough, and she would acknowledge that she had a good figure, kept in trim by regular exercise, but the Geldard features which had given her grandfather such an imposing air were really rather too strong for feminine beauty; a firm chin and a faintly patrician nose hinted at an assertiveness that terrified most men of her acquaintance.

      And that was the way she liked it. She had never cared to put Grandfather’s teaching to the test—she had her own mother’s example as a constant reminder of the consequences of falling in love. Not that she, Georgia, would ever do anything as foolish as running off with a driving instructor—the ease with which the young man had been willing to be bought off had shown him up in his true colours.

      She had grown up with the story of how Grandfather had brought home the jilted bride, chastened—and pregnant. Regrettably, her mother had further disappointed him by producing a mere girl instead of the longed-for grandson to inherit the biscuits-to-brewery empire he was busy building, and her weakness of character had further revealed itself in a steadily worsening drink problem. Georgia remembered her only as a pale wraith, haunting the overheated orangery at the back of the house, her breath always smelling of sherry, terrifying her with tearful attempts to make her sit on her lap. She had died almost unnoticed when Georgia was ten.

      Surprisingly, however, Grandfather had taken to his granddaughter from the time she could toddle, and she had grown up to be the apple of his eye. She had inherited his biting intelligence and determination, and he had groomed her to take over the reins of the company as if she had been a boy.

      And she had accepted that the privileges she enjoyed had their price, never allowing herself to regret that her wealth set her apart from the romantic pleasures of other young women of her age. Strictly trained to despise the weakness that had destroyed her mother, she was happy with her solitary state—most of the time; it was only sometimes at night, waking from a fitful dream with an aching sense of unfulfilled need, that she would even admit to herself that she was lonely…

      But Grandfather would never have approved of her sitting here feeling sorry for herself, she reminded herself crisply—and she hadn’t escaped from César’s clutches only to fall victim to the notorious Jake Morgan! Pulling herself together with an effort of will, she sat up and looked around, taking careful stock of her surroundings.

      It had grown dark outside, and sliding to her feet she found the switch that turned on the lights. The soft glow of silk- shaded lamps filled the room, gleaming on the rich, dark mahogany walls. This must be the master state-room—spacious and elegant, it had the same air of being an exclusively male province as the saloon. It was dominated by a huge bed, elevated on a low, carpeted platform and covered with winered silk sheets. What had she got herself into?

      Curiosity drew her to explore, opening the doors set into the wood-panelled walls. One revealed a cavernous fitted wardrobe, half-empty—just a couple of beautifully-tailored business suits and hand-made silk shirts, but mostly good quality casual clothes, several pairs of rugged denim jeans and a stack of different coloured T-shirts. Another revealed a small television set and a large hi-fi, and a column of CDs which told her nothing but that his taste in music ran from jazz to hard rock, with a little country and a few unexpected classics thrown in.

      The last door opened to reveal a bathroom of hedonistic black marble, complete with a huge, deep sunken bath with gold taps that would have been at home in a Roman potentate’s palace. And gazing back at her from the mirrored wall opposite was her own reflection. She stared at it, strangely disturbed to see herself standing there in such an alien environment, her eyes glittering darkly and her mouth as soft as bruised raspberries, the blanket slipping from her naked shoulders…

      ‘We’ll play the game by my rules…’ It didn’t take much imagination to guess what he meant by that, she mused, stealing an apprehensive glance back at that big bed. Suddenly a vivid image rose in her mind, of her own creamy-gold skin against those wine-red sheets—overlaid with a deeplybronzed, hard-muscled body…

      Quickly she shook her head, alarmed by the rapid acceleration of her СКАЧАТЬ