The Orsini Brides. Sandra Marton

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      “Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me, Miss—Miss—”

      She stalked toward him menacingly, a cat approaching its prey.

      “You set me up!”

      “What?”

      “You—you sneaky, slimy—”

      “Watch what you say to me,” Draco said sharply.

      “You played me for a patsy!”

      What did that mean? This woman was playing havoc in his head.

      “You tried to take advantage of me!”

      Draco gave a mirthless laugh.

      “Are we back to that?” Slowly he let his gaze travel over her, from head to toe and back again. “Believe me, if I could erase that momentary behavioral aberration, I would.”

      A momentary behavioral aberration? Was that what he called what had happened—what had almost happened? And that chill in his eyes. In his voice. How could he speak so—so clinically of what had taken place on the plane?

      Anna narrowed her eyes until they were slits.

      “That behavioral aberration,” she said, somehow making the words sound as if they consisted of four letters each, “was a clever ploy. At least, that’s what you intended it to be. But it didn’t work, did it? It didn’t work because I’m not one of your—your women.”

      Draco raised an eyebrow. Looked over his shoulder. Stared into the corners of the elegant room.

      “My women?” he purred.

      She tossed her head.

      “You know damned well what I mean. A man like you thinks he can snap his fingers and the entire female population of the planet will fall at his feet!”

      “An interesting abuse of the laws of physics,” he said coldly. “And what has it to do with you and me and that airplane?”

      “You thought you could compromise my position.”

      “Was that the position you took when your leg was draped over mine?” Draco said with chilling politeness.

      Her face turned an angry shade of crimson.

      “You’re despicable!”

      “And you are wasting my time.”

      “You knew who I was all the time, Valenti!”

      “You will address me as ‘prince’ or ‘sir,’” Draco heard himself say, and tried not to wince at the idiocy of it, but what better way to deal with the representative of a smarmy Sicilian gangster than to play on the ancient, if ridiculous, elements of class distinction?

      “That’s why you invited me to sit with you.”

      “I hope you know what you’re talking about, madam, because I most assuredly do not!”

      She strode forward, came to a stop inches from him. The scent of her rose to him, something as feminine, delicate and sexy as her stiletto heels.

      He recalled the scent from those moments she’d lain in his arms on the plane.

      He recalled more than that.

      The feel of her, pressed against him. The softness of her breasts against his chest. The heat of her body. The swift race of her heart against his, the sigh of her breath …

      Draco frowned.

      His body was remembering, too. Damnit, that was the wrong thing to have happen right now.

      “You offered me that seat for a reason!”

      “I offered it out of the goodness of my heart and the graciousness of my soul.”

      “Ha!”

      She tossed her head again. A couple of golden curls slipped free of whatever it was women called those silly things they used to catch their hair and keep it from falling free, as nature had intended.

      “How pathetic! That you’d stoop to such measures.”

      Her mouth was curled with contempt. Yes, he thought, but he could uncurl it in a heartbeat, kiss that mouth until it softened and sweetened under his.

      “You—knew—who—I—was,” she said hotly, punctuating the words by jabbing her index finger into the center of his chest. “And don’t bother trying to deny it!”

      Had he missed something? Had he been so busy remembering the taste of her, the feel of her, that he’d lost track of the conversation?

      The realization made him even angrier.

      “Deny what?” he demanded. “And stop doing that,” he growled, clasping her hand and folding his fingers around hers.

      “What happened on the plane. What you did.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Kissing me. It was all for a purpose.”

      He laughed. He couldn’t help it. What man wouldn’t laugh at such an accusation?

      Her eyes flashed with anger. “You think this is amusing?”

      “Let me be sure I understand this. You’re accusing me of kissing you on purpose?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Well, that’s a relief. I mean, I’d hate to have you accuse me of kissing you without any purpose.”

      Anna blinked. How could he do this? Twist her words so they came out wrong. Take her accusations and turn them into jokes.

      Most of all, how could he be so damnably arrogant and officious and clever and still be so incredibly easy on the eyes? How could the feel of his fingers wrapped around her wrist make her remember the feel of his body against hers? The feel of his mouth? The taste of his kisses?

      “Don’t play dumb,” she said. “You thought if you seduced me it would be impossible for me to represent Cesare Orsini’s interests.”

      He gave her a long, steady look. Then, curse the man, he laughed. Again.

      “Dio, am I clever!”

      “What you are is a bast—”

      “I hate to rewrite your script, madam, but you’ve got it all wrong. I had no idea who you were. The only thing I knew about you was that you had one hell of a quick temper.”

      “What I have, oh your worshipful highness, is no tolerance for bull.”

      “A quick temper. A sharp tongue.” Suddenly his voice turned low and rough. “And you fell asleep in my arms and came awake wanting me as much СКАЧАТЬ