In The Billionaire's Bed. Sara Wood

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      With her own dark eyes conveying her scorn, she eased it off the cork float that had twice saved her boat keys from sinking to the bottom of the river.

      OK. She’d blown it. But she wouldn’t be bullied. If standing up to this monster meant that she’d have to leave, then that would have to be her fate.

      She had never disliked anyone before, always finding good in everyone she met. But this guy was without any decent characteristics at all.

      And he owned Edith’s island! Conquering her misery, she tipped up her small chin in a direct challenge.

      ‘Take it.’ She thrust the key at him. ‘I won’t be needing it any more,’ she bit out, stiff with indignation.

      ‘Darn right you won’t,’ he muttered, taking it from her.

      Tossing back her tumbling hair and with protesting cherry blossom falling from the ivy tie, she took an angry intake of breath. She felt close to breathing out fire and brimstone and melting Zach Talent where he stood!

      ‘No. You’re no Edith, breathing sweetness and light. So I doubt that I’ll be popping in to play gin rummy with you,’ she snapped, ‘or to help you patch your sheets or paint rainbows in the bathroom!’

      Clearly astonished by her outburst, he hooked up an eyebrow and stared deeply into her defiant eyes—which rounded in confusion when she felt something go bump somewhere in the region of her heart. Shocked, she pressed a fluttering hand to her breast in bewilderment.

      An expression of liquid warmth eased the tautness of his face and then was gone. But in that brief flash, when vibrant life lit smoky fires in his grey eyes and the corners of his firm mouth lifted with hungry desire, she felt as though she’d been felled by a thunderbolt.

      After a breathless second, while something hot and visceral seemed to link them both in its fatal flames, he spun furiously on his heel to plunge the key into the keyhole with brute force.

      Quivering, she stood gazing in horror at his broad and powerful back while he struggled irritably with the tricky lock. What had all that been about?

      Sex, she thought—the answer nipping with alarming boldness into her head. She cringed with mortification. Quite unexpectedly, she had discovered that fierce passions lurked beneath Zach Talent’s granite exterior.

      And, more shocking, within her, too. He was married! How could she?

      The surging fizz of her blood, and the sense of danger and excitement which had electrified the air between them, was something she’d never known before. She had never believed such a force could exist—or that it might one day seek her out.

      Love, she’d fondly imagined, would be a gentle, warm sensation. Like sinking into a deep bath. With love, would come the joy of eventually uniting with the person you trusted and adored above all other people. The union would be sweet and beautiful, a meeting of mind and body and soul. Two people expressing the totality of their love.

      But she had been taken unawares by the effect of Zach’s raw, sexual attraction. Never had she expected to feel this harsh, primeval urge of nature that owed nothing to love and everything to pure, animal instinct. It was humiliating that she should. And, given the fact that she knew his marital state, it demeaned her.

      It only showed her innocence, she thought wryly, that she could be so easily zapped into a quivering mess by a rogue City trader—who was also her unwitting landlord!

      How silly to be affected. He certainly hadn’t known what he’d been doing, or that one unguarded and casual look from him could turn her insides out!

      Men were supposed to think about sex every six seconds, she’d read. She supposed that she’d been in his eyeline at the time.

      She made a face. How she pitied his wife! He’d be a terrible lover. He’d probably fit in his embraces between calls to New York and the London Stock Exchange!

      Would he take his mobile to bed? she wondered, warming to her theme. Very likely, she conceded and her face relaxed into a broad grin at the thought of his wife’s fury at being interrupted by a discussion on High Fidelity bonds at a crucial moment.

      Stifling a giggle, she was relieved to find that her pulses had stopped careering about in hysteria and that her body had calmed down after its peculiar insurrection.

      It had been a blip in her hormonal activity. The result of Zach’s overwhelming good looks and perfect physique. Plus the frisson of being in close proximity with an Alpha male.

      She was susceptible to superficial looks, it seemed. Well. If a man could ogle with impunity, so could she.

      ‘You’re smiling,’ he accused gruffly.

      He had pushed the door open and was standing back, waiting for her to enter. With understandable caution she flicked her amused eyes up to his and was horrified to find herself immediately swimming for her life.

      ‘Isn’t it allowed?’ she retorted.

      But her defiance was spoiled by a dismaying huskiness.

      He shrugged. ‘Be my guest. But share the joke. Or is it on me?’ he asked suspiciously. And he searched around for bandits again.

      She waved a deprecating hand.

      ‘Forget it. You wouldn’t understand!’

      ‘Try me,’ he said with underlying menace.

      She read too much into that and found herself stupidly blushing.

      ‘Absolutely not!’

      What did he mean by saying the joke might be on him? Why was he so wary of her motives? Desperate to hide her flushed face, she hastily bent to remove her shoes before heading for the farmhouse kitchen, glad to sit down and give her jellied legs some relief.

      ‘You do know your way around,’ he drawled speculatively, appearing in his stockinged feet.

      Nice feet, she noticed. High arches. Crossing one leg over the other, he leant, dark and brooding, in the doorway. And a curl of excitement quickened her breath.

      So she gritted her teeth and said nothing. All her energies were concentrated on controlling her wilful hormones in case their eyes met while his brain was connecting with his loins again.

      ‘Glad you made yourself at home,’ he added with dry sarcasm.

      Catherine jumped up. ‘Oh! You must think I’m so rude. I’m sorry,’ she said hastily, remembering her manners. This was his home now. She fixed him with her dark chocolate eyes, suitably apologetic. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured contritely. ‘It was force of habit.’

      His intently focused stare was disconcerting. Something had happened to his mouth. It seemed to be fuller. Beautifully shaped. The tip of her tongue tasted her own lips as if in anticipation.

      Wicked, wanton ideas flashed through her mind before she could stop them. Like putting her hands on his warm chest, standing on tiptoe and kissing those classically curved lips till he melted. Appalled beyond belief, she clamped down on the impulse ruthlessly.

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