The Jet-Set Seduction. Sandra Field

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СКАЧАТЬ the force of his personality. “Clea, I want you in my bed…and I’m convinced that you want to be there, too. I travel a lot, we can meet anywhere you like.”

      Clea said evenly, hating herself for the lie, “I play the field, I have a good time and move on. That’s what I told you this morning, and it hasn’t changed. You can give me your phone number, if you like—and if I’m ever at a loose end, I’ll call you.”

      So she was lumping him together with what she called, so amorphously, the field. Slade said, lifting one brow, “I dare you to make a date with me. More than that, I dare you to get to know me. In bed and out.”

      Her nostrils flared. “You’re being very childish.”

      “Am I? If we stop taking risks, something in us dies.”

      “Risks can kill!”

      “I assure you, I don’t have homicide in mind.” Kill, he thought. That’s a strong word.

      Her breasts rising and falling with her agitated breathing, Clea said, “Men don’t stick around long enough for women to get to know them.”

      “Generalizations are the sign of a lazy mind.”

      “The first sign of trouble, you’ll be gone faster than I can say au revoir.”

      “You’re being both sexist and cowardly,” he said.

      Her chin snapped up. “Who gave you the right to stand in judgment on me?”

      “Deny it, then.”

      “I’m not a coward!”

      Slade said softly, “Prove it to me. More important, prove it to yourself.”

      Toying with the olive in her glass, Clea said raggedly, “You’re talking about us getting to know each other. Yet you never let any of your women close enough to hurt you.”

      He said grimly, “You may be the exception that proves the rule.”

      And how was she supposed to interpret that? “I like my life the way it is,” she said. “Why should I change?”

      “If you didn’t want to change, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.”

      He was wrong. Completely wrong. “Do you do this with every woman you meet?”

      “I’ve never had to before.”

      “So why are you bothering now?”

      “Clea, I don’t want to play the field,” he said forcibly. “Right now it’s you I want. You, exclusively. Because deep down I don’t really believe you are a coward.”

      “Just sexist,” she said with a flare of defiance.

      “Don’t you get bored playing the field?”

      She said nastily, “I’ve not, so far, been bored with you.”

      “Then I’ll make another dare—date me until you do get bored.” Slade pushed a piece of paper across the table to her. “My personal assistant’s phone number in New York. His name’s Bill and he always knows where I can be reached.”

      She stared down at the paper as if it might rear up and bite her. Her second line of defense, she thought wildly, what had happened to it? Hadn’t Slade jumped in ahead of her, daring her to date him? Worse, to go to bed with him? “I’m not interested in your money,” she blurted, trying to collect her wits. “I have plenty of my own.”

      “I never thought you were.”

      The Test, she thought. Now’s the time. Do it, Clea. She glanced up, her accent pronounced, as it always was when she was upset. “Very well, Slade…I also can make dares.”

      “Go ahead.”

      “Meet me in the Genoese Bar in Monte Carlo, three weeks from now. In the evening, anytime after seven-thirty. Wednesday, Thursday or Friday.”

      “Name the day,” he said.

      “Ah,” she said smoothly, “that’s part of the dare. I’m not telling you which evening. Either I’m worth waiting for, or I’m not—which is it?”

      “But you will turn up?”

      Her eyes flashed fire. “I give my word.”

      “Then I’ll wait for you.”

      “It stays open until 2:00 a.m., and the music is deafening,” she said with a malicious smile. “You won’t wait. No man would. Not when the world’s full of beautiful women who are instantly available.”

      “You underrate yourself,” he said softly. Reaching over with his finger, he traced the soft curve of her mouth until her lip trembled. “I’ll wait.”

      Fear flickered along her nerves. He wouldn’t wait. Not Slade Carruthers, who—she’d swear—had never had to wait for a woman in his life. Tossing her head, she said, “If you’re unfamiliar with Monte Carlo, anyone can direct you to the Genoese—it’s well known.”

      “Monte Carlo—where life’s a gamble and the stakes are high.”

      “High stakes? For you, maybe—not for me.” Which was another barefaced lie.

      “I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t know how to gamble, Clea…tomorrow I’ll give Bill your name. You have only to mention it, and he’ll make sure I get any messages from you.”

      She said, so quietly that the drifting jazz melody almost drowned her out, “I must be mad to have suggested a meeting between us. Even one you won’t keep.”

      She looked exhausted. Slade drained his whisky. “Finish up,” he said, “and I’ll take you back to the lobby. Then I’ll be on my way—my flight’s early tomorrow.”

      Her face unreadable, she said, “So you’re not putting the moves on me tonight?”

      His jaw tightened. “I don’t gamble when the deck’s stacked against me—that’s plain stupidity.”

      “At any table, you’d make a formidable opponent.”

      He pushed back his chair. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, you look wiped.”

      “Wiped? I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound flattering.”

      He took her hand and brought her to her feet. Standing very close to her, his eyes caressing her features, he said huskily, “It means tired out. In need of a good night’s sleep. When you and I share a bed, sleep won’t be the priority.”

      “When we share a bed?” she said, looking full at him. “I’ve never liked being taken for granted.”

      His eyes were a compelling midnight-blue, depthless and inscrutable. Charismatic eyes, which pulled her to him as though she had no mind of her own. She felt herself sway СКАЧАТЬ