Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds. Sandra Marton

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      He arched his graceful brows and she was aghast to feel herself blush as she was visited with a sudden mental image of herself languishing nude on black silk sheets, like a slave girl awaiting the arrival of her lord and master.

      ‘On the couch,’ she firmly emphasised, her mouth unknowingly prim.

      ‘Of course,’ he agreed, the quicksilver amusement in his penetrating eyes making her wonder whether he could read her skittish mind. She went hot all over. Naive she might be, but surely she wasn’t that transparent?

      She tossed her head, rejecting the appalling notion, and adopted a pose of haughty confidence which came immediately under assault.

      ‘May I?’

      Without waiting for an answer he knelt on the white carpet and encircled the ankle of her stockinged foot with lean fingers, tugging lightly to lift it from the floor.

      Regan squeaked as she teetered off balance on her spindly heel, and grabbed at his shoulders to stay upright. Even through the padding of expensive fabric she could feel the shifting layers of solid muscle.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she gasped, wondering if he was some kind of weird foot-fetishist. ‘Oh…’

      She watched him slide her shoe back onto her foot, wiggling it from side to side to ease the fit. ‘Thank you…you needn’t have bothered,’ she mumbled, embarrassed.

      He tipped his head back, making no effort to rise. ‘I enjoyed it,’ he said, meeting her wide-eyed gaze, his fingers still lightly encircling her fine-boned ankle. ‘You have very pretty feet. And legs…’ he added, brushing his fingers gently up her calf to linger in the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee.

      Regan stiffened as a violent tingle shot from her toes to her groin. Her heart beat furiously in her chest and her breathing quickened. She was no longer in any doubt. This was it. This was him. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, hoping that she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.

      ‘I’m sorry you had such a long wait. I hope you weren’t too bored.’ Having thoroughly disconcerted her with his Prince Charming act, he rose slowly back to his full height. Regan felt as if he was surveying every inch of her on the way up, and her body prickled with awareness, her eyes darkening and her nostrils flaring at the warm, spicy male scent that rose from his unbuttoned jacket.

      ‘Pierre tells me that your name is Eve.’

      She nodded, her eyelashes fluttering nervously at his towering proximity. Being short, she was used to men looming over her, but she wasn’t used to feeling such an acute sense of feminine self-awareness.

      Unlike Pierre, he didn’t display even a flicker of scepticism. ‘How appropriate,’ he said, capturing her hand and raising her knuckles briefly to his lips. ‘In that case you can call me Adam.’

      ‘Your name is Adam?’ she repeated, jolted by the brush of his warm mouth into forgetting that the last thing she wanted to do was make an issue out of their names. Who would have thought one innocuous kiss on the back of her hand could feel so flagrantly erotic?

      ‘One of them,’ he smoothly conceded, stretching the coincidence. He lowered, but did not release her captive hand. ‘So, here we are, Adam and Eve in a garden of delights…and this time there’s not a serpent in sight.’

      No serpent, just a worm who had finally turned! thought Regan, rescued from her confusion by a stirring of the wicked sense of humour which had lately been all but smothered out of existence.

      ‘I’m sorry Cleo had to cancel,’ she lied, sliding her tingling fingers slowly out of his hand, her fingernails scraping deliberately across his relaxed palm, crossing the faint ridge of a scar. ‘I hope you aren’t too disappointed.’ She followed up her words by tilting her head so that her glossy locks slipped against her soft cheek, and giving him what she hoped was a brazen, woman-of-the-world smile.

      A faintly arrested expression crossed his face. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining,’ he murmured, looking from the curve of her mouth to the glimpse of delicate earlobe, bare of ornamentation, to the turbulent depths of her violet eyes, shimmering with defiant excitement.

      ‘And into every life a little rain must fall,’ she responded vaguely, distracted by the darts of electricity zinging along her nerves into trotting out another of her mother’s irritating maxims.

      His lips quirked. ‘Are you talking about Cleo’s life, or mine?’ His voice dropped to an insinuating growl. ‘You’re not planning to rain on my parade, are you, Eve?’

      She wasn’t quite sure of his meaning, but judging from his tone it had to be indecent. She touched her tongue to her upper lip. Witty sexual repartee was not exactly her forte.

      She blundered on with the cryptic analogy. ‘A man like you is always prepared for any eventuality. I’m sure you come equipped with your own umbrella.’

      ‘A whole drawerful of them,’ he agreed blandly. For some reason that made her remember what she had seen in the bathroom. No…surely they weren’t talking about contraception?

      Were they?

      Whatever the topic of conversation, she was not going to ruin her image by blushing again!

      ‘You look tired,’ she blurted, seizing on the truth as the perfect diversionary tactic. She had noticed the faint blue tinge to the pale skin under his eyes, and the subtle tautness around his mouth and jaw that suggested a stern measure of control, and now she identified the lazy burr that had entered his tone. He was a man who concealed his fatigue well—as he probably instinctively hid any form of weakness.

      ‘It’s been a rough day. But don’t worry, I’m rapidly getting my second wind,’ he promised drily. He shot his cuff and glanced at his no-nonsense steel watch. ‘I know it’s late, and we may not get there for cocktails, but we can still make the banquet. If you’ll just give me a few minutes to change…’

      He had thought she was complaining! ‘Oh, no—I didn’t mean—er Y-you don’t have to rush—’ she protested, laying a restraining hand on his elbow as he turned away.

      All his former wariness had returned, and his smile was sharp with cynical understanding as he looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Nonsense. You came here expecting to attend an elegant party at the most exclusive restaurant in town and I don’t intend to deprive you of the pleasure,’ he soothed.

      Regan ignored his words in favour of his tone. He was tired, but he was resigned to going out because it was part of the unwritten bargain, and he was obviously a man who strictly honoured his obligations, however tiresome.

      ‘I really don’t mind if we go out to dinner or not,’ she said, her hand tightening on the fabric of his suit.

      ‘Really?’ He turned back, but it was clear that he didn’t believe her. He thought her a clone of the worldly Cleo—a selfish little cat who was out to milk their bargain for everything she could get.

      ‘I’m not very hungry, anyway,’ she told him, letting her hand drop. ‘An expensive meal would be totally wasted on me. I think I ate too many of Pierre’s wonderful canapés,’ she explained ruefully.

      There was a tiny СКАЧАТЬ