As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.
And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’
So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!
She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’
And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.
But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.
Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.
She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—
So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.
And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers of reason, ravishing her senses until she no longer knew where she was. Or cared.
And later she would never be able to say with honesty where the black magic of his sexual onslaught would have led her if the door hadn’t opened to Meg’s, ‘I’m carrying dinner through now, Miss Selina.’
Utter disorientation held her where she was and she was thankful for the way he turned to face the door, effectively screening her from the housekeeper’s view as her fingers fumbled in an agonised, uncoordinated hurry to straighten her clothing. And when he stepped casually to one side she caught Meg’s straight stare and felt the colour of her overheated cheeks turn to a crimson conflagration, and she mumbled something, she had no idea what, and was too busy trying to cut through the heavy swaths of her utterly shameful and unprecedented sexual arousal with a brain that seemed to have been drugged out of orbit to make any sense of Meg’s dour, ‘Snow’s coming down like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I should warn you.’
‘Thank you.’ It was Adam Tudor who effectively took over, normalising a situation which had all the hallmarks of a nightmare, Selina thought distractedly as he added, ‘We’ll be right on through.’ And one of his hands cupped her elbow lightly, the gentle pressure of his fingers easing her forward as she tried to marshal her mental powers and push his unforgivable, disgraceful behaviour right to the back of her mind.
And, almost, she achieved it because as Meg disappeared she dug her heels in, wrenched her arm from his grasp and, not daring to look at him, not caring to be reminded of—of anything she spat out, ‘That was totally uncalled for. Don’t ever, ever touch me again!’
Jerking her chin up, she stalked out of the room, the height of her spindly heels making her hips sway. Knowing he was following, just a whisper away, did nothing for her blood-pressure and when she paused outside the dining-room door, and turned, her soft body brushed against the hardness of his and her breath jerked in her lungs and solidified painfully when he told her with arrogant ease, ‘Don’t spit, little cat. You’ve just had a sample of the methods I’ll use to tame that temper. So sheath those claws and purr for me because, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’
CHAPTER THREE
THANKFULLY, Meg appeared at that moment, wheeling a heated trolley along the passage, but Selina gave him one look of seething, burning hatred before leading the way into the dining-room. She had been right to be afraid of being alone with this devil in human guise; the first encounter with the burning brand of his mouth had been enough to make her lose all control. But there would be no second encounter; she would make absolutely sure of that!
Seating herself, her nostrils flared with a tiny surge of anger. She’d told Meg not to go to any trouble but she’d gone ahead and pulled out all the stops. Despite the adequate central heating a huge fire burned companionably in the grate, the overhead spots doused to leave a couple of rich-shaded table lamps to shed soft intimacy over the panelled room, and pure white candles lent extra grace to the fine Irish linen, old silver and exquisite crystal set before them.
If Meg had deliberately set out to impress Martin’s wealth and standing on the stranger then she couldn’t have done better. It was just a pity that the last person that should be impressed was Adam Grab-What’s-On-Offer Tudor!
‘The beef Wellington and the greens are on the trolley,’ the housekeeper informed her sniffily, handing out the steaming bowls of walnut soup. ‘Trifle, cheeseboard and fruit on the sideboard. I’ll bring coffee later.’ Sighing gustily, she stumped out of the room, leaving a positive miasma of disapproval behind. Selina smothered a sigh of her own.
Meg could have served