‘WE’LL LEAVE THE perfection of my life out of this conversation and while I don’t doubt you need someone to blame for what has happened to your brother—’
Mari stiffened defensively and cut in, yelling angrily, ‘You are to blame.’
‘What happened to your brother is tragic, but it is not the result of anything I did. He chose to drink, he chose to get behind the wheel of a car, his decision, his responsibility,’ he intoned with steely implacability. ‘It is pure luck that he didn’t injure an innocent.’
Gnawing her lower lip, Mari lowered her gaze. He had said it; she had thought it. ‘He loved your sister.’
‘It was hardly the act of passion,’ Seb derided contemptuously. ‘It was the act of a weak man who didn’t think of the consequences of his actions. It seems to be a family failing.’
‘He’s lying in a hospital bed!’ she cried, wondering if the callous monster even had a heart.
‘Which is sad, but he is the architect of his own downfall and I am just glad he has not taken my sister down with him.’
Mari wasn’t even aware that her arm had lifted, moving in a swishing arc towards his face until, a few inches short of making contact with his lean cheek, fingers like iron curled around her wrist, forcing it away and back down to her side.
She didn’t even give him the chance to release her hand; she started fighting, pulling frantically to wrench her hand free. When he did so she lifted her head very slowly, her wild hair falling back to reveal eyes that were wide and filled with hate, her skin flushed rosy, her lips parted as she panted for breath as though they’d just gone several rounds—everything was out of proportion with her and so, he realised, were the reactions she evoked in him.
He moved in a step, bringing their bodies closer. She didn’t move, if anything she swayed towards him as though responding to some invisible cord that connected them. He watched, fascinated, as the blue of her eyes was almost swallowed up by the dramatic dilation of her pupils.
She had the most glorious mouth he had ever seen, the sort of mouth that made a man want to taste. Quite suddenly, despite the deafening peal of warning bells in his ears, Seb couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t taste her.
One hand behind her head, he dragged her to him, then, tangling his fingers in the fiery mass of her hair, he hooked the thumb of his free hand under her chin. He dipped his head.
He felt her trembling as he moved his lips across her mouth before accepting the irresistible invitation of her soft, parted lips and plundering the soft, moist sweetness within.
The moment his mouth covered hers Mari’s mind stopped functioning and the rest of her nervous system went into overdrive. Then she was kissing him back with combative hunger she had not known existed. Above the thundering of her heartbeat she heard a distant moan and didn’t associate the raw, needy sound with her.
From somewhere, some small sane corner of her fevered brain, she found the strength to resist. She pushed hard against his chest and the kiss stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. She staggered back, her breasts rising and falling in agitation.
‘I hate you,’ she shot out, wiping the back of her hand symbolically across her mouth.
He stood there looking down at her, managing to look insultingly cool. Could he really turn it on and off like that...?
‘So nothing has changed.’
Still shaking while he continued to act as though nothing much had just happened, she smoothed a hand over her hair, appalled, deeply ashamed and most of all bewildered at the wanton way she had responded. ‘You kissed me!’
If she’d known that that was going to be the price of the last word Mari would have swallowed her pride and bolted when she had the chance!
‘I’m not going to get a honeymoon. I think the least you owe me is a kiss,’ he drawled while silently cursing his lack of control.
Cursing because she was the sort of woman with whom one taste was not enough, she was the sort of woman who, before a man knew it, he could not function with or without. She was the sort of woman he had spent his life avoiding.
‘I wish I had hit you!’ she fired back.
‘The day is young.’
‘And you’re in a hurry,’ she reminded him.
She watched as he turned his cuff and glanced down at the metal-banded watch wrapped around his wrist. ‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘Just one question, I’m curious. Do you think it was worth it?’
‘Worth what?’
‘Worth what is going to happen next.’ He shook his head and looked incredulously at her. ‘You really haven’t thought your little revenge plan through, have you?’ When she continued to look blank he elevated a dark brow. ‘You just told people we were an item and you’re pregnant. It won’t stop there. There will be consequences beyond a bad moment in my sooo perfect life.’ She carried on looking confused so he spelled it out. ‘For you.’
She lifted her chin but he could see the uncertainty she couldn’t hide in her eyes.
‘What consequences?’ she scoffed uneasily.
He didn’t reply immediately; instead he left a space for her anxiety to climb.
There was amused contempt in the eyes that brushed her face. ‘How many phones do you think caught part or all of your little drama? You have your five minutes of fame.’
A look of horror slowly spread across her face. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘Tough. It’s not optional.’
Her pallor exaggerated the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her small straight nose.
He remembered those freckles.
‘I almost feel sorry for you.’
‘I don’t need your pity,’ she flared back, eyes flashing.
One dark brow lifted. ‘I said almost. I save my sympathy for those who deserve it. You chose to have an affair with a married man.’ He disposed of her historical gripe with a dismissive click of his long fingers. ‘You chose to make a spectacle of yourself in public, your brother chose to drink and get behind the wheel of a car. Instead of bleating, perhaps you should both man up.’
Of their own volition his dark eyes dropped. Anything less manlike than her heaving breasts outlined beneath the blue fabric that moulded them lovingly would have been hard to imagine. He didn’t waste his time analysing the lustful surge of his body; he was working too hard at ignoring it.
‘I chose,’ she said, emphasising the word, ‘to make a spectacle of you, and in that I’d say I have been very successful.’ Almost mastering her struggle to appear indifferent, she shrugged and took the slim phone from her pocket.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Ringing for a taxi.’ Eyes hard, she sketched a saccharine-sweet smile. ‘I think I’ve imposed enough on your hospitality.’
He strolled to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. ‘Your shoes are on the windowsill, and your hat.’
‘I don’t have a hat.’
His eyes went to her hair before, face set, he removed his gaze from the fascinating flame-red curls. ‘Of course you don’t. That would mean you stand the tiny risk of not being the centre of attention when you walk into a room.’