Lost in Love Page 5

  He muttered something, and her eyes flicked up to clash with his, heat crawling up her cheeks because he had caught her staring so blatantly at him. She stiffened slightly, her chin coming up in defiance of the expression he had managed to catch on her face before she blanked it out, but his own eyes mocked her as they stared back, his hand slow in setting the telephone receiver back on its rest.

  Damn his sex appeal! she thought as the tension began whipping itself up between them. Damn him for thrusting his sexuality at her! And damn herself for responding to it.

  ‘I—I forgot to fetch my bag,’ she said, forcibly dragging her eyes away from him to send them on a slightly hazy search of the luxurious lounge. ‘Did you see where I put it when I came in?’ She was too busy refusing to let her eyes be drawn back to him to see the sudden narrowing of his eyes. ‘I’m sure I dropped it down here,’ she murmured, walking over to the sofa to frown down at the place she’d expected the bag to be.

  ‘What do you need it for?’ he asked.

  ‘My comb.’ Her hand jerked nervously up to her where her hair, newly released from its severe style, hung in thick silk tendrils down her back. ‘I’d let it down before I realised I hadn’t got my comb.’

  ‘Here.’ She glanced at him, expecting to find her bag dangling from his outstretched fingers, but frowned when all he held was his own tortoiseshell comb.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she primly refused, and returned to searching for her bag. ‘I have my own somewhere if I could lay my hands on my…’

  It hit her then, why he was standing there looking so studiedly casual, and she turned back to glare at him. ‘You’ve got it!’ she accused, her hands going to rest on her hips in an unconsciously shrewish pose.

  He took his time enjoying the highly provocative stance, an aggravating smile playing about his lips as he slid his gaze along the figure-hugging purple dress which did little to hide the sensual curves in her body or the too expressive heave of her full breasts. ‘Have you any idea what you look like standing there like that?’ he drawled.

  ‘A mess, most likely,’ she dismissed the husky tease in his voice. ‘My bag, Guy,’ she clipped. ‘You’ve moved it and I want it.’ A slender hand came out in demand.

  Guy glanced at it then back at her face, then, still smiling lazily, he gave a slow shake of his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry cara, but until you are legally tied to me once again, you will need nothing that is in that bag.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked in genuine bewilderment.

  ‘Exactly what it said,’ he drawled. ‘For the next few days you will be making not a single move without me at your side. Anything you may require will be provided by me, including a comb for your lovely hair.’

  ‘But Guy,’ she protested in disbelief, ‘that’s—’

  ‘Not up for discussion,’ he inserted, straightening from the desk to begin walking towards her, his tortoiseshell comb held out once again. ‘I do not trust you, Marnie, to keep your part of our bargain,’ he informed her bluntly. ‘And, since my part has already been attended to while you were out of the room, I feel the need of some assurance that you will not cheat me. Here, take the comb.’ He thrust it at her, and Marnie took it simply because he gave her no choice.

  ‘But this is ridiculous!’ she choked. ‘Guy, I have no intention of cheating you! Stop being so childish and hand over my bag,’ she demanded. ‘There are other things I need from it beside a damned comb!’

  ‘A lipstick, perhaps? I prefer your mouth exactly as it is, soft and pulsing with its own natural colour.’ Arrogantly he reached up to rub the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip, and instantly the blood began to pump into the sensitive flesh, filling it out and bringing a blaze of fury to her eyes as she angrily slapped him away. ‘Or maybe you want your neat stack of credit cards,’ he continued unperturbed. ‘Or the wallet of paper money which would easily get you a ride out of here.’

  ‘But I have no intention of going anywhere!’ she cried in exasperation.

  ‘And I have no intention of giving you the chance,’ he agreed. ‘So drop the outrage,’ he ordered coolly. ‘You know me well enough to know that I always learn by my mistakes. Disappearing is something you do too well for my peace of mind. So I have taken the necessary precautions to make sure you cannot.’

  Wilting on a wave of defeat, she sank down on to the cushioned arm of the sofa and sighed, his last remarks cooling her temper more than anything else could have done. Four years ago he had trusted her to stay put in Berkshire where he had left her, stupidly believing the move from London to his country home was a sensible way of giving her time to get over her understandable aversion to him. She stayed put only long enough to watch him drive away, then, while his father had believed her safely ensconced in her room, she had left, taking nothing with her but the clothes she stood up in and her bag containing enough money to get her as far away from Guy’s influence as she could get.

  She had ended up in a tiny village in the Fens, where she had succeeded in hiding herself away for six long, wretched months before she’d felt fit to face the world—and Guy again.

  No, she conceded heavily, Guy was not a man to make the same mistake twice. There was no way he would give her the opportunity to repeat that particular trick.

  A knock at the outer suite door broke the sudden heavy silence throbbing in the air between them. Guy hesitated, looking as if he was going to say something, then sighed and turned away, walking with a smooth animal grace out of the room.

  He came back wheeling a dinner-trolley in front of him, his expression hooded as he glanced across to where Marnie still sat, staring blankly at some indefinable spot on the carpet.

  ‘Come and eat,’ he said gruffly.

  Marnie gave a small shake of her head in an effort to re-focus her thoughts, then came to her feet. ‘I want to tidy my hair first,’ she said, and left the room before Guy could glimpse the pain her short flight into the past had put into her eyes.

  Five minutes later, her hair and her composure restored to something closer to their usual smoothness, she turned her attention for the first time on the room she was standing in, and forced herself to consider what Guy’s intentions regarding their sleeping arrangements would be. The room was furnished in classical tones: Wedgwood blue and neutral beige, the big double bed the one piece of furniture which dominated the room.

  Signs—unnervingly familiar signs—of Guy’s habitation of the room were scattered about. His black silk robe, thrown negligently over a chair. A white shirt he must have discarded for a clean one before coming to meet her at the airport tossed upon the bed. And a stack of small change, thrown negligently on to the bedside table and forgotten about as had always been his way. He held a real contempt of the sound of small change jingling in his pocket and tended to discard it the first chance he could get, so she would save it all up in a big coffee-jar, then carefully count it out and bag it before taking it to her favourite charity, more respectful of money, having never been used to having it, than he would ever be. It had amused him, to watch her hoarding his cast-off money like that, and she had glared defiantly at him. ‘You can stand there and laugh,’ she’d snapped once. ‘But do you realise that you’ve managed to discard one hundred and ninety-five pounds in small change this month? It’s a good job the Salvation Army aren’t so picky,’ she’d grumbled. ‘They’re not too proud to have it jingle in their pockets!’

  ‘So, they should be grateful that I dislike it jingling in mine so much,’ dismissed a man who refused to be anything but amused at her contempt.

  Marnie smiled to herself, going over to sift with an idle finger through the small heap. Five pound coins at a glance, she gauged ruefully. Shame she wasn’t around any longer to bag it for the Salvation Army.

  But she was around, she remembered on a small shiver. Back in Guy’s orbit and destined to stay this time. Her stomach knotted, catching at her breath as she turned to scan the elegant room.

  Woul
d he expect her to sleep here with him tonight? Her gaze settled on his dark silk robe, and almost instantly she conjured up a vision of him throwing it there, his body smooth and tight and disturbingly graceful in its nakedness. No pyjamas to be seen. She knew without having to look that she could turn this room upside-down without finding any. Guy never wore anything in bed. ‘Except you,’ he’d grinned once when she had dared ask the question. ‘You are all I need to keep me warm.’

  God. Her chest lifted and fell on a thickened heave of air. She just couldn’t do it—couldn’t! Not just calmly go to bed with him tonight as if nothing untoward had occurred in the last four years!

  Shifting jerkily, she sent that damning bed one last pensive glance before she walked out of the room and stood, hovering in the hallway, small teeth pressing down on her trembling bottom lip as she glanced at the other couple of doors which led off from here.

  More bedrooms? Her heart thudded with hope, and she stepped over to open the one next to Guy’s, almost wilting in relief when she saw it was indeed another bedroom.

  Perhaps, she mused thoughtfully as she quietly closed the door again, if she played it very carefully, this would be the room she’d sleep in tonight—alone. She knew Guy, knew his strengths and his weaknesses. With a little clever manipulation on her part, she should be able to swing things to suit herself.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His voice made her jump, and swing around to find him standing in the sitting-room doorway.

  ‘Checking out my prision,’ she countered. ‘Why, have you some objection to my doing that as well?’ Her tone was a challenge as well as a defiance to his power over her.

  ‘No, no objection,’ he assured, leaning his shoulder against the open door and thrusting his hands into his pockets as he studied her narrowly. ‘So, what have you discovered—besides the fact that I have no “little fancy piece” hidden away in one of the other rooms?’ he mocked.

  The thought having never entered her head, Marnie was instantly on the attack at being reminded of his—habit of travelling nowhere without the necessary woman in tow.

  ‘So, where is she, then?’ she demanded. ‘Perhaps occupying the suite next door?’

  ‘Wherever she is, she will sleep alone tonight.’ His dismissive shrug was both lazy and indifferent, but his eyes held a promise that left Marnie in no doubt why this faceless creature would be alone.

  Quelling the urge to tell him that he too was in for a disappointment, she kept balefully silent instead.

  He wasn’t sure what was going on behind the look, but experience warned him that something was, and he continued to study her narrowly for a few tense seconds before letting out a dry little sigh and levering himself away from the door.

  ‘Dinner’s getting cold,’ he murmured.

  ‘Is it?’ she said. ‘Then we’d better go and eat it, hadn’t we?’ And in a complete turnabout of mood she sent him a bright smile as she walked past him. ‘What did you order?’ she asked as she went over to the heated serving trolley to begin lifting covers curiously. ‘Mmm,’ she drooled, ‘is that freshwater bream? Oh, you darling, Guy, I haven’t eaten freshwater bream in years! Fancy you remembering how much I love it! What’s for starters?’ she asked eagerly, lifting covers and peering inside with an outward ignorance of the frowning suspicion written on his face. ‘Melon. Great!’ She sat herself down at the table. ‘If there is one thing for which I could never fault you, Guy,’ she enthused, ‘it was your unerring ability to always know exactly what to order for me.’

  With a flick of her freshly combed hair, she sent him a wide, warm smile, wanting to laugh at his comical expression. Guy had always had difficulty following her quickfire changes of mood. He had never been certain of what she was really thinking or feeling at any one time. The fifteen years that separated their ages had their advantages on both sides, and for Marnie it meant she was like a completely new species of woman to a man of his sophistication. It had always puzzled her as to why he should turn his practised eye on someone so young and obviously unsophisticated as herself. In the end she had decided it must be the Italian in him, demanding an untouched woman for his wife, and finding innocent virgins of a more mature and sophisticated age was well nigh an impossibility these days. So once she had decided that her innocence was her only attraction she had gone into emotional hiding, treating him to a clever blend of light-hearted affection and flirtatious mockery that kept him constantly unsure of her.

  Marnie had never considered herself a fool. Her mother had died when she was only sixteen, leaving her and Jamie to cope alone in the big bad world outside. But, although Jamie was several years older than Marnie, he had never been a strength for her to rely on, and she had had to learn quickly to fend for herself. Sheer guts and determination had taken her through her final few years at school and on to art college. She had paid her own way by working seven nights a week as a waitress in a wine-bar, learning very early on how to deflect any male interest in her without once feeling the urge to experiment with what they were offering her. She was willing to paint anything and everything that brought her a fee for doing it, and by the time she was in her second college year had already built a reputation for herself as an artist—nothing spectacular, but good enough to have the small commissions coming in on a regular basis. By her twentieth birthday she had had her own small flat, run her own small car—with a lot of nursing from her brother—and had already found it necessary to resign from college so she could meet her growing commitments, her career seeming to create itself out of nothing for her.

  No. Nobody’s fool but Guy’s, she concluded. Falling in love with him had to go down as the biggest piece of folly she had ever committed in her short, busy life! Not that she had ever let him know how completely he had beguiled her. And anyway, she had fought it, fought her feelings all the way through their short, hot, volcanic courtship and right into their equally short, hot and volcanic marriage.

  She’d decided that he wanted a virgin for a wife and a woman he had trained to his own personal sexual satisfaction in his bed, which was exactly what he got—and nothing else. While she got—well, what she deserved, she wryly supposed. A man who gave her everything from fine clothes and fast cars to long, hot, passionate nights that left her replete but spent, having had to fight the urge to tell him just how wretchedly she loved him.

  But that was a long time ago, she concluded as she glanced up to catch him still watching her narrowly and smiled a bright, false, capricious smile which made his own mouth turn down into a scowl. Now, even the love was dead, choked out of her by his own uncaring hands, and all that was really left between them was a bitter enmity mutually felt, and a refusal on his part to let go of something he considered his property.

  On a mental shrug, she turned her attention to the dinner-trolley, intending to serve up the melon Guy had ordered as a first course, but his hand, coming tightly around her slender wrist, brought her attention sharply back to him. He was glaring at her, his dark brown eyes brooding and intent.

  ‘I cannot pretend to know what was just going on behind that false smile of yours, Marnie, but I do warn you, most sincerely, to take care.’

  The warning shivered through her. She might pride herself on being no one’s fool, but neither was Guy. ‘All I want to do is eat my dinner,’ she said. ‘You did promise me dinner and a bed, didn’t you? So let me eat, then find the bed.’

  ‘My bed,’ he agreed with grim satisfaction, letting go of her wrist and sitting back in his chair, relaxing because he believed she’d walked herself right into that trap when really it was she doing the trapping.

  ‘My own bed,’ she corrected, placing large spoonfuls of the beautifully prepared melon into two dishes before passing one to him. ‘I’ll be sleeping alone tonight and every night until we are married again,’ she flatly informed him.

  ‘You’ll sleep where I tell you to sleep, when I let you sleep,’ he countered, just as flatly.

  Marnie turned her attention to the melo
n, taking a small square into her mouth and murmuring at the sweetly delicious taste. ‘This is very good,’ she announced. ‘Try it. It has something added to it that gives it a fantastic tangy flavour.’

  He ignored her. ‘We have a bargain, Marnie,’ he reminded her. ‘I dig your brother out of his mess and you—’

  ‘Which reminds me,’ she cut in on him. ‘I must give Jamie a ring and let him know he can stop worrying. I’d forgotten all about him, poor thing.’

  ‘There is no need for you to speak to Jamie,’ Guy interrupted her drifting thoughts, ‘because I have already done so.’

  ‘Oh.’ She glanced ruefully at him. ‘I hope you didn’t rip him into shreds—he’s frightened enough of you as it is.’

  ‘It seems a pity that his sister does not possess the same healthy instinct,’ he muttered.