Wild and Wanton

by Dorothy Vernon

  ‘That does give you something of an advantage.’ Her smile subsided slightly as she inquired, ‘Isn’t Mr. Farraday here?’

  She had never met Nick Farraday, though she had formulated an image of how he’d look. Her eyes momentarily left Greg Hammond’s face to scan the throng in an attempt to find someone who matched this image. But she couldn’t see anyone wearing horns.

  She thought it was rude of her host not to be present to receive his guests in person. Except, she remembered, she wasn’t a guest in the conventional sense, merely there to be looked over as a possible Miss Allure.

  ‘He’s around,’ Greg Hammond announced airily. ‘He’ll single you out when he’s ready. Meanwhile, just mix naturally and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Could you, knowing you were being spied on?’

  ‘That’s coming it a bit heavy, isn’t it? This is an extremely important assignment, and a most lucrative one for the right girl. A pretty face and spot-on statistics aren’t enough. It’s essential to see how the prospective choice makes out in public. But surely you were briefed about this before you came? So why the resentment? Do you know Mr. Farraday?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what gives with you?’ Greg Hammond asked, his tone equable and friendly, but getting it across to Lindsay that he wouldn’t take kindly to criticism of his boss.

  There was a temporary pause while Greg Hammond stopped a circulating waiter, and the conversation wasn’t resumed until a plate was in Lindsay’s hand and she had made her selections from the tempting canapes on the tray.

  ‘You can’t take up cudgels against a man you don’t know. You weren’t having me on about that?’

  ‘No, I’ve never met Nick Farraday. That’s not to say, however, that I haven’t heard a lot about him.’

  That slipped out before she could help it, and Greg Hammond gave a long, drawn-out sigh of comprehension. ‘I see!’ he exclaimed. A second waiter was stopped, and Lindsay selected a glass of champagne. So did Greg. He raised his glass to his lips. ‘Here’s to you. Now, where were we? Ah, yes! I was just about to do some gentle probing into the obvious aversion you have for Mr. Farraday, a man you assure me you have never met. That being so, he can’t have wronged you personally, so this antipathy must be on someone else’s behalf. May I speak frankly?’

  Regretting her runaway tongue, and squirming in dismay, Lindsay had no option but to say, ‘Feel free.’

  But it was not to be. His candid speaking was cut off as a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a deep, attractive, masculine voice informed him, ‘You’re wanted over there.’ She didn’t know whether she was delighted to be let off, or annoyed at having her curiosity frustrated, because despite her uneasiness it would have been interesting to hear what Greg Hammond had to say.

  ‘Sure.’ Shrugging, Greg Hammond smiled into Lindsay’s eyes. ‘It’s always the same when I find myself alone with a pretty girl. See you around!’ he concluded jauntily before taking off. Obviously, when Nick Farraday cracked the whip people jumped to attention.

  Lindsay was conscious of the fact that the man who had delivered the summons that sent Greg Hammond speeding away had elected to stay by her side. In the circles she moved in, with models getting taller, she was used to women as well as men towering over what she had previously considered to be a respectable height. At five feet five inches, no one could have called her pint-sized, but that was how she suddenly felt as she tilted her head back in order to look at him.

  He was expensively dressed. The impeccable cut of his dinner jacket whispered very discreetly that it was tailor-made; the wafer-thin watch on his wrist was gold, his shoes Italian. He was obviously one of the elite and excessively well-paid members of Nick Farraday’s staff. The breadth of his shoulders and the almost aggressive stance of his muscular legs provided Lindsay with a possible clue to his identity. Men as wealthy as Nick Farraday were vulnerable. She had noticed that this suite was guarded by a full security system, but he no doubt also needed a fulltime bodyguard, and she made the snap decision that the position was adequately filled by this man.

  Lindsay had two shortcomings that frequently landed her in delicate situations. One was her predilection for making snap judgments. The other was that she saw only what she wanted to see. Afterward, in playing the scene over again in her mind, she knew that this was yet another instance of hopeful thinking on her part, and that somewhere deep down in her a voice had been telling her this man was Nick Farraday. She could not admit this to herself and at the same time acknowledge the impact he made on her—an instant, electric attraction, like nothing she had ever before experienced. So she had to fool herself about his identity. She couldn’t bear for him to be the man against whom she bore a fierce grudge. Hence, she dismissed the notion that he might be Nick Farraday before it had a chance to take hold of her.

  His hair was black, his eyes the startling blue of a tropical sky. How well they went with a complexion that could only have achieved its attractive shade of bronze under a tropical sun. His physique was as outrageously handsome and as eye-catching as his face. Never in the whole of her life had she mentally stripped a man, but she suddenly saw this one reclining on white sand, his lean hips encased in white swimming trunks that showed off his spectacular suntan.

  ‘I didn’t think Greg had said enough to make you blush. The . . . interesting part was still to come when I butted in. You’ve either heard the rest of the story before, or you’ve got a very athletic mind.’

  She would much rather he knew anything than that the blush that had risen to her cheeks was because of her thoughts about him. Swallowing to regain her composure, she queried, ‘Athletic?’

  ‘Capable of making long jumps and landing dead on target. I don’t usually eavesdrop, but I must confess that on this occasion I found the nature of the conversation too irresistible to pass up.’

  ‘And you know what Mr. Hammond was getting at?’

  ‘I’m sure he would prefer you to call him Greg, but stay with Mr. Hammond. Yes, unfortunately I think I do. You’ve never met Nick Farraday.’ He wasn’t asking her, he was telling her. ‘That’s what you said.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was finding it difficult to unlock her gaze from the compelling force of his eyes.

  ‘So it’s secondhand hate, the worst kind,’ he said scathingly. ‘Hating on behalf of someone else should carry a warning because rarely are all the circumstances disclosed by the party on whose behalf the hating is done. That’s natural enough, because who wants to lose face with someone who cares enough about you to spring to your defense?’

  ‘The fact that you’ve got all this down pat must mean that it’s a regular occurrence,’ Lindsay said, her voice less searing than it might have been because of her blocked breath.

  His shrug could have meant anything. ‘The women who are favored never have anything to complain about. It has happened that someone near and dear to someone out of favor, a close relative or a friend, has attempted to inveigle her way in, wearing the kind of dress that excites a man’s eye, but with a heart full of revenge beating in the breast so tantalizingly . . .’ His eyes took over and were as eloquent as his tongue as they followed the course of the silver chain suspended round her neck; it was a look as warm as a caress as it dipped to the neckline of her dress.

  The dress hadn’t seemed so low-cut when she’d tried it on in the shop. Because the back was slashed even more daringly; it wasn’t possible to wear a bra with it, though the bodice had a strip of double-facing. The concentration of his gaze made her extremely grateful for that. She wondered what setting he had used for her in his mind. A sickle of white sand . . . or the silk sheets of a bed?

  His eyes returned to her face, and only then did she manage to get command of herself. ‘Is that what Mr. Hammond thought? Did he think I was rising to the defense of a friend who had . . . I don’t quite know how to put this.’

  ‘Served her usefulness and been dropped?’ he supplied for her.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I me
an.’

  ‘But in your case, that’s not so?’ he queried speculatively.

  ‘No. I’ve heard stories about Nick Farraday’s amorous entanglements. Who hasn’t?’

  His smile turned wry. ‘Sometimes I think that on dull, no-news days the media says to itself, let’s find out what Nick Farraday is up to. But I’m straying from the point. If you aren’t personally acquainted with a woman who has given her favors and ceased to amuse, why the intense dislike of Nick Farraday?’

  He was easy to talk to, and she hadn’t realized how obvious she had been. Her hatred of Nick Farraday for his part in her brother’s downfall and eventual death was so deep that it was almost an intrinsic part of her, something so accepted that she’d felt no need to cover it up. But she wasn’t here for revenge; that wasn’t her style. She had no devious plot in her mind. She had just wanted to see for herself what manner of man Nick Farraday was. And perhaps she had been curious to see if his apartment was as luxurious as Phil had described it to her in his letters. Her wish had been granted, and she now saw that the apartment did indeed live up to her brother’s rave reviews.

  ‘Why the antagonism?’ he repeated when no reply seemed forthcoming.

  She searched for the words that would let her answer within the bounds of truth, but without giving anything away. ‘I suppose I dislike him because it doesn’t seem right for one man to have so much.’

  ‘Him?’ The query had a teasing inflection. ‘Ah . . . yes!’ Something about his smile disturbed her. ‘Have you never coveted wealth?’

  ‘Never!’ she declared emphatically.

  ‘I find that hard to believe. What are your interests?’

  ‘I don’t know what that’s got to do with what we’re talking about, but I’ll answer anyway. I like reading and music.’

  ‘And you have never wished to possess any particular, expensive book? You have never yearned with all your heart to be sitting in one of the highest-priced seats at some much acclaimed performance? Have you never wished you could donate an expensive piece of equipment to a hospital, or fill a hungry child’s stomach in some far-off, deserted corner of the world?’

  ‘Of course I have!’ she replied testily, caring for neither the strange effect he had on her nor the turn of the conversation:

  ‘Then you have coveted wealth, because these things, whether desired for personal pleasure or from noble intent, have the same thing in common: both require money.’

  ‘You have a clever tongue. I imagine you could talk your way out of a prison.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot of things in my time, willingly and unwillingly, but that has never been asked of me.’

  Her mind backtracked. ‘What did you mean by the . . . er . . . interesting part?’ she ventured delicately.

  ‘What interesting part?’ The line of his mouth was suspiciously straight. Was he teasing her?

  ‘When you butted in just now, you said you didn’t think that Mr. Hammond had said enough to make me blush because he hadn’t got to the interesting part.’

  He had been teasing her, because he came back with, ‘I didn’t think you’d let that one drop. I’m quite prepared to tell you what I’m certain Greg was about to say. But first I must remind you that you’d given Greg permission to speak frankly.’

  ‘So I had! I’d forgotten about that. Perhaps you’d better not tell me.’

  Her lowered eyes came up again when she heard him say, ‘Would you have me break my golden rule?’

  ‘What golden rule?’

  ‘Never to leave a woman unsatisfied.’ Her flush at the sensual undertone deepened as he added, ‘Would you have me deny your burning curiosity?’

  ‘No,’ she croaked.

  ‘We’re back to the scorned woman bit. Not the woman herself—she knew the score—but someone who feels she’s justified in feeling hurt and anger on behalf of someone she is fond of. It’s my belief that Greg was going to point out that there can be no justification for that kind of reaction by acquainting you with a fact so basic that you shouldn’t need to be told: It always takes two. And I can go one better than Greg. Nick Farraday has his faults, and no one is in a position to know that better than I, but taking a woman to his bed who needs to be tutored on the finer points is something he does not have on his conscience. I can vouch for the truth of that.’

  Only one man could ‘vouch for the truth of that,’ and that was Nick Farraday himself. There was an outcry in her head, a protest that splintered to pierce the bubble of excitement that had been steadily rising within her at being in the company of this magnetic man. The disappointment was as acute as her sharply indrawn breath, and a hundred times more painful.

  ‘You must have found this all very amusing . . . Mr. Farraday!’

  She wasn’t surprised. You could only fool yourself for so long. It had been there all the time, a blighting shadow of thought pressing ever closer, telling her that she wasn’t in the company of Nick Farraday’s bodyguard, but the man himself!

  Oddly enough, he didn’t suddenly grow horns, as her image of him had dictated he should. The mesmeric voice was as smooth as ever as he continued. ‘Even rakes have a code of honor. A gentleman must never introduce the pleasures of womanhood to an innocent girl unless his intentions are as pure as she is. It’s a code I have had no difficulty in adhering to. But then, perhaps that’s because curious minds in eager young bodies are like . . . gold dust,’ he said, reaching out and touching the pale gold of her hair.

  ‘You could have told me who you are,’ she said, jerking away from his fingers.

  ‘I didn’t set out to deceive you. Who did you think I was?’

  ‘A bodyguard.’

  ‘I haven’t got one. Never felt the need.’

  ‘Such assurance has a very arrogant ring to it. Aren’t you afraid that one day someone will attempt to harm you, Mr. Farraday?’

  ‘I’ll take my chances. And the name’s Nick. I don’t recall catching your name.’

  ‘Lindsay Cooper,’ she submitted frostily, searching his face as keenly as she had searched Greg Hammond’s to see if he remembered that Phil’s name had been Cooper and was making a connection.

  It was her first name he meditated over. ‘Lindsay,’ he said, rolling it softly over his tongue. ‘The name is almost as alluring as you are.’ He put his head to one side and looked at her through narrowed eyes. He was studying her almost as an artist would. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Indeed, very . . . alluring.’

  Why the hesitation? Why the emphasis? Why alluring? What was going on in his head? What did it mean? It was surely just coincidental usage of a word. He wasn’t looking at her as the Allure girl. What she’d said to Jim Bourne about being chosen by Nick Farraday had been a joke. She had as much chance of being selected Miss Allure as she had of flapping her arms and finding that she could fly.

  Chapter Two

  Without warning or explanation, Nick Farraday grabbed hold of her and propelled her across the room.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Lindsay demanded, hoping the alarm she felt hadn’t crept into her voice as she struggled to free her wrist from his fingers. They reached a door, and it became apparent to her that they were going through it. ‘Mr. Farraday,’ she implored, ‘you can’t walk out on your own party.’

  ‘I’m the host; I can do what I want. And I thought I told you, the name is Nick. Mr. Farraday sounds too prim.’

  ‘I am prim,’ she retaliated furiously, wondering how he was managing to abduct her, as it were, why no one offered to stop him. It must have been obvious that she was being dragged out against her will. Two possible reasons for this general apathy occurred to her. Either no one questioned Nick Farraday’s actions, or, in this crush, no one had noticed their exit. She supposed she could have screamed, but that seemed undignified, and although he was acting outrageously, she didn’t really think he had any evil intentions. She changed her mind rapidly when she found herself being pushed into a bedroom.

  Not his bedroom, she surmised, unless h
e liked soft pink lamps and frilly drapes. She wasn’t given the chance to see more than that, because she was immediately dragged into an adjacent dressing room. Still keeping her imprisoned with one hand, he used the other to open the door of a closet. After rifling through its contents impatiently, he drew out a white dress. Holding it out to her, he said, ‘Put this on.’

  ‘I will not!’

  ‘Sorry, did I forget to say please?’

  ‘You could get down on your knees, and the answer would be the same.’

  ‘Then don’t put it on. Just take off the dress you’re wearing. And I’m not unaware of what you can’t possibly be wearing underneath.’

  ‘Just what kind of man are you?’

  ‘One who’s losing his patience.’

  ‘You are? I should have thought that was my right. I’m not staying here to be ordered around in this indecent way.’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I’m just trying to point out that you’d look more decent naked than in the dress you’ve got on at the moment. Haven’t you any idea how you look, or should I say what you look?’

  ‘Even if I do look like what you’re implying, you don’t have to act upon it.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘I’m too much of a lady to tell you what I think you are. I’m getting out of here. Fast.’

  ‘The girl is right. I would leave if I were in her place.’ This new voice came from the bedroom. A woman’s voice, which even to Lindsay’s astonished ear seemed to carry the delicacy of illness.

  Lindsay’s breath left her in a rush of relief as the hands that had seemed bent on ripping her black dress off her back suddenly loosened their hold. Nick Farraday called out, ‘I thought you were asleep. I was going to wake you when I’d talked her into putting on something more suitable.’

  ‘I hardly thought you were going to seduce the poor girl in my dressing room. And you can have no idea what these eyes have seen. In any case, I prefer to judge for myself, so bring her forward this instant to be introduced.’