‘Another one?’ Alex’s brows rose as he escorted her to the bar. ‘What would you like? Water or orange juice?’
‘Well, I rather like champagne,’ Jenna admitted with a giggle. She had never drunk champagne before, and it was a revelation: she felt happy and relaxed, and just the tiniest bit light-headed.
She couldn’t understand why Alex looked so grimfaced. She had been aware of glowering looks from him all evening, when he hadn’t been flirting with a variety of beautiful women. It was lucky she had been able to rely on Seb for company; Alex was in such demand that she might very easily have spent the evening as a wall-flower.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you,’ she said, staring dismally at the glass of iced water he handed her. ‘We’re supposed to be cheering Seb up.’
‘You seem to be doing that all by yourself—although I’m not sure Madame Roussel meant for you to get blind drunk and seduce her grandson on the dance floor.’
‘I am not drunk.’ Somehow Alex had steered her out onto a large balcony, the blast of cold air making Jenna’s head spin so that she grabbed hold of the balustrade. ‘How dare you suggest that I was making a play for Seb? I was being friendly, that’s all.’
‘It looked a lot more than friendly from where I was standing. Your behaviour is the talk of the party. If you’re determined to commit adultery, then do it with me. Seb has enough problems. The last thing Ellisa needs right now is to hear rumours that her husband had to fight off the attentions of a red-haired bimbo at his grandmother’s party.’
Behind his sarcasm lurked blind fury, Jenna realised, and her own temper was instantly at boiling point; the crack of her hand against his cheek sounded like gunfire as it ricocheted around the balcony.
‘I don’t intend to commit adultery with anyone—least of all you,’ she bit out, but beneath her bravado she felt horribly sick. She despised physical violence, but she had never felt so angry or humiliated in her life.
‘Is that so? Then why have you been throwing out signals ever since we arrived in Paris? Don’t try and deny it,’ he said coldly. ‘Every time I turn around I find those big grey eyes on me, inviting me, inciting me.’
‘Inciting you to what? You’re the one who keeps staring at me but tries to hide the fact whenever I look at you.’
‘And you find that unsettling, do you? Maybe even embarrassing? Do you want to run home and tell Chris that your boss wants you in his bed?’
‘No.’ She stared at him miserably, tears burning behind her eyelids as she studied the livid handprint that stained his cheek. Her anger quickly dissipated to be replaced with shame. ‘I want us to go back to being…friends.’
‘We can never be friends,’ he told her bluntly, and suddenly he was too close, his hands resting on the balustrade on either side of her body, caging her in although he did not touch her. ‘And you know why.’
He lowered his head, his lips hovering millimetres above hers, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her skin, could count his eyelashes. His face was a sculpted mask, the skin drawn tight over prominent cheekbones, his eyes no longer cold, hard sapphires but burning with an intensity that caused an answering hunger to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. She had wanted this since the first time he had kissed her after Charles Metcalf’s party, and suddenly her job, Lee, everything faded into insignificance as she faced up to the fact that she wanted him.
With helpless fascination she waited as his head lowered still further, until his mouth closed over hers, and with a stifled murmur of surrender she closed her eyes, giving herself up to pure sensation.
‘Open your eyes,’ he demanded. ‘I want you to know it’s me you’re kissing.’
His mouth was hard, demanding her response, his tongue forcing entry between her lips with barely leashed savagery, as if determined to crush any sign of resistance. He need not have worried; she was powerless to prevent her response, her lips parting willingly under the pressure of his as the kiss went on and on, stoking a fire that was in danger of blazing out of control.
Still he did not touch her, his hands clenched so tightly around the balustrade that his knuckles were white, his face rigid with the effort of holding back, until with a groan he relaxed against her and she felt the glorious, rock-hard proof of his arousal. The effect was like pouring petrol onto a bonfire. She ran her hands over his chest with unashamed hunger, feeling the frantic thud of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips before winding her arms around his neck as if afraid that he might draw back.
‘This is utter madness, but I can’t fight it any more,’ Alex muttered rawly. ‘These past weeks I’ve been going mad watching you, wanting you, knowing that your husband is waiting for you at home.’ His hands gripped her shoulders with bruising intensity as he fought an inward battle with himself, wanting to pull her close, but knowing that for sanity’s sake he should push her away.
‘He’s not…’ Jenna whispered. ‘My husband… He’s not at home…’
‘You mean you’ve rowed? He’s walked out on you? So what am I? The consolation prize?’
His fingers marked her skin, and she was sure her shoulders would break under the force of his grip. Her hands fell to her sides as she quailed beneath his contempt.
He stepped back from her and shook his head, sanity returning with a vengeance. ‘I will not take responsibility for problems within your marriage, Jenna, and I will not act as a sop for your bruised ego. If Chris has walked out on you then quite frankly I don’t blame him. You flirt with anything in trousers—look at your behaviour tonight with Seb. But if you’re on the look-out for a rich meal ticket you can count me out.’
Jenna was incandescent with fury. To think she had felt guilty for slapping him, she raged silently. Right now she would happily beat him senseless. ‘My husband hasn’t left me… At least he did, but… Oh, it’s all a muddle. How dare you accuse me of looking for a meal ticket? You kissed me; you made all the running.’
‘And you were my poor, defenceless victim?’ he mocked. ‘Why don’t we both be honest and admit that we fancy each other? Although a quick screw with my secretary has suddenly lost its appeal—you’ve got too much baggage.’ He had swung away from her, but as he pushed open the door to re-enter the party he paused. ‘One other thing—keep away from Seb. His life is enough of a mess as it is. He needs you like a hole in the head.’
Paris at night was a bustling mass of bright lights. At any other time Jenna would have been fascinated by the view from the window of the limousine that whisked them back to their hotel, but not tonight. Tonight she stared blankly ahead, determined not to be the one to break the icy silence, and beside her Alex seemed to share her intent. The tension between them was a tangible force.
The silence continued as they rode the lift up to the top floor of the hotel, and it took every inch of her will-power to keep from peeping in his direction, her fury palpable as she stalked ahead of him to the sanctuary of her room.
He was the most arrogant, conceited, infuriating man she had ever met, she fumed as she paced up and down her bedroom. How dared he imply that she had been flirting with Seb? Or, even worse, that she was actively hunting for a rich replacement husband? She hated him, she told herself, blinking back the sudden rush of tears. He hadn’t hidden his contempt for her even as he’d played havoc with her emotions when he had kissed her. He might desire her in the most basic way, but he despised himself for what he saw as his weakness, and he despised her more.
She should have been honest from the start, she thought miserably. She should never have lied about Lee. But she had been so embarrassed on that first day, when she had made her attraction to Alex so obvious, that allowing him to believe she was happily married had been her only way of saving face. She was tempted to storm into his room and tell him the truth now, but if she explained that she was divorced wouldn’t that just reinforce his belief that she was desperate for a rich meal ticket, as he had so delicately phrased it? Even worse, would he think she was avai
lable to sleep with him?
Her cheeks burned when she recalled the way she had melted with shameful eagerness in his arms. Her brain might dictate that she disliked him, but her body had a will of its own, and it was hungry for Alex Morrell. She wasn’t the type to indulge in a one-night stand, she accepted honestly, but Alex wasn’t offering anything else. Even if by some miracle he decided that he wanted a proper relationship with her, there was Maisie to consider, and she could just picture his horror if she turned up on a date with her small daughter in tow.
It was past midnight, but she was too wound up to sleep as she replayed Alex’s words over and over in her mind. His taunt that she was a bimbo really stung, and she glared at her reflection in the mirror, noting with disgust her flushed cheeks and the way the black dress clung to her curves, emphasising the fullness of her breasts and her slender waist. He had been the one to demand that she get dolled up, but when she had followed his instructions he had more or less accused her of being a tart.
There was no pleasing some people, she decided irritably as she flipped open her laptop. She still had a pile of notes to type up—a task Alex had suggested she leave until the morning. But presumably the quicker Seb’s case was sewn up, the quicker they could go home. She was determined to prove that she was the most efficient, conscientious bimbo Alex Morrell had ever met, and she would enjoy his expression when she informed him first thing tomorrow morning that all her work was up to date.
The knock on the interconnecting door between her room and Alex’s brought her head up, and she glanced at her watch, startled to find that she had been working for over an hour. The knock came again, louder and more forceful, and with a sigh she marched over to the door.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded coolly, determined not to be fazed by the sight of Alex lounging in the doorway. He had discarded his tie and unfastened several shirt buttons, so that the tanned column of his throat was exposed, and she hastily focused on a point over his shoulder.
‘You’re dressed,’ he commented, sounding surprised, and she glared at him.
‘What did you expect? I’m not in the habit of answering my door stark naked.’
‘What a wonderful picture that evokes,’ he murmured, resting his hands on either side of the doorframe so that she felt swamped by his raw masculinity and took a step backwards.
‘Have you been drinking?’ she accused, catching the faint smell of whisky on his breath, and he shrugged.
‘I may have had a couple, to drown my sorrows, but I’m not drunk. I saw the light from beneath your bedroom door and thought you’d fallen asleep with the lamp on. It’s past one in the morning,’ he added with another puzzled glance at her fully dressed form. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Working. I’ve just finished typing up the notes for Seb’s case.’
‘I didn’t mean for you to do that now.’
‘I thought it would leave me the morning free to chase prospective sugar daddies. It’s hard work being a bimbo, you know.’
‘Ah.’ Alex had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘That’s the real reason I’m here.’ He strolled through the doorway and paced her room restlessly, picking up and setting down items on her dressing table until her nerves were on edge.
‘Well, come in—make yourself at home,’ she snapped, and he sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you? I’m trying to apologise,’ he added impatiently, when she could not disguise her puzzlement.
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I was unforgivably rude and insulting. Watching you cosy up to Seb brought out my jealous streak, I’m afraid.’
‘I wasn’t doing anything with him,’ Jenna argued. ‘And even if I had been, you have no right to question my behaviour.’
‘No,’ he conceded heavily. ‘That right belongs to your husband.’ He glanced down at her laptop and shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been working at this time of night.’
‘It was either that or throw something—preferably at your head,’ Jenna admitted, and her eyes scanned his face, searching for any sign of injury where she had slapped him. She abhorred violence of any kind, and, faced with his apology, she felt even more ashamed of her loss of temper. ‘I’m sorry I slapped you—even though you did ask for it,’ she added, and was startled by his sudden laughter.
‘That’s my girl. Determined to have the last word.’
Suddenly the room seemed heavy with tension, and Jenna couldn’t repress a quiver of response to his softly spoken words.
‘I’m not your girl,’ she pointed out huskily.
‘I guess not.’ He had moved without her being aware of it, and now stood so close that he overwhelmed her.
He had switched off the overhead light and the room was bathed in the gentle glow from one of the ornate bedside lamps. A lock of hair fell across his forehead, lending him a rakish air that only emphasised his sexiness, and she felt her breath snag in her throat as he reached out and stroked her hair back from her face. Instantly her senses were on high alert, so that she was acutely aware of the heat emanating from his body and the sensual musk of his cologne. She watched their reflection in the dressing-table mirror, noting how he towered over her, big and faintly menacing, his hands dark against the whiteness of her skin. But it was not him she was afraid of. It was herself and her wayward response to him.
‘You should go,’ she whispered thickly, and heard him sigh, felt his fingers slide through her hair and then stop, the sudden tension that gripped him instantly transmuting to her.
‘I hurt you,’ he said quietly, and she followed his gaze to the faint marks on her upper arms.
Quickly she tried to move away, but he stalled her, and she felt him ease the zip of her dress down a little, enabling him to push the straps away so that he could view the marks. His eyes were dark with a mixture of regret and self-disgust, and she urgently sought to reassure him.
‘I bruise easily.’
‘Do you? Is that the excuse you give when your husband marks you?’ He brushed her hair from her temple, the bruise on her forehead a stark reminder that he had acted no better than the man she had married.
‘You were angry—’ she began, and his head came up, his eyes flashing fire.
‘And that’s an excuse?’ he bit out furiously, his anger directed solely at himself. ‘I have never used any kind of violent force on a woman. And you—you’re so tiny, so fragile I could crush your bones in my grasp. That doesn’t make it right. I’m not proud of losing my temper.’ His voice was so low it caressed her skin, and he lowered his head, his mouth moving in gentle contrition over the bruises on her arms.
Her dress slithered lower and for a second he hesitated, and then he reached behind her and slowly drew her zip down the length of her spine. Jenna discovered that she couldn’t move, could barely breathe, her gaze locked with his as the bodice fell to her waist, revealing the black lacy bra he had bought her, and she swallowed when he traced his fingers down to the valley between her breasts.
‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’ His husky whisper feathered across her skin and she could hear the remorse in his voice.
‘It’s all right.’ He seemed curiously vulnerable, stripped of his wonderful arrogance, and she ached for him, anxious to offer him forgiveness. ‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.’
‘Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.’ The room was so quiet she could hear the thud of her heart, of his, and for a second he hesitated, his gaze locked with hers before he uttered a low groan, his hand moving down to tug the skirt of her dress so that it fell in a pool of black silk at her feet.
‘You are exquisite,’ he breathed, his hands skimming her slender waist, her scantily cut lace panties, and coming to rest at the tops of her stockings.
Her stiletto heels made her legs seem even longer—she looked sexy and seductive, she realised with a shock, as she studied her semi-naked body in the mirror. Her hair fell over one shoulder and her ey
elids felt heavy; there was a sultry gleam in her eyes that she could not disguise, and she made no demur when he drew her in his arms.
‘I want you,’ he admitted thickly. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’
Jenna said nothing. She seemed to have lost all power of speech, could only stare up at him, mesmerised by the sheer hunger in his eyes, her body jerking in response to the rigid set of his jaw as he fought for control. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted it so much she would surely die with wanting, and, unable to wait any longer, she stretched up on tiptoe to close the gap between them. She cupped her hands round his face, the faint stubble rough against her skin as she brought his mouth down to hers and initiated a kiss that stirred his soul.
Almost instantly he sought to take control, his mouth moving over hers, deepening the pressure, until she clung to him, his willing captive, while he continued his flagrant assault on her senses.
For a moment the room spun, and Jenna clung to Alex’s shoulders as he lifted her and moved over to the bed, depositing her on the sheets and instantly coming down beside her. He dominated her senses; there was no room in her mind for any other thought than him and her desperate need to be even closer to him, to feel him skin on skin. She fumbled with his shirt buttons, sighing her pleasure when at last she was able to push the material over his shoulders.
He had a fantastic body, powerful and muscular, as befitted a man who excelled at a variety of sports in his leisure time. She could feel the hardness of his arousal straining against his trousers, and with an impatient movement he tugged at the zip and shrugged out of them, so that his only covering was a pair of black silk boxers. The feel of his hair-roughened thighs pressing against her caused liquid heat to pool between her legs. She felt as if time was suspended and there was nothing but now, this moment and Alex. Only when she felt his fingers dip beneath her bra, easing the material aside to reveal her breast, did she open her eyes, the slumberous heat in his making her shiver with desire.
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