His Delicious Revenge: The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All. Sara Craven
stopped her in her tracks, at least for tonight, and warned her to think of something else.
‘I’m hoping this might relax you,’ Caz remarked, handing her a rounded crystal glass. ‘You look like a kitten caught in headlights—as if you don’t know which way to run. Am I really so scary?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, of course not. It was just—such a surprise. Besides, I’m not really dressed for entertaining.’
If she’d expected some leering riposte, she was disappointed.
Caz frowned slightly. ‘I should have telephoned ahead. Warned you I was calling round, or maybe made a date for a more convenient time.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’
‘Considering the amount of twitch in the air, maybe I should reserve my reasons for another time too.’
‘I have a better idea,’ Tarn said. ‘Why don’t we just—start again.’ She held out her hand. ‘Good evening, Mr Brandon. What an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Change Mr Brandon to Caz,’ he said, the warm strong fingers closing round hers. ‘And it will become an unmitigated pleasure.’
And I’m an unmitigated fool not to throw this brandy over you here and now and scream what you’ve done to your face—tell you what a bastard—what a love rat you are. Although you wouldn’t recognise or understand the word ‘love.’ And, anyway, you’d just shrug it off and walk away. Water off a duck’s back. But some day soon, you’ll be made to care…
She allowed her long lashes to sweep down in demure concealment, in case he read the truth in her eyes. ‘Very well—Caz.’
‘A moment I might have missed if I’d called in advance,’ he said softly as he released her hand. He paused. ‘So where’s your flatmate this evening?’
‘At a hen party. Someone’s birthday.’
‘You didn’t want to go?’
She sent him a wry glance. ‘I decided to settle for a quiet night in.’
‘Which I’ve spoiled,’ he said softly. ‘However, your loss is my definite gain.’
She set a tray with cups and saucers, adding a jug of cream. Caz carried it into the sitting room, placing it on the small table in front of the sofa, and she followed with the percolator. She sat at one end of the sofa, and he occupied the other, stretching long legs in front of him.
‘I like the shampoo you use,’ he commented unexpectedly. ‘Apple with a hint of vanilla.’
Tarn busied herself pouring coffee, leaning forward so that the swing of her hair could conceal the sudden warmth invading her face.
She said, ‘You’re—very perceptive.’
‘I’m on a steep learning curve,’ he said. ‘Finding out about you.’
Her throat tightened nervously. Was he serious? Given his money and resources, if he really started to probe her background, what might he not unearth?
With a supreme effort, she kept her voice light, and her hand steady as she passed him his coffee. ‘Well, that shouldn’t take long. There isn’t very much to discover.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said slowly. ‘I suspect it could take a lifetime.’
He reached for his brandy glass and raised it. ‘To us.’
She drank without repeating the toast. ‘Isn’t that still slightly presumptuous?’
‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I simply have to win you round to my way of thinking, that’s all.’
Her breathing quickened. ‘And if I can’t be won?’
‘Do you mean “can’t”?’ he asked. ‘Or is it really “won’t”?’
She moved a restive shoulder, replaced her glass on the table. ‘Does it make a difference?’
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Whichever it is, you’ll find I don’t give up easily.’
There was a silence, then she said jerkily, ‘Mr Brandon—Caz—this whole conversation is making me—uneasy. I think you should drink your coffee and leave.’
‘I’m sorry if you feel uncomfortable with the situation.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now, I was thinking it was like a foretaste of the future. Me—back from business trip. You—with your hair just washed and no makeup. Both of us enjoying a nightcap together, knowing exactly how the evening will end, but content to wait. To savour every lovely moment.’
His gaze rested on her startled, parted lips then moved down to the flurried rise and fall of her breasts under the concealment of her robe.
He added with sudden roughness, ‘For God’s sake, Tarn. Don’t you know that I’m nervous too. Have you forgotten what I said the other night?’
‘No.’ She paused. ‘I—I haven’t forgotten anything.’
‘You said earlier that we’d start again, and that’s what I’m asking for. A chance to prove to you that I mean what I say. And we’ll go at your pace, not mine. That’s a promise. When you come into my arms, it will be because you want to be there.’
His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Now relax, and drink your coffee, while we discuss our first real date.’
She gasped. ‘You—really don’t give up, do you?’
The hazel eyes glinted. ‘You’d better believe it. And at the same time please understand that you have nothing to fear.’
No, she thought. You’re the one who should be afraid.
She picked up her cup and drank, regarding him over its brim. ‘So what do you have in mind for this date?’
‘I thought we might go to the theatre. I have tickets for the opening of the new Lance Crichton play next Wednesday.’
Her brows lifted in disbelief. ‘Heavens. Sprinkled with gold dust, I presume.’
‘Almost,’ he admitted. ‘Are you interested?’
Her eyes danced. ‘I think it’s an offer I can’t refuse. I saw Payment in Kind on Broadway and loved it.’
‘Then I hope you’ll tell him so. He got rather a mauling from some of the New York critics.’
She drew a breath. ‘You mean I could meet him. Are you serious?’
‘I’m sure it could be arranged.’
Tarn thought then shook her head regretfully. ‘The play’s quite tempting enough. I think that meeting Lance Crichton would turn my head completely.’
He smiled. ‘You’re not so easily overwhelmed.’
He drank the rest of his coffee and stood up.
‘You’re leaving?’ The words were involuntary, and so, she realised with shock, was the note of disappointment in her voice.
‘That was what you wanted a few minutes ago,’ he said. ‘If you remember. And I’ve got what I came for, so I’m quitting while I’m ahead. It’s wiser and probably safer.’ He paused. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.’
There was a sudden, odd tension in the room, making her skin tingle. Forcing her to catch her breath.
She made a business of scrambling to her feet. ‘I—I’ll see you out.’
‘Fine,’ he said equably. At the front door, he turned, looking down at her. ‘If you asked me to stay, I would.’ His voice was gentle, but the hazel eyes were asking questions for which, to her horror, she could find no answer. She looked back at him, mutely, pleadingly, and he nodded as if she’d spoken.
He