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He’d known that as well, she was sure.
Then there was her dad, who for some reason had seemed very keen for her to go out with the man. In fact, he had practically insisted. With the two of them ganging up on her, she’d never had a chance.
Still, how bad could it be? she asked herself. A quick meal and then she could leave Delucca at the restaurant and grab a cab home. She gazed out of the car window and idly wondered how they made the tinted glass that looked black from the outside of the car, but from the inside was clear, allowing her to see everything outside.
She felt the brush of a hard masculine thigh against her own and moved slightly. If Delucca was coming on to her he was wasting his time. She wasn’t interested. She ignored the sudden warmth in her thigh…
Men did not interest her. Men in general did not figure large in her life, and with her father as an example it was hardly surprising. What with caring and worrying about her mother’s health for most of her adult life—because her father certainly did not—she had never had the time for a boyfriend since she’d left school, even if she had wanted one. If her mother’s doctor was right, she might soon have all the time in the world, and the knowledge made her want to weep. With sightless eyes she stared out of the window, a deep sigh escaping her.
Zac Delucca, for the first time in years, was stumped by a woman. The woman at his side was barely aware of his existence. Her uninterested responses to any attempt at conversation were monosyllabic, and it irritated the hell out of him.
He had even resorted to allowing his thigh to brush against hers, and while it had done dangerous things to his libido she had dismissed the contact without a glance. He was definitely losing his touch, he thought, a wry grin twisting his firm lips.
‘That was a big sigh. Is my company so boring?’ He prompted sardonically.
The deep, dark tone of his voice reminded Sally where she was, and she turned her head to look at him. ‘Not at all, Mr Delucca,’ she replied coolly, and watched as he squared his impressively broad shoulders and casually stretched a long arm across the back of the seat behind her. Not touching, but somehow enclosing her. She drew in a shaky breath, not liking the unfamiliar weak sensation that he somehow aroused in her.
‘Then please call me Zac,’ he invited smoothly. Her face was a perfect social mask, but he had sensed her unease when he had moved closer. She was not as unaware of him as she appeared, and at last he had got her attention. ‘I want there to be no formality between us, Sally,’ he told her huskily.
In fact, he wanted nothing at all between them—not a stitch of clothing, just flesh on flesh. He had never felt so fiercely attracted to a woman in his life, and he watched her reaction as, unable to resist touching her, he allowed his long fingers to slide down and caress her shoulder.
She jumped like a scalded cat and shot back. ‘I don’t want anything at all between us.’
He could not prevent a chuckle as she verbalised his thought exactly, but he was pretty sure she was not thinking along the same lines as him.
‘I’m glad you find me amusing,’ she snapped, looking anything but amused. ‘And take your hand off me.’ She leant forward, shrugging her shoulder to dislodge his hand.
Zac let her, and settled back in the seat. Maybe he had made a mistake. Did he have the time to pursue her, and did he really want to? She was just another typical high-maintenance little rich girl, with her nose put out of joint because the doting father who kept her in comfort had refused to jump to her bidding.
The irony did not escape him. If Raffe’s suspicions were correct, he had already paid for Sally Paxton’s lifestyle without any of the benefits of keeping a beautiful woman.
He studied her for a long moment. She was incredibly lovely. Maybe he could make time. Her hands were folded in her lap, the soft swell of her breasts was just visible above the square-cut neckline of her dress, and her face was hauntingly beautiful but somehow sad. The end of an affair maybe…Easier for him if she was unattached…
‘Not so amusing. More intriguing,’ Zac finally responded, suddenly needing to know. ‘Tell me—do you have a man in your life?’
Sally had heard the question countless times before. While she did not bother with men, quite a few bothered her, and she had developed a surefire way to cool their interest.
‘No. Do you have a wife?’ she retorted, glancing at him. He was still too close for her liking, his hard bicep touching her shoulder. Perhaps it wasn’t deliberate—he was a big man, with an even bigger ego to match, she surmised, and put her plan into action. ‘Because I never go out with married men.’
‘No wife.’ He smiled a hunter’s smile, Sally thought. ‘Nor do I want one,’ he confirmed. Lifting one long finger, he swept a stray tendril of her hair around her ear and stroked down her cheek to tip her chin towards him. ‘And no significant woman at the moment. So there isn’t anything to prevent us getting together. I am a very generous lover, in bed and out. Trust me—I promise you will not be disappointed.’
The sheer arrogance of the man astounded Sally. She had only met him half an hour ago. Yet already he had told her he wasn’t into commitment but was looking for an affair. Bottom line, she amended, he was looking for sex. Nothing more. Just like her dad.
She fought her instinctive reflex to knock his finger from her chin, and instead lifted wide blue eyes to his. They were dark and gleaming with masculine confidence. Well, not for long, she determined.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Zac,’ she said huskily, and finally deliberately used his name. ‘I am almost twenty-six, and I do want a husband—just not someone else’s.’ His finger fell from her chin. She caught the flicker of wariness in his dark eyes and wasn’t surprised. Typical male reaction…
She gave him a wry smile. ‘I too think it is good to be honest about one’s intentions, as you so obviously are, Zac.’ Sally doubted he noticed the underlying sarcasm in her tone. ‘Therefore I feel I should do the same. Ideally, I would like to have three children, while I am young enough to enjoy them, so basically I do not have time to waste on an affair with you, even if I wanted to.’
The expression on his face was comical. From confident, ardent suitor to wary and outraged male in less than sixty seconds.
‘I can assure you no woman has ever found an affair with me a waste of time,’ he declared arrogantly, and she almost laughed out loud.
Unable to help herself, she expanded on the theme.
‘If you say so.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Then again, you must be—what? Thirty-six, seven…’
‘Thirty-five,’ he snapped.
He didn’t like that, and Sally stifled a grin. ‘Still, you’re not getting any younger either. Maybe you will change your mind about marriage. You will certainly make someone a wonderful husband,’ she complimented him, and was actually beginning to enjoy herself. He moved slightly, his arm no longer touching her shoulder, and for the first time since meeting him she actually gave him her whole attention.
She turned her back half against the window in order to face him, and deliberately let her big blue eyes roam slowly over him. His hair was silky black, with a tendency to curl, obviously controlled by superb styling. His eyes were heavy lidded, and at the moment narrowed, hiding his expression. His features were big: large nose, a wide mouth with perfectly chiselled lips, the bottom one slightly fuller, and a square jaw with a delightful indentation in his chin.
Actually, he was very attractive, Sally acknowledged. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad and his muscled thighs were stretching the fabric of his trousers, she noted as he moved further away and crossed the leg nearest to her over his other knee.
A student of body language would probably say that was a sign of rejection…Her ploy had worked, Sally thought. But to make sure, she added, ‘You do have all the attributes to make a good husband—you’re a fine figure of a man, fit and filthy rich.’
Zac had listened with growing disquiet as she spoke. The woman was after a husband—a rich husband. She was the same as all the rest of her species. Her saving grace, if one could call it that, was that at least she had put all her cards on the table up front.
Getting into anything with her would be a huge mistake, his inbuilt sense of survival screamed at him. But, when she had barely looked at him since they met, feeling her gorgeous blue eyes examining every inch of him had been the most erotic experience he had known in ages. Out of necessity he had crossed one leg over the other knee, to hide the wayward reaction of his body.
Thank the Lord the car was slowing down. In a minute they would be at the restaurant. A swift meal and a polite goodbye, and the fact he had trouble keeping his hands off this woman he would put down to his lengthy celibacy. His common sense was telling him this lady was dangerous to his peace of mind. Time to walk away.
He glanced at Sally. She was sitting back in the seat again, but her eyes were no longer cold. They were sparkling. He caught the glint of feline satisfaction in the blue depths, and her soft mouth quirked at the corners in a barely concealed grin.
The little devil! Had she been teasing him? Deliberately trying to put him off? He wasn’t sure, and that was another first for him. Usually he could read a woman like a book, but this one had him tied in knots.
Warning bells rang loud and clear in his head, but he ignored them. He needed to delve a little deeper to discover what really made her tick. He had sensed her sadness and disappointment earlier—at her father or men in general he wasn’t sure. She had done her best to ignore him, but then she had examined him with blatant female thoroughness and he knew she liked what she saw.
He was not a fool. He had felt her reaction the moment he had put a finger on her arm in the office, and again when he touched her cheek. She was not immune to him. But was she really looking for a wealthy husband?
Did he care? He had escaped that trap all his life, and he was smart enough to continue to do so. But he enjoyed a challenge, and Sally Paxton was definitely a challenge—one that he was determined to pursue and conquer.
She was an adult woman, not some shy young virgin, and he did not have to deprive his body of the pleasure of hers simply because she was looking for a husband, he concluded—to his own satisfaction.
Chapter Three (#ulink_e62e3a0c-ea8d-5f6a-836b-3c3b20ec06ee)
THE restaurant was one of the best in London, and as they were led to their table by the maître d’, with Delucca’s hand firmly in the small of her back, Sally began to wonder if she had been as clever as she thought at discouraging him.
Something had gone wrong. His hand was like a brand, burning through the raw silk of her dress, and if his reaction as he had helped her from the limousine was anything to go by she was in deep trouble. He had declared that now they knew where they stood they could get better acquainted over lunch.
He certainly didn’t believe in wasting time, and she certainly did not want to get better acquainted with the man, she thought as her chair was held out for her and she sat down at the table. Briefly she looked around. There were more people leaving than arriving, and she glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. Not surprising, as it was two in the afternoon.
Suddenly, she was tired. She had been working all week, helping set up the latest exhibition to be staged at the museum. This morning the opening for the press and dignitaries had taken place, and she had attended at the request of her boss to answer any questions about the historical provenance of the exhibits. Usually she went to work in neat skirts and tops, but today she had dressed more smartly for the occasion. For months now she had been researching the history of the different exhibits, some of which had been brought up from the vast storage cellars and never been shown before.
Her boss knew of her mum’s condition and had kindly allowed her to slip away at one o’clock. Almost two years of faithfully visiting her mother every weekend plus holidays, not to mention the constant worry, had taken their toll and she felt completely washed out.
The last thing she needed was to fight off the attentions of a predatory male. What she really needed was her bed…alone…
‘Madam?’
She looked up. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the hovering maître d’, and took the menu.
‘Perhaps you would prefer I order for you?’
There it was, that deep accented voice again, intruding on her thoughts. Reluctantly, Sally glanced across the table at her companion. For a moment their eyes met, and she recognised the challenging gleam in the depths of his before glancing down at the menu in her hand.
He was sitting there, all arrogant, powerful male, and she was about to refuse when she thought, why bother? The quicker he ordered, the quicker they ate, and the quicker she could get away from his disturbing presence. Because, being brutally honest, she recognised he did disturb her, in a way she had never felt before. But then he probably had the same effect on every woman on the planet. He was one hundred percent macho male, and then some…
No wonder he wasn’t into commitment. Why would he settle for one woman when he had the pick of the best, according to the article she had read about him. It had extolled his brilliant business acumen and ended mentioning his preference for model girlfriends.
She certainly wasn’t in his league, and nor did she want to be, she concluded firmly.
‘Fine,’ she said, and handed the menu back to the maître d’, and let her hand drop on the table, her fingers idly playing with a fork. She wasn’t hungry—what did it matter what the man ordered?
‘They do a very good steak here, and I can recommend the sea bass, but everything they serve is excellent.’
‘The fish will be fine.’
‘Fine,’ Zac drawled with biting sarcasm. She was back to uninterested again. Grim-faced, he relayed the order to the maître d’, including a bottle of rather good wine. But inside he was seething.
Fine, she agreed when he mentioned the wine, without even looking at him. He had seen her glance at her watch as they arrived. He had never known any woman to be interested in the time when with him. Now she was sitting there, head bent, fiddling with a fork. Nobody ignored him—and certainly not a woman whose father had embezzled money out of a business of his. No matter how beautiful she was.
‘Tell me, Sally, what do you do when you are not pressuring your father to take you to lunch?’ he began silkily. ‘Do you fill your days with shopping and visiting the beautician? Not that you need to…’ He reached across and caught her hand in his, turning it over to examine the smooth palm. ‘Does this soft hand actually do any work, or does Daddy keep you?’
Sally’s head shot up as a tingling sensation snaked through her arm, and swiftly she pulled her hand free. Suddenly, she was intensely aware of Zac Delucca, in more ways than one. She was intelligent enough to know when she had been insulted. How typical of a super-rich tycoon like him to automatically think that simply because she had one Friday afternoon free her father supported her financially. Well, she was damned if she was going enlighten him. Let him keep his sexist attitude—she didn’t care…
‘I do shop—doesn’t everyone?’ she said nonchalantly. It was the truth. ‘And I visit the hairdresser sometimes.’ Again it was the truth. ‘The rest of the time I read a lot.’ Also the truth.
The food and wine arrived, interrupting the exchange, and Sally was grateful. She really wasn’t up to sparring with the man any more. She had a feeling he was far too intelligent to be deceived by anything anyone said for long.
Zac filled her wine glass, although she had refused a drink. He insisted she try it. He offered her a piece of his steak on his fork, and she was so surprised by the intimacy of the gesture she actually took it.
He asked what her favourite film was. She said Casablanca, and he told her she was a hopeless romantic, then added that if he had been in Humphrey Bogart’s position he would have taken the woman and run, which made her smile but somehow did not surprise her…His favourite film was Cape Fear, which she did find odd—until they got around to discussing books.
She told him she liked to read history and biographies, as well as being partial to the occasional murder story. And she discovered he spent most of his time reading financial journals and reports, but he did confess to reading the occasional thriller when he had time. Which figured, given Cape Fear was his first choice of film.
Sally sat back in her chair, replacing her knife and fork on the plate, surprised to note she had emptied her plate without realising. Against all expectations the lunch had been quite pleasant. Zac was a witty conversationalist, and he had made her smile—quite an accomplishment in her present state of mind.
She refused Zac’s suggestion of a dessert and agreed to a coffee. He placed the order with the waiter, and Sally glanced around the restaurant again. The furnishings were elegant, the staff discreet, and it was obviously very expensive. Luckily, she was dressed for the occasion—not that she had expected to be here. The clientele were mostly wealthy, high-powered business people, she surmised. Of the few that were left she recognised a famous female presenter from the television and a well-known comedian.
‘Sally Salmacis, as I live and breathe,’ a voice called out.
Sally’s eyes widened, and she pushed back her chair and leapt to her feet as six feet of shockingly ginger-haired male came striding towards her.
‘Algernon!’ she laughed.
Blue eyes met blue, and they grinned at each other, sharing a long-standing joke. Then she was swept up in a bear hug and kissed briefly on the lips, before being held at arm’s length.
‘Let me look at you. Gosh, you are more gorgeous than ever, Sally. How long has it been since I saw you? Two, three years?’
‘About that,’ she agreed. ‘But what are you doing here?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were still collecting butterflies in the Amazon. I had visions of you being eaten alive by mosquitoes.’
‘Yes, well, not quite—but not far off. You know me. I never could stand the heat.’
‘Hardly surprising.’ She arched one delicate eyebrow. ‘I did warn you, Al.’ His complexion, if anything, was even fairer than hers.
They had met at primary school, two redheads with unusual names, and had naturally gravitated towards each other as protection against the bullies. Al was the only person who dared to use her given name. She had demanded even her parents must call her Sally after her first year at school, and Algernon had done the same, demanding his parents call him Al. As teenagers they had planned on taking a year off after university to go around the world together, starting with South America—Al for the butterflies, and Sally to see the ruins of Machu Picchu. Her mum’s illness had put an end to Sally’s dream, but she still lived with the faint hope that she would do it one day.
‘So what are you up to?’ she queried, delighted to see him again.
‘Working in the family firm with Dad. We had just finished lunch, and I was following him out when I spotted you. But what about you? Still studying the Ancients?’ he prompted with a grin.
‘Yes.’ She grinned back.
‘I have to dash, but give me your new number. I tried your old with no joy.’ He took his cell phone out of his pocket and entered the number as Sally told him.
Zac Delucca had seen and heard enough. The telephone number was the final straw. For a woman with no man in her life, this guy, if not now, obviously had been. He had never seen Sally so animated—certainly not with him. When he had heard the younger man speak to her, then seen him take her in his arms and kiss her, he had been blinded by a red tide of sheer male jealousy—not an emotion he was familiar with, and it had stunned him for a moment. But not any more…
‘Sally, darling.’ He rose to his feet and crossed to her side. ‘You must introduce me to your friend,’ he demanded, fixing the young man with a gimlet-eyed stare.
Suddenly remembering where she was and who she was with, Sally swiftly made the introduction. She saw Al flinch as Zac shook his hand. The man was demonstrating his superior strength like a rutting bull, she though disgustedly. And where did he get off, calling her darling?
Al, ever the gentleman, responded politely. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Delucca. A shame our meeting has to be so brief.’ He gave Sally an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry, Sally, I can’t stay and talk. You know Dad, he will be waiting outside. champing at the bit to get back to work. I’m going to a house party this weekend, but I will call you next week and we can have dinner and catch up. What do you say?’
It took a brave man to stand up to Delucca, but Al refused to be intimidated and Sally gave her old friend a gentle smile.
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she said, and watched him walk out.
She resumed her seat as the waiter arrived with their coffee, her eyes misty with memories of a happier time. Al had never teased her about the stutter she had developed as a child after the death of her grandmother, who had lived with them. He had been her staunch defender and best friend all through her school years. He had attended every birthday party she had, and been a frequent visitor to her home. And she had spent countless summer days playing around the swimming pool at his home, a magnificent thirties-style Art Deco house situated in Sandbanks, overlooking Poole Harbour.
He had been the first boy to kiss her, and he had been as shy as her. The sex side of things had not progressed much further than a few tentative gropes which had made them giggle, and they’d realised they were more brother and sister than lovers.
They had drifted apart since leaving school. She had gone to university in Exeter, while Al had gone to Oxford to study botany, much against his father’s wishes. They had kept in touch, and met up in the holidays occasionally, but with her mum’s illness, gradually their only contact had become the occasional telephone call or chance meeting, like today.
The last time she had seen him had been when they had bumped into each other in Bournemouth and gone for a drink. Al had been all fired up with the Amazon trip he was about to embark on, and had asked Sally to go with him. She had reluctantly refused, explaining that her mum was in the clear, but that she, Sally, was about to start a great new job in London.
It seemed a lifetime ago now…
‘Very touching.’ A deep, mocking voice cut into her memories. ‘Al is an old friend, I take it? Or should I say lover?’
She looked across at Zac, caught the latent anger in his eyes, and realised that beneath the cool, sophisticated exterior he was not pleased. Well, she was not a happy bunny either. She had not wanted to go to lunch with the man in the first place.
‘Say what you like. It is no business of yours.’
‘It is my business. When I take a lady out to lunch I expect her to behave like a lady, not leap up into another man’s arms—a man who yells her name, Sally!—and when he demands “Sal my kiss” proceeds to kiss him.’
Sally was puzzled for a moment, then her blue eyes widened in understanding. Her lips twitched and, unable to help herself, she burst out laughing. Of all the nicknames she had been called at school—salami, or simply sausage being the favourites—no one had ever put that interpretation on her birth name.
