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‘I’m glad you found it amusing because I didn’t.’ His accent had thickened and the anger in the black eyes that blazed into hers was all too real.
If that was what he had thought, in a way she could see his point, and she decided to tell him the truth.
‘You were mistaken. Al did not ask me for a kiss.’ She grinned. ‘My first name is not Sally but Salmacis.’ She gave him the proper pronunciation, a syllable at a time. ‘Sal-ma-sis.’ And saw disbelief, puzzlement and finally curiosity in his dark eyes.
Zac didn’t know whether to believe her. Salmacis was not a name he had ever heard in any language, and he knew half a dozen. If it was an excuse it was a hell of a good one. Yet she looked sincere, and English was not his first language, he could have been mistaken.
‘Salmacis.’ He rolled the name off his tongue and rather liked it. ‘What kind of name is that?’
‘It is Greek. When my mum was pregnant with me she spent the last four months of her pregnancy on bedrest. She got hooked on reading Greek mythology.’
Then Sally told him the legend. ‘Apparently Salmacis was the nymph of a fountain near Halicarnassus in Asia Minor. She became one with the youth Hermaphroditos. And before you ask, no, I am not a hermaphrodite—but I believe that is the origin of the word.’
‘It never entered my head.’ Zac chuckled. ‘What possessed your mother to give you such a peculiar though rather lovely name?’ he demanded, still smiling broadly. ‘You have to admit it is extremely unusual.’
For a moment Sally was stunned, her heart racing out of control as she met his enquiring gaze. His dark eyes danced with golden lights, his hard face was transformed into a softer, younger version by the brilliance of his smile, and she could not help smiling back at him.
‘I think it was the last fable she read before going into labour, and unfortunately for me it stuck in her mind,’ she said wryly.
‘No, not unfortunate. You are far too exotic—no, that isn’t the word.’ Zac shook his dark head, searching his brain for the English equivalent of what he wanted to say. ‘Your beauty is too unique. No—too mystical for a Sally,’ he declared with satisfaction. ‘Salmacis suits you much better.’ He saw the humour in her expressive eyes. How had he ever thought they were cold?
‘I much prefer Sally—in fact, I insist on it. So be warned—call me Salmacis and I will ignore you.’
‘Okay—Sally,’ he conceded, and added, ‘But I am a little surprised she persuaded your father to agree to such an unusual name. Accountants are not known for their flights of fancy.’
The sparkle vanished from her eyes like a light being switched off, to be replaced with a familiar blank look.
‘She didn’t have to. My dad married Mum because he got her pregnant when she was eighteen and he was thirty-five,’ Sally told Zac. It was the truth. Exhaustion from her hectic work schedule and from worrying about her mother overtook her, and she could not be bothered to dissemble.
‘Apparently, he was so upset when the doctor told him she would not have any more children, no future son, he didn’t much care what name I was given.’
Appalled by Sally’s matter-of-fact revelation, Zac realised her father’s attitude must have hurt her. To actually let the child know how he’d felt was a disgraceful thing to do. But then Nigel Paxton was almost certainly a thief and an unfaithful husband: sensitivity was obviously not his strong point.
‘I think we should leave now.’ Her voice intruded on his thoughts. ‘We are the only couple left.’
Zac had not noticed, but glancing around the room he saw she was right.
When was the last time a woman had held his attention to the exclusion of everything else around him? he asked himself. Never. The realisation shocked him rigid. In that moment he determined there was no way he was going to let it happen again. Sally was as dangerous as she was beautiful, and she was not for him…
‘Finish your coffee and we will go,’ he agreed, and beckoned the maître d’. He handed him a credit card and a bundle of notes for a tip, and after draining his coffee cup stood up.
The meal had turned out okay, despite its difficult start, and he had learnt a lot about Salmacis—too much, he thought wryly. From what he had overheard earlier, Sally obviously knew about her father’s infidelity and resented the fact he had more time for a girlfriend than he had for her. Hence turning up at the office today and demanding her father lunch with her.
Money obviously was not enough for the lovely Salmacis; she was the type who craved attention from the men in her life. Given the reaction of her father to her name, he could understand why she behaved the way she did. But clinging, needy women did not appeal to him, he rationalised, confirming his decision not to see her again.
He glanced down at her. She looked fragile and, act or not, he couldn’t prevent himself from slipping an arm around her waist as he led her out of the restaurant. She made no attempt to pull away, another first, but leant against him as they walked to where the limo was parked a few yards away.
He let the chauffeur help her inside.
She was magic to hold, he thought ruefully as he slipped into the back seat beside her, but every male instinct he possessed told him this was one woman he was going to pass on—for his own preservation.
‘Where would you like us to drop you off?’ he asked. ‘Bond Street? Harrods?’ he suggested, with an edge of cynicism in his tone.
‘Harrods is fine.’
He’d thought as much. A bit of retail therapy was all any woman needed to keep her happy.
She looked up at him with soft blue eyes, and he could not resist. He wrapped an arm around her waist and slid his hand through the silken tumble of her hair to tip up her face.
‘What are you doing?’ she murmured.
‘Oh, I think you know,’ he drawled huskily, and covered her lush lips with his own.
He could not let her go without kissing and tasting her just once, he told himself…
Chapter Four (#ulink_51edb791-2940-56c3-b2c6-f1d95ddb5d27)
STARTLED out of her lethargy as a strong arm slipped around her waist, Sally arched back in instinctive denial of the intimacy he was seeking. She glanced up at his darkly attractive face and recognised the sensual intent in his eyes. She was stunned by the sudden flash of awareness that heated her whole body. He was going to kiss her…
Her pulse began to race, and as his dark head bent she could almost feel the virile power emanating from his mighty frame. For a second she was tempted to abandon herself to what he was offering. But she knew it would be a disastrous mistake. She had no time in her life for an affair with Zac or any other man, even if she wanted one. She put her hands up to push him away, but too late…
Zac’s warm mouth claimed hers with a soft sensuality that totally confused and captivated her. She closed her eyes, her lips involuntarily parting to accept the subtle intrusion of his tongue as he deepened the kiss with a skilful, seductive passion that blew all thought of resistance from her mind.
Sally had never experienced a kiss like it. Dizzy with a sensual excitement she had never known before, she let her mouth cling to his, and eagerly, if a little inexpertly, returned the passion. Suddenly he broke the kiss, and tiny moans of regret escaped her, quickly followed by a gasp of pleasure as he trailed kisses down her throat and lower, to trace with his tongue the gentle curve of her breasts revealed by the neckline of her dress.
His hand dropped to slip beneath the fabric, long fingers edging beneath the delicate lace of her bra to cup her naked breast, a thumb teasing the burgeoning tip to send rivers of unbelievable sensation flowing through her body. His mouth returned to hers, and she was enthralled by his taste, his touch, drowning in the sea of erotic pleasure his kisses and caresses evoked. She felt the heat of his palm on her bare leg, his hand stroking up her thigh, and she trembled, the blood pulsing thick and fast through her veins. She was ablaze with sensuous hunger, with a need she didn’t understand but knew she wanted fulfilled badly.
So this was what she had been missing—this was the reason people loved sex, she thought wonderingly, and curved her hand around his neck to mesh her fingers in the silken hair of his head.
Abruptly he pulled away, and without his support Sally flopped back against the seat. Lost in a haze of sexual arousal, she murmured, ‘What happened?’
‘We have arrived at your destination. Harrods.’
His deep accented voice speared like an icicle through the emotional fog clouding her brain. She was mortified. She had not noticed the car had stopped. She glanced down and, horrified, adjusted the bodice of her dress. She looked out of the window—anywhere but at the man next to her. Finally, as the silence lengthened, reluctantly she looked back at Zac Delucca.
He was watching her, his eyes as dark as night, the remnants of desire swirling in the liquid depths.
‘Shame, I know, Sally.’ His lips quirked at the corners in the beginnings of a smile. ‘But we can continue this later. Have dinner with me tonight.’
‘No,’ she said abruptly. Sally had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in her life. Noting her skirt had hitched up around her thighs, she swiftly smoothed it down with trembling hands. Never in all her life had a man kissed and touched her so intimately. And she couldn’t understand what had come over her.
‘Tomorrow night, then,’ he prompted.
How the hell had it happened? Sally asked herself for the second time today in the luxury of his limousine. This time it was much worse, and it was Zac Delucca’s fault again. When he had spoken of his skills as a lover she had never dreamt he meant to try and prove his statement with such explicit speed that the defensive wall she had built around herself would crumble with just one kiss…
‘Sorry, no. I am going away for the weekend.’
‘Cancel and spent the weekend with me,’ he demanded arrogantly.
Staring at him, her blue eyes widening, Sally unconsciously ran the tip of her tongue over her slightly swollen lips, where the taste of Zac still lingered. It would be so easy to say yes to a weekend of mindless pleasure instead of sadness, and suddenly she was afraid of the speed with which he had turned her life upside down. Then she realised he had been nowhere near as affected by the passionate interlude as she had been, and, given the churning in her stomach, still was!
He probably seduced women in his limo on a regular basis, and she had very nearly been his latest conquest…
She thought of her mother, who really needed her, as opposed to a man like Delucca, who certainly did not—except in the shallowest way. Zac was undoubtedly a formidable man, used to getting whatever and whoever he wanted, and he was her father’s new boss.
But then again, Sally thought, she didn’t give a fig for her father. If she offended his boss, so what?
‘That’s an outrageous suggestion and not one I would ever consider,’ she said bluntly. ‘And I promised my mother.’
‘Loyalty to your mother is an admirable trait. We can make it dinner on Monday night.’
Not only was he arrogant, he was also pig-headed, and she did not bother to reply as, to her relief, the chauffeur opened the car door. She needed to get as far away from Zac Delucca as she could, and, swinging her legs out of the car, she stood up. She hesitated and glanced back at Zac. Good manners were ingrained in her.
‘Thank you for lunch, Mr Delucca, and the lift,’ she said formally. ‘Goodbye.’ And, turning, she hurried along the street.
She did not go into the store, Zac noted as he watched her walk along the pavement. Her rear view was as enticing as the rest of her, and the reason he had eschewed good manners and not helped her out of the limousine was still causing him a problem.
‘Drive on,’ he ordered the chauffeur. Sally—or Salmacis, he smiled to himself—intrigued and also confused him.
By nature he was a decisive man. Once he decided on a course of action in both the business world and his private life he never changed his mind. Yet a certain red-haired woman had him changing his mind over and over again.
Needy was a no-no; husband-hunting was a no-no; idle little rich girl was a no-no—and he did not believe for a minute that she was spending the weekend with her mother. Partying was more her style, if the slight violet shadows under her beautiful eyes were anything to go by. He would bet on it…She wasn’t his usual type at all.
Yet, against all that, after deciding to kiss her goodbye he had changed his mind again.
As soon as their lips had met she had caught fire in his arms, melting against him, running her fingers through his hair, inflaming him further. She was the most incredibly responsive woman he had ever met, and there was no way he was walking away.
He strolled back into Paxton’s office and glanced at Raffe, who shook his head slightly. So Paxton did not know yet they were on to him. Good.
‘Your daughter and I had a pleasant lunch, Paxton. She asked to be dropped off at Harrods, though I noticed she didn’t go in the store.’
‘You know what young women are like—always changing their minds,’ he said with an ingratiating smile. ‘I gave her a studio apartment in Kensington and it is not far from Harrods. She probably decided to walk home.’
Zac knew enough about property in London to know that an apartment in the Royal Borough of Kensington did not come cheap. Sally was a lucky girl, and Paxton was looking guiltier by the minute.
Sally drove into the car park of the nursing home and cut the engine. She glanced up at the mellow stone, half covered by the rampant scarlet Virginia creeper. The sun was shinning, it was a glorious June day, and yet she felt none of the joy such a beautiful day should bring. For a moment she folded her arms across the steering wheel and let her head drop. She had to smile for her mother, even though her heart felt like lead in her chest. It was hard…so very hard…Even more so now she knew the doctor’s prognosis…
As she had guessed, her father had not rung her last night, and she had had no luck in getting in touch with him until this morning, when he’d informed her that because Delucca was there he could not possibly get away this weekend.
For once Sally believed him. After yesterday’s lunch with the man, she knew no one could refuse him—herself included. She still cringed when she thought of the way she had reacted to his kiss and, worse, the way she had spent a restless night trying to banish him from her mind—without much success.
Lifting her head, she drew in a deep, steadying breath and brushed a stray drop of moisture from her eye. At least today she would not have to lie to her mother. Her dad was tied up with business.
Five minutes later, forcing a smile to her face, Sally breezed into her mother’s room with a cheerful hello.
She was sitting in her wheelchair, an expectant smile on her face—a still lovely face, although now it was deeply lined with pain. Her hair was no longer the soft red Sally remembered. After her chemo it had grown back a mousy brown, and was now streaked with grey.
Yet her mum had not given up, Sally thought as she walked towards her. She had still applied her make-up—and even if the foundation was a bit streaky and the lipstick not perfect she had tried…Probably because she expected her husband. But she was destined to be disappointed yet again.
Sally swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, and dropped a soft kiss on her lined cheek.
The nurse had dressed her mum in the pretty summer frock Sally had bought for her the week before. She always brought a gift when she visited—sometimes simply a box of chocolates. This week she had book on Greek Mythology she had found in a secondhand bookstore. It was a real find as it was a very old copy, printed in 1850, with wonderful illustrations.
She gave her mum the book, and she was delighted, but her smile faded a little when Sally told her her husband was not coming. Sally tried to make it better by explaining about his new boss, saying that she had actually met him at her dad’s office, and that seemed to satisfy her.
Later Sally suggested they take a walk in the garden as it was such a perfect afternoon. Her mum agreed, and she spent a pleasant hour pushing the wheelchair around the extensive grounds.
Sally sighed as she entered the studio apartment gifted to her by her parents and closed the door behind her. She sagged against it. It had been another beautiful summer day, but she felt hot, sticky and tired.
The weekend had been bittersweet. She had not left her mum until late last night. The outing in the garden had tired her, and Sally had helped the nurse put her to bed and then sat with her for the rest of the afternoon and Saturday evening. She had done the same on Sunday, and it had been after midnight when she’d finally arrived back in London, exhausted. But worry over her mother and the images of a tall dark man had fractured her sleep, and she had had to drag herself out of bed this morning to go to work.
She felt totally worn out, both mentally and physically, and for a moment hadn’t the strength to move. Shoulders slumped, she glanced around the room with jaundiced eyes. She hated the place.
It had been her father’s studio apartment for years, but after her mum’s accident he had sold the family home in Bournemouth and bought a three-bedroomed apartment in fashionable Notting Hill.
How he had persuaded her mother to sell the house in Bournemouth—the house her mum had inherited from her parents—Sally had had no idea, but she had reluctantly agreed to go and see the new apartment, supposedly the new family home. It was a top-floor conversion of a large Georgian house, and she’d swiftly realised it was unsuitable for a wheelchair—which to her mind simply confirmed that her father had no intention of ever living with his wife again.
His excuse for selling the house was the cost of keeping his wife in the nursing home. As it was he who had put her there, it did not cut much ice with Sally, but she could not deny he did pay the fees.
Then, to her dismay, she had found herself the recipient of his studio apartment. Her mother had been delighted, and told her it was time she had a place of her own. When she’d tried to refuse her mother had insisted, and told her to listen to her father—he was the accountant, and the property was a good investment. Apparently, giving the studio to Sally was a great way of avoiding death duties in the future!
Sally had then realised how he had persuaded her mum to sell, and it had confirmed in her mind what a greedy low-life he really was…
She had reluctantly moved in ten months ago, when the lease on her old apartment ran out, mainly because her mother had kept asking her when she was going to move.
But to Sally this apartment didn’t feel like her home, and she knew it never could—because in her head she would always think of it as her dad’s sleazy love-nest. A fact that had been brought home to her the first week she’d moved in, when she’d fielded quite a few calls from present and previously discarded mistresses. She had changed the telephone number, but she could not change the fact that a string of women other than his wife had shared the king-size bed.
As a studio apartment it was a superior example, with natural wooden floors, and it was larger than most. The kitchen and bathroom were off the small entrance hall, separate from the main living area which was split-level, with a mini-staircase leading to the bedroom area. She had thrown out every piece of furniture her father had left, including his king-size bed and the mirror over it, and bought a queen-size bed for herself.
She had redecorated completely, in neutral tones, and bought the minimum of new furniture: a sofa, an occasional table, and a television for the living area. In the bedroom she had fitted interlocking beechwood units along one wall, which included drawers and shelves where she could house her books, plus a desktop that stretched the length of one unit. It held her computer and doubled as a dressing table. The other wall had a built-in wardrobe with mirrored doors. The bed had a beechwood headboard, and all her bedlinen was plain white—easily interchangeable. She didn’t need anything else, and she probably would not be there much longer.
She had mentioned to her mother a month ago that she was thinking of trying to sell the studio, telling her she would really prefer a separate bedroom. Her mum had said that would be nice, and the subject had not been mentioned again. But Sally had placed it with a local estate agent the next Monday. She had stipulated that she wanted no sign outside, as she was at work all day and away every weekend and a sign tended to encourage burglars.
She need not have bothered, as she no longer cared whether she sold it or not. Since hearing the doctor’s prognosis for her mother last week she’d recognised there were a lot worse things in life than living in an apartment one didn’t like.
She straightened up and headed for the kitchen, dropping her purse on the sofa on the way. A cup of coffee, a sandwich and a shower, in that order, and then bed.
Checking the water level in the kettle, she switched it on, and, opening a cupboard, reached for a jar of instant coffee just as the wall-mounted telephone rang.
Her heart leapt in panic. It must be the nursing home about her mother, was her first thought, and, lifting the receiver from the rest, she said quickly, ‘Sally here—what is it?’
‘Not what—who,’ a deep voice corrected her with a chuckle, before continuing, unnecessarily identifying himself. ‘Zac.’ And she nearly dropped the phone.
‘How did you get my number?’ she demanded.
‘Easy. Your father told me you lived in Kensington. I wasn’t so obvious as to ask him for your number, but you are in the telephone book.’
Of course she was. Hadn’t she changed the number and registered it under her own name? ‘You looked through all the Paxtons in the book? You must have had to ring dozens to find me.’ She couldn’t believe a man of his wealth and stature would go to so much trouble.
