The Price of Scandal Page 7

  Frowning, she looked around the room thinking, But what?

  This was a cook’s kitchen, she decided, studying the rows of spice bottles and shelves of cook books. Neve always found baking therapeutic in moments of stress and eating could be comforting. This was definitely a moment of stress and, while a batch of cookies was the first thing to come to mind, it wasn’t the most nourishing.

  She adjusted the blanket, wrapping it sarong-style to free up her hands before she walked to the fridge and pulled open the door. After examining the contents of the well-stocked shelves she removed a box of eggs and the ingredients to produce a veggie omelette.

  Easing her conscience, she made a list of the items she had removed, then, promising herself she would replace them at a later date, she began to slice and dice before whipping the eggs with more vigour than was strictly required.

  The thing would only take a few minutes to throw together and cook when he returned.

  Stifling a yawn, she moved across to the chair by the fire she had vacated earlier. Within seconds she felt her mind drift.

  He wanted her.

  Severo could not recall ever having wanted a woman more—and he would definitely have remembered! She was beautiful, but not the type of woman he was usually attracted to, yet—Severo stopped, conscious that he was beginning to sound like one of those men he had always despised, the ones who analysed their feelings and motivations.

  The important thing was he was not and never would be a man like his father. Severo did not lose control and make a fool of himself over a pretty face. He did not confuse sex with love; he frequently doubted the latter existed outside the pages of fiction.

  The strength of the desire burning in his blood was clearly a result of his prolonged period of celibacy.

  It had been over six months since he had walked away from his last relationship, too long for any man to go without sex.

  The relationship had not ended well. The final showdown had been messy and shrill, involving a lot of frankly bizarre accusations from April. It had been distasteful and not an experience he had been anxious to repeat in a hurry.

  The problem was women said one thing when they meant another. April was a classic case: she had announced herself more than happy when he had explained that he was not looking for anything permanent or intense.

  Uncomplicated, no-strings sex, she had told him, was all she wanted from a relationship.

  Only it turned out she had wanted other things too.

  Things like expecting him to attend boring social events and be nice to people he did not know or like. He had been willing to humour her to a degree because she was very beautiful and skilled in the bedroom and he could see that her career depended on her being seen at the right places. But when it came to her wanting to know where he was every second of the day he had not been so obliging.

  The final straw had been when she had started talking marriage and babies; jokingly, of course, but she hadn’t been.

  Nobody was that good in bed!

  An image of the sexy pouting curve of Neve’s full lips flashed into his head as he entered the room—he was willing to be proved wrong.

  But not just yet, it seemed.

  His expression set in a discontented scowl of frustration, he walked over to where she lay curled up like a kitten, her face cushioned on her arm, dead to the world.

  Expression taut, he dragged his uninjured hand through his damp hair and took the opportunity to study her sleeping face at his leisure.

  His scowl faded.

  The soft tumble of bright silky coils of hair spilled over her slender shoulders, her sleeping face was flushed, her lashes cast a shadow on the peachy curve of her smooth flushed cheek. His lust surged back full force as his glance stilled on her mouth.

  She was beautiful and Severo had never experienced a more primal need to claim a woman for his own.

  Neve had no recollection of falling asleep, just the smell of coffee, then opening her eyes and finding herself in a strange candle-lit room.

  She sensed his disturbing presence before she heard his voice. ‘So you are back with us.’

  Tall and lean and wearing a towelling robe that ended mid muscular calf, he loomed over her.

  ‘Why did you let me sleep?’ she demanded accusingly.

  He nearly hadn’t—the temptation to kiss her awake had been strong, but he had managed to resist.

  ‘You obviously needed it.’ Not as much as he needed to sink his tongue between her parted lips. ‘Are you always this cranky when you wake up?’ It would, he decided, be interesting to find out.

  Frowning as she eased a few kinks out of her spine, Neve ignored the question and levelled a glare at his cleanly shaven face. ‘Why the candles?’

  ‘A fuse blew while you were asleep, but luckily only the one responsible for the lights. We still have power and heating, so we won’t have to resort to sharing body heat to keep warm.’

  His mockery caused embarrassed colour to fly to her face. The other reactions of her body to the image that flashed into her head were happily less obvious, but equally humiliating.

  ‘Can’t you fix a fuse?’ she asked, injecting scorn into her voice.

  ‘Possibly, if I could find the fuse box.’

  Neve was extremely suspicious of this uncharacteristic show of helplessness.

  ‘Did you even try?’ she accused, lifting a hand to her head as she watched him pad barefoot across to the fire.

  While he wasn’t watching she took the opportunity to smooth her tousled hair. As she rubbed a strand of hair from her cheek she felt the creases. Great—not only had her hair gone feral, there was the imprint of the chair arm on her face.

  He threw a log on the fire before replying to her question. ‘No, I like the romantic ambience, and candlelight is so forgiving,’ he mocked.

  She let her hand fall from her face. Ironically he had a point: being in the presence of perfection made a person awfully aware of her own deficiencies. It seemed most unfair that while he was wandering around looking sexy and gorgeous she was sitting there looking like a madwoman with her creased face and her wild hair—not to mention wearing a blanket.

  ‘You warm enough?’ he asked, studying her flushed cheeks and feverishly bright eyes.

  Conscious of the prickle of nervous sweat trickling down her spine, Neve nodded and lied. ‘I’m fine.’

  She would be a lot finer if she were wearing more than her bra and pants. Her state of undress made her feel vulnerable and exposed; the idea of putting on the wet clothes she had removed was not pleasant but it beat the alternative.

  ‘Where are my clothes?’ She glanced around, trying to conceal her growing agitation behind a cool façade and, she suspected, failing miserably. ‘What have you done with them?’

  His ebony brows lifted in response to the shrill note of accusation that crept into her voice.

  ‘Not really my size, cara, but I admire your bold take on colour co-ordination.’

  Neve’s glance slid to the impressive width of his shoulders as she sketched a mirthless smile. ‘Very amusing.’

  ‘Relax, I put them in the drier with my things.’

  ‘Very domesticated.’

  ‘I have my moments.’

  Neve swallowed and thought, I bet you do. The images in her head of him enjoying moments with a whole succession of nubile leggy blondes made her feel queasy.

  ‘Oh, except for this,’ he said, unfolding the thin strappy top from the rail of the range cooker where he’d draped it.

  Neve watched in dismay, unable to control the visible shudder that ran through her body as he rubbed the silky fabric between his long fingers.

  ‘Warm and dry,’ he said before he tossed it to her.

  Neve dropped her gaze from the glittering challenge in his as she reached out and grabbed for it, losing her purchase on the blanket as she did so. Her top in her fist, she pulled up the blanket from her waist, where it had slipped.

  The glimpse of her p
ale body sent a surge of lust through Severo’s already painfully aroused body. It was so extreme that for a moment the man who was famed for his hard-nosed cool temperament could not breathe.

  Cloaked by the blanket, she fought her way into her top. Conscious of his dark eyes trained on her, she grumbled, ‘I suppose it would be too much to expect you to turn your back?’

  ‘Most women with your body would be glad of the opportunity to flaunt it.’

  His sarcasm shouldn’t have hurt because, while she didn’t have any hang-ups about her body, Neve had no illusions either.

  ‘I need my clothes.’

  He smiled and slowly shook his head. ‘No, cara, you need—’

  ‘I don’t need anything you can offer!’

  He looked mildly surprised by the spitting rancour of her interruption. ‘I was about to say food. I thought you might be hungry.’

  Neve swallowed as the mortified colour rushed to her face. ‘Oh!’

  ‘I enjoyed my omelette.’ His glance swept the dishes waiting to go into the dishwasher. ‘I thought you might like one too. After that we can play it by ear.’

  Ignoring the worrying postscript but unwilling to call him on it and make an utter fool of herself for a second time, she focused her tight-lipped response on the food portion of his plan.

  ‘I’m not hungry, and you shouldn’t be cooking with that hand. It’ll start bleeding if you knock it.’ As there appeared to be nothing covering it she was surprised it hadn’t done so already.

  ‘No, it won’t,’ he contradicted, looking smug as he extended his injured hand towards her.

  Neve’s eyes shot wide as she took in the neat row of stitches across his palm. The extreme form of DIY made her jaw drop. Her amazed eyes flew to his face.

  ‘You actually sewed up your own hand?’

  ‘The damned thing wouldn’t stop bleeding so when I spotted a sewing kit in the bathroom—being ambidextrous is on occasion useful.’

  ‘Do you do this often, then?’

  He flashed her a grin, looking amused by her comment. ‘I actually think I didn’t do such a bad job,’ he remarked, turning his hand to admire his own handiwork. He angled her a questioning look. ‘What do you think?’

  She stared at his long, tapering fingers; he had beautiful hands. ‘Think?’ she croaked, seeing his long, sensitive fingers sliding over her skin. ‘I think you’re slightly mad.’ And I am totally and completely insane.

  Maybe I have a fever?

  Oh, you have a fever, all right, but not the sort that an aspirin is going to cure.

  His eyes drifted to her mouth and he felt the ache in his groin intensify. He smiled into her blue eyes and felt a surge of predatory satisfaction as her pupils dilated dramatically, almost swallowing up the blue.

  ‘You might be right, cara.’

  The primitive, sexually explicit message glowing in his dark eyes sent a surge of lustful longing through her body.

  Gripped by panic, she redirected her attention to his hand and pretended to study his handiwork. ‘It is neat,’ she agreed. ‘Very professional. Maybe,’ she suggested lightly, ‘you missed your true calling. Why didn’t you become a doctor?’

  The reference drew his brows into a straight frowning line above his hawkish nose. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You said you did pre-med.’

  ‘So I did—good memory,’ he murmured admiringly. ‘I quit school when my father died. I inherited the family firm, so to speak.’ And discovered a talent for making money, which was fortunate as the coffers had been pretty low at the time.

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘It was expected, and I don’t do regrets.’

  Neve was not convinced. ‘Everyone does regrets.’

  He produced an enigmatic smile. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘What do you do, Neve? I’m curious—are you a career criminal or was it an opportunist crime?’

  Neve gave a perplexed shake of her head. ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘It was my car you stole. You walked straight into me in the pub car park.’

  A memory stirred; she recalled the tall figure in the car park. ‘You were in my way.’

  His lips quirked; that was certainly one way to look at it.

  ‘And you stole my car.’

  He leaned back against the wall and watched as a tide of warmth worked its way under her clear pale skin leaving it tinged with a pink rosiness.

  ‘It was an emergency and I only meant to borrow it.’

  ‘I am not sure borrowing a stranger’s car is recognized, legally speaking, though I believe that the courts are generally fairly lenient with first-time offenders. Are you?’ he taunted.

  ‘This isn’t funny. It’s not a joke.’ Especially not if the police did become involved. ‘I’m very sorry about your car.’ Did this mean that her rescue had not been accidental?

  Again he seemed to read her thoughts.

  ‘There were some valuable items in the car I wanted to retrieve.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, feeling guiltier than ever. ‘I didn’t think.’ The excuse sounded pretty lame even to her own ears. ‘I just panicked. I ran outside and my car was gone. I realised that Hannah must have taken it and your car was there and unlocked…which was pretty stupid if you had valuables in it.’

  ‘So it was actually my fault.’

  The shamed colour flew to her cheeks. ‘No, of course not, it’s my fault.’

  ‘Your stepdaughter will never learn to take responsibility for her own actions if you constantly blame yourself.’

  Neve’s blue eyes flew wide. ‘Hannah!’ Shame washed over her like a dark tide. Until he had mentioned her she had momentarily forgotten her stepdaughter’s plight.

  His dark eyes softened as he studied her face. ‘I assume you had a falling out?’

  That, she thought, was like calling a nuclear explosion a loud bang.

  A self-condemnatory frown formed on her smooth brow as she gnawed worriedly at her lower lip and admitted, ‘She was running away from me.’

  Her tortured gaze was drawn to the window as she gulped and, embarrassed, turned away to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  Severo was conscious of some unidentifiable emotion swelling in his chest as he watched her reach out a finger and trace a pattern in the mist on the window.

  He shook his head and told himself not to look for complications where there were none. This was not about spiritual connections; it was about scheduling and sex.

  Work had been frantic for the last few months but this was clearly his body’s way of telling him he needed to make some time in his schedule to redress the balance.

  All work and no play made Jack, or in this instance Severo, a man apt to become unhealthily fixated by blue eyes…As for fantasising about a woman’s skin or wanting to drive the sadness from her face, that was simply just not him!

  ‘I’m sure your Hannah is fine.’

  They both remained motionless as their eyes met in the reflected image on the window.

  The moment stretched, the heavy silence seething with unspoken words. Neve felt light-headed; awareness hummed in her blood and prickled hotly under her skin. She could feel the heavy throb of tension as it built and took on a presence that felt physical.

  A log in the fire exploded with a soft hiss, breaking the spell. She gave a small gasp and, flushing, turned around to face him.

  ‘Not knowing,’ she said bleakly. ‘It’s awful. I…’

  She stopped as his hand came down heavily on her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t think of it.’

  Chapter Seven

  THAT was the problem: she hadn’t been.

  The guilty knowledge of her selfishness ate away at Neve like acid. Until Severo had said her name she had not thought about Hannah.

  She’d dreamt about him when she slept and from the moment she had woken her thoughts had revolved exclusively around this man.

  Tucking the errant stra
nds of hair behind her ears, she pulled away and eyed him with burning blue-eyed resentment.

  ‘You make it sound easy.’ It wasn’t meant to be this easy. I am just shallow and self-obsessed.

  ‘I don’t think it is easy, just necessary.’

  Neve compressed her lips. He didn’t have a clue about the burden of responsibility she felt or the guilt or…the man was a damned computer! ‘I need my clothes.’

  Severo swore under his breath, frustration stamped on his autocratic features as he watched her stalk stiff-backed from the room.

  Neve squinted as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the laundry room, but after carefully feeling her way along the counter top she located what she was looking for. Kneeling on the tiled floor, wincing a little because it was very cold, she opened the door of the drier and caught the garments that spilled out in her arms. They were dry but tangled.

  She nodded encouragement to herself as she succeeded in detaching her jeans from a shirt—not hers. One second she was incuriously scanning the discreet hand-sewn designer label, the next she was responding to some inexplicable but strong impulse and pressing the fine cotton to her face. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the clean male scent that seemed impregnated into the creased fabric.

  What am I doing?

  Eyes wide in recognition of her truly bizarre behaviour, she stopped and dropped the offending garment. The other thing she had been doing was holding her breath; she released it now in a long shuddering sigh and, spotting some pink polka-dot fabric, reached for her sweater. The male sock it had wrapped itself around came with it.

  On the plus side, she was not going to be tempted to sniff a sock.

  ‘Has it shrunk?’

  Even had he possessed a working knowledge of care labels, Severo had had other things on his mind when he had piled the sodden garments into the machine earlier.

  At the sound of his deep voice Neve released a startled gasp of shock and spun around, her bottom making contact with the floor with a thud as she lost her balance and tipped over backwards.

  He grimaced, but all Neve could see from where she sat was a flash of white teeth bared, in her mind at least, in a heartless wolfish smirk.