Kitabı oku: «To Marry Mcallister», sayfa 2

Because she was even more convinced by this second meeting with him that she did not want Brice McAllister to paint her. She knew that he was every bit as good an artist as he had been proclaimed, and she also knew the reason that he was so good; Brice McAllister was exactly what she had thought him to be last week. He was a soul-searcher.

Those green eyes saw beyond the layers of social façade, past the protective barriers, straight into the soul, and deep into the real emotions that made a person exactly what they were, and what had made them that way. What had changed her from being happily sociable into a woman who now put up a protective barrier she was determined no one would penetrate?

‘Tea will be through in a moment,’ she announced lightly a few minutes later when she rejoined him in the sitting-room. ‘Richard tells me that you have painted a rather magnificent portrait of your cousin’s wife, Darcy McKenzie?’ she prompted politely as she sat down.

He nodded abruptly. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Sabina gave a bright, meaningless smile. ‘I think he’s hoping you will do as magnificent a one of me.’

Brice McAllister looked across at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you hope, Sabina?’ he drawled.

He didn’t really need to ask her that. Sabina was sure he already knew exactly what she hoped—that he wouldn’t paint her at all, that he would just go away, and leave her with her barrier intact…

‘The same thing, of course,’ she returned smoothly, meeting that continuous probing gaze with a completely blank one of her own.

‘Of course,’ Brice finally echoed dryly. ‘I—’

‘Ah, tea.’ Sabina turned to smile at Mrs Clark as she came into the room, the tray she carried, as Sabina had instructed the housekeeper a few minutes ago, containing just the tea; she did not intend offering Brice McAllister cake as well and delaying his departure by even a few minutes!

‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Brice McAllister murmured as the housekeeper left the room and Sabina sat forward to pour milk and tea into the cups.

‘Sweet enough already’ didn’t quite apply to this man, Sabina acknowledged wryly. Tough, determined, slightly arrogant, very insightful, but Brice McAllister was definitely not ‘sweet’!

‘You seem quite at home here,’ he drawled mockingly.

Despite being caught slightly off guard by the abruptness of the statement, Sabina managed to continue to calmly pour her own tea into the cup. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It is my home,’ she returned coolly, once again sensing that disapproval of the fact that she lived here with Richard.

Which was slightly old-fashioned coming from a man who was probably only aged in his mid-thirties. Or perhaps it was the age difference between herself and Richard that Brice McAllister disapproved of…?

‘So when are you free to sit for some sketches for me?’ he prompted suddenly.

She shook her head regretfully as she sat back to drink her tea. ‘I have a very busy schedule for the next few months—’

‘I’m sure you must have an hour free somewhere,’ he challenged, his mouth twisted derisively.

An hour, yes, possibly even the odd day here and there. But she didn’t wish to give any of that time to Brice McAllister.

‘Possibly,’ she dismissed. ‘But even I deserve some time off for rest and relaxation.’

‘Sitting in a chair while I sketch you is not exactly going to tire you,’ he returned dryly.

No—but trying to keep that blank wall in her eyes for an hour or so, shutting his probing gaze out of her inner self, definitely would!

She shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have my diary available at the moment, but as soon as I do I’ll check it over and give you a call,’ she added dismissively, having noted that his teacup was now empty.

He raised dark brows, making no effort to stand up in preparation of leaving. ‘Tomorrow is Saturday—surely you aren’t busy all over the weekend too?’

Sabina held in her frustrated anger with effort. This man wasn’t just determined, he was dogged!

He was also, she was slowly coming to realise, all the more intent on doing those sketches because he sensed her own reluctance not to have him do them.

She shook her head with feigned regret. ‘I’m afraid Richard and I are away this weekend,’ she was able to tell him with complete honesty. And some satisfaction, she admitted inwardly.

At least, she was allowed to feel that way for a few very brief moments—because she then became aware of the sound of Richard’s car outside in the driveway!

Usually she was more than pleased to see him, feeling safer when he was around, but today her heart sank at the realisation that he was home. Because Richard, she knew, despite gentle hints from her this last week that she really didn’t want her portrait painted, was very determined that it would be done. And he was equally determined that the artist of that portrait would be Brice McAllister.

‘Pity,’ Brice drawled, obviously not in the least convinced by her excuse.

He also wasn’t yet aware that Richard had arrived home, and Sabina schooled her features into one of cool politeness so that Brice McAllister shouldn’t see how dismayed she felt at having the two men meet again. Something she had desperately been trying to avoid!

Brice sighed. ‘I wonder—’

‘Sabina? Are you—?’ Richard had come straight into the sitting-room on entering the house, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw Sabina wasn’t alone, his gaze narrowing as he took in Brice McAllister’s presence in the room, the used cups on the low table clearly stating that he had been here for some time.

‘Richard!’ Sabina stood up immediately to cross the room to her fiancé’s side, linking her arm warmly with his as she smiled at him. ‘Mr McAllister called round for tea,’ she dismissed with a lightness she was far from feeling.

Brice hadn’t exactly ‘called around for tea’, that had been merely incidental; he had really come here in order to corner her into making a definite appointment for those sketches!

Sabina looked across at him now, wondering exactly what he was going to say to Richard about his reason for being here.

Would he tell Richard of his five unacknowledged telephone calls this past week? Yes, she did know exactly how many times he had telephoned, had instructed the loyal Mrs Clark to repeatedly tell him she wasn’t at home!

Would he now tell Richard of her evasive tactics?

She gave an inward groan just at the thought of it, having no doubts that Richard would not be pleased that she had deliberately been avoiding Brice McAllister this last week. Richard would also, once they were alone, want to know the reason for it. She could hardly tell him that she had done it because she didn’t want Brice McAllister looking into her soul…!

‘I called round in person to apologise for not getting in touch with either of you this last week.’ Brice McAllister was speaking smoothly now. ‘I’ve been rather busy, I’m afraid. But that’s still no excuse for my tardiness.’ He grimaced.

Sabina could only stare across at him disbelievingly. He had been rather busy…? His tardiness…? He was the one apologising…? When she had been the one who—

‘That’s quite all right,’ Richard accepted lightly, the tension relaxing from his body at the other man’s explanation. ‘Is everything sorted out now?’ He looked at the two of them enquiringly.

Sabina looked at Brice for guidance on this one, still stunned by the way he had smoothed over the situation with a few brief—if totally inaccurate—words.

Had they sorted everything out now?

More to the point, why had Brice McAllister lied just now? Only she could benefit from such a misconception—and, as she was only too well aware, she had done nothing in their acquaintance so far to merit such gallantry. As Brice, up to that point, had done nothing to show he was capable of such an emotion!

He looked at her enquiringly. ‘I believe so,’ he drawled pointedly.

That was why he had lied—so that she had no choice but to make a firm appointment to go and see him. But, in the circumstances, it was probably the least that she owed him…

‘Richard, I was just explaining to Mr McAllister—’

‘Brice,’ he put in dryly.

‘To Brice,’ she corrected after a slightly irritated glance in his direction; she did not want to be on a first-name basis with this man, intended keeping him very firmly at arm’s length. Further, if she could manage it! ‘That I have the afternoon free on Tuesday,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘And I was just complimenting Sabina on having such a good memory,’ Brice McAllister drawled. ‘I always have to consult my diary before making appointments,’ he added pointedly, that green gaze mocking her.

Sabina shot him a glaring look. Damn him, how dared he mock her when he knew she couldn’t defend herself? Probably for exactly that reason! After all, there had to be some recompense for letting her off the hook so nobly!

‘Three o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, then.’ He nodded abruptly, obviously tiring of the game he was playing, anxious to be gone now as he took a card out of the pocket of his jacket.

Much as he had obviously enjoyed the game, damn him, Sabina inwardly acknowledged frustratedly. But what choice did she have now…?

‘Fine,’ she agreed abruptly, taking the card with his address printed on it, wishing she could somehow misplace it before next Tuesday. But at the same time knowing it would do her no good even if she did; that appointment might as well be set in stone as far as Richard was concerned!

Richard nodded. ‘I have a meeting that afternoon, I’m afraid, Sabina, but I’ll have Clive accompany you,’ he assured her smilingly.

‘Clive?’ Brice McAllister repeated slowly. ‘I have to tell you now, unlike Sabina, I do not like an audience while I work,’ he bit out harshly.

Richard laughed dismissively. ‘Clive is completely unobtrusive, I can assure you. But if it bothers you,’ he added cajolingly as the other man still scowled, ‘he can wait outside in the car.’

Brice nodded abruptly. ‘It bothers me.’

No more than it bothered Sabina to think of spending that hour alone with him at his studio!

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT do you know about the model Sabina?’

‘Aha!’ Chloe said with satisfaction as she put down her knife and fork to look across the luncheon table to Brice. ‘I told Fergus, after you accompanied us to the fashion show last Saturday that there was something going on. So much for inviting me out to lunch to cheer me up while Fergus is away in Manchester at a book-signing!’ she added teasingly.

Brice loved his cousin’s wife dearly, looked on her as the younger sister he had never had, but sometimes…!

‘There’s nothing “going on”, Chloe,’ he told her dryly. ‘I’m going to paint the woman. I just thought I should know something about her before I did.’

‘Oh.’ Chloe couldn’t hide her disappointment at this explanation.

Brice gave a rueful shake of his head at her deflated expression. ‘Just because you and Fergus are rapturously happy together—even more so since you knew about the expected baby—does not mean everyone else around you has to be in love too!’

‘But wouldn’t it be nice if you were?’ Chloe came back undaunted.

‘She’s an engaged woman, Chloe,’ he dismissed with amusement.

‘But they don’t seem in any hurry to get married,’ she replied instantly. ‘And Richard Latham is so much older than Sabina…’

Brice was all too well aware of that already…

‘Nice’ wasn’t exactly how he would have described the possibility of his falling in love. But he knew that his two cousins, Logan and Fergus, had found true love in the last year, and that they—and their wives!—would like nothing better than for Brice to join them in their obviously happy state. The only problem that he could see was that he hadn’t yet found the woman that he could fall in love with!

The model Sabina certainly wasn’t her. She was beautiful, yes. And from their meeting last Friday he knew that she was also completely natural and unaffected. He was also intrigued by her, found her engagement to a man so much her senior slightly odd, as he found the way she had the equivalent to a ‘minder’ accompany her wherever she went; because he had no doubt that the man Clive who would be driving her to his studio this afternoon was exactly that, no matter what guise he might otherwise be appearing under.

What Brice really wanted to know was, in view of David Latham’s view of his uncle, was Sabina being protected on Richard’s behalf, as a collector of priceless objects, or for some other reason…?

Which was why he had wondered, with Chloe being a fashion designer herself, with her own connections in the design and model world, if she knew anything about Sabina that might answer some of his questions for him. But the last thing he wanted was for Chloe to think he had a personal interest in Sabina!

‘How is Fergus’s latest book doing?’ He decided to change the subject for a while; they could always come back to Sabina later.

‘Number one in the hardback best-seller list after only two weeks,’ Chloe told him with obvious pride. ‘Have you read it?’

‘Not yet.’ He resumed eating his meal, knowing that he had successfully diverted Chloe’s attention from possible wedding bells on his behalf. ‘It’s set in the fashion-designer world, isn’t it?’

It was the perfect way to distract Chloe from the subject of Sabina, and for the next fifteen minutes they talked of Fergus’s successful new book, then went on to discuss Chloe’s father’s return to politics, and now the government.

Anything but the beautiful model Sabina!

Because, as he’d talked to Chloe about everything else under the sun but Sabina, Brice had come to the realisation that his interest in her was personal!

She was deliberately cool and aloof, put up a barrier between herself and others—with the obvious exception of Richard Latham. And yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about her that seemed to be completely inexplicable.

Sabina was the world’s top model, very beautiful, very much in demand, and very highly paid. Her earnings had to equal those of the highest paid actress in Hollywood. Which meant she had the money to be and do whatever she pleased. And yet…

It was that ‘and yet’ that intrigued Brice, that had him thinking about Sabina even when he wasn’t aware he was doing it. He was becoming obsessed with her, he realised.

But this afternoon he hoped to go some way to solving the enigma that was Sabina Smith!

‘Thanks for lunch, Brice.’ Chloe reached up to kiss him on the cheek as they parted outside the restaurant. ‘And good luck with Sabina this afternoon,’ she added mischievously.

Brice gave a rueful shake of his head as he drove back to his home; he had no doubts that by this evening the whole family would know he had questioned Chloe concerning Sabina!

He arrived back at the house in plenty of time for their three o’clock appointment. But three o’clock came and went, with no sign of Sabina.

She wasn’t coming, damn it. After four days’ wait, after all that anticipation, she wasn’t coming!

Brice could feel the anger starting to build up inside him, having no doubt that Sabina had done this deliberately. He—

The doorbell rang.

It was three twenty-five, there had been no call to say she would be arriving late, but nevertheless Brice knew it was her. He schooled his features into showing none of his previous anger; that was probably what she expected, so she wouldn’t get it!

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Sabina was apologising profusely even as his housekeeper showed her into the studio a few minutes later. ‘I had a photographic session for a magazine this morning, and, although they promised me faithfully that I would be finished by two o’clock, it ran over, and I—’

‘You’re here now,’ Brice firmly cut into her lengthy explanation. Because he was sure, even from their brief acquaintance, that Sabina was not the effusive type, that she would never use half a dozen words when one would do. Which probably meant she was making this up as she went along! ‘Have you had lunch?’

She blinked at this sudden change of subject. ‘No…’

‘Then can I offer you a sandwich or something?’ He looked enquiringly at his housekeeper even as he made the offer.

‘No, really,’ Sabina refused before Mrs Potter could answer. ‘I’ll have something later,’ she dismissed.

‘Tea or coffee, then?’ Brice offered smoothly.

God, she looked beautiful today, the clinging blue Lycra tee shirt, the same colour as her eyes, clinging in all the right places, as did the body-hugging black trousers she wore with it, her hair loose again today, a shining gold curtain down the length of her spine. Brice’s fingers itched to take up paper and pencil and begin his sketches.

Sabina looked set to refuse again, and then obviously thought better of it. ‘A coffee would be very nice, thank you.’ She smiled warmly at the housekeeper.

‘And how about Clive?’ Brice couldn’t resist asking, sure that the ‘chauffeur’ was even now sitting outside waiting to drive Sabina back to the home she shared with Richard Latham. As he had no doubt sat outside and waited for Sabina while she’d been in her photographic session this morning! ‘Would he like a coffee too, do you think?’ he added derisively.

Sabina’s gaze narrowed as she looked across at him for several long, silent seconds. ‘No, I’m sure Clive will be fine,’ she finally answered slowly. ‘I hope I’m not putting you to too much trouble,’ she added warmly to the housekeeper.

Brice could see, as Mrs Potter left the studio with a smile on her face, that Sabina’s apparently guileless charm had obviously worked its magic on her; he had no doubt that there would be more than a cup of coffee on the tray the housekeeper brought back in a few minutes.

‘Where do you want me?’

Now there was a leading question if ever he had heard one, Brice acknowledged derisively, sure that most men wouldn’t care ‘where’ with Sabina, as long as they had her!

Brice’s outward expression remained impassive. ‘The couch, I think,’ he answered consideringly. ‘To start with. I’m really not sure what I’m going to do with this yet,’ he added frowningly. How could he possibly do justice to such a beauty as Sabina’s…?

There was no doubting her surface beauty, but there was so much more to her than that, a naturalness that owed nothing to powder and paint, an inner Sabina that he needed to reach too. And he was determined, no matter what barriers she might choose to put up, that he would reach that Sabina!

Sabina moved to sit on the couch, the May sun shining in brightly through the windows that made up one complete wall of Brice McAllister’s studio. The garden outside was a blaze of spring flowers, and just the sight of that mixture of bright blossoms lightened Sabina’s spirit.

‘Do you do the gardening yourself?’ she asked interestedly.

‘Sorry?’

She turned back to look at Brice McAllister, only to find he was already engrossed in the sketch-pad resting on his knee as he sat across the room from her. ‘I didn’t realise you had already started,’ she murmured slightly resentfully, knowing she had been caught off guard as she’d looked out at the beauty of the garden.

‘Only roughly,’ he dismissed, giving her his full attention now, looking very relaxed in blue denims and a black tee shirt. ‘And yes, I look after the garden myself, It’s often a welcome relief after being in my studio for hours. Do you garden?’

Her expression became wistful. ‘I used to.’

‘Before pressures of work made it impossible,’ Brice McAllister guessed lightly.

A shutter came down over her eyes. ‘Something like that,’ she answered noncommittally.

The fact that she no longer gardened had nothing to do with work commitments, and everything to do with the fact that she no longer lived alone in her little cottage. But she was not about to explain that to Brice McAllister.

She was only here at all today under protest, because last Friday she had been given no choice but to agree to the appointment. Part of her knew that she probably also owed Brice a thank-you for not telling Richard how she had been avoiding his phone calls all week. But there was something inside her that wouldn’t let her say the words…

“‘Something like that”?’ Brice repeated softly.

Sabina shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at this; I’m simply not good at sitting still.’ She grimaced.

He nodded. ‘Stand up and move around if you prefer it; I’m not sure sitting down is the right pose for you anyway,’ he added frowningly.

Sabina wondered as she stood up to move restlessly about the room exactly what pose he did think was right for her?

Brice McAllister’s studio was a cluttered and yet somehow orderly room, canvases stacked against the walls, paints, pencils, paper, all neatly stored on open shelves, with the minimum amount of furniture; just the chair he sat in, a large, paint-daubed table, and the couch Sabina had been sitting on.

‘Here we are.’ Mrs Potter came back in with a laden tray, putting it down on the table, sandwiches and a fruit cake also on the tray.

‘Thank you,’ Sabina told the other woman warmly.

‘Help yourself,’ Brice McAllister invited dryly once his housekeeper had left the room.

She poured the tea into two cups before helping herself to one of the chicken sandwiches; she hadn’t thought she was hungry, but one bite of the delicious sandwich told her that she was.

‘Do you often miss out on lunch?’ Brice McAllister watched her with brooding eyes.

Sabina shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But I usually make up for it later,’ she assured him dryly. ‘I don’t starve myself, if that’s what you’re thinking; I’m naturally like this.’ She indicated the slenderness of her figure.

‘And very nice it is too.’ He nodded. ‘When’s the wedding?’

Sabina blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘Sorry…?’

‘Richard implied your portrait is a wedding present to himself.’ Brice shrugged. ‘I was merely wondering how soon I have to finish it,’ he added derisively.

She frowned. ‘I think you must have misunderstood him.’ It had never even been discussed between them that their ‘understanding’ might lead to marriage…

‘No?’ He raised dark brows. ‘Richard gave me the impression it was imminent.’

‘Did he?’ she returned evenly, equally sure he must have misunderstood Richard.

‘I thought so,’ Brice continued determinedly. ‘There’s rather a large difference in your ages, isn’t there?’

Her cheeks flushed resentfully. What business was it of this man if there was an age difference between herself and her fiancé? Absolutely none, came the unqualified answer!

‘Spring and autumn,’ Brice added derisively.

Her mouth twisted. ‘At twenty-five I’m hardly spring—summer would be more appropriate,’ she bit out shortly. ‘And surely age is irrelevant in this day and age?’ she added challengingly.

‘Is it?’ he returned softly.

Sabina frowned across at him, more disturbed by what he had said than she cared to admit. She and Richard were friends, nothing more; Brice must have misunderstood Richard! Mustn’t he…?

‘I thought I came here so you could sketch me, Mr McAllister—not question me about my personal life!’ she snapped agitatedly.

‘The name is Brice,’ he told her smoothly.

‘I prefer Mr McAllister,’ she said tautly. What she really preferred was to keep this man very much at a distance!

He gave an unperturbed shrug. ‘Whatever. Could you stand over by the fireplace?’ he bit out curtly, once again frowning down at his sketch-pad.

Almost as if that very personal conversation had never taken place, Sabina fumed inwardly as she moved to stand beside the unlit fireplace.

‘Yes,’ Brice breathed his satisfaction with the pose. ‘The clothes are all wrong, of course—not that you don’t look lovely in them,’ he added as she raised her brows. ‘They just aren’t right for the way I want to paint you.’

‘And what way is that?’ Sabina rasped impatiently.

He didn’t answer her, frowning across the room at her in between making rapid strokes with his pencil on the pad in front of him.

Sabina remained standing exactly as she was, recognising that transfixed look from some of her photographic sessions; a master was at work, and for the moment she, as a person, did not exist.

Which was fine with her. She was here under protest, and the last thing she wanted was any more personal conversations with Brice McAllister while she was here. Especially of the kind they had just had.

‘Will there have to be much of this?’ she finally felt compelled to ask him an hour later. The fireplace was really rather nice, but after looking at it for the last hour she definitely knew it didn’t hold much scope for the imagination!

Brice looked up at her frowningly, his thoughts obviously still engrossed in his sketching. ‘Much of what?’

‘These sittings—or, in this case, standings,’ she added wryly. ‘Will I need to do many of them?’

He put the sketch-pad down on the table beside him, flexing stiff shoulder muscles as he did so.

He really was a very handsome man, Sabina acknowledged grudgingly. Those dark, brooding good looks were almost Byronic, that over-long dark hair giving him a rakishly gypsy appearance. Although Sabina was sure the romantic Byron had never quite had that totally assessing male look in his eyes. Deep green eyes that even now were trying to look past her façade of politeness to the inner Sabina!

‘Why?’ he finally drawled softly.

She shrugged. ‘As I’ve already explained, I’m—’

‘Rather busy,’ he finished derisively. ‘Yes, you have explained that. Several times, as I recall,’ he added mockingly before picking up his cup and drinking the now cold tea in one swallow. ‘The question is, why are you so busy?’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘As I understand it, you’ve been one of the top models in the world—if not the top model in the world,’ he allowed mockingly, ‘for the last five years. Why do you need to keep working at the pace that you do?’

Because work stopped her from thinking, from remembering, meant she was too tired at night to do anything more than fall into bed and go to sleep!

But none of those thoughts betrayed themselves in the calmness of her expression. ‘So that I remain one of the top models in the world,’ she replied dryly.

Brice pursed his mouth. ‘And is that important to you?’

Her cheeks became flushed at the mockery in his tone. ‘Is it important to you to be one of the world’s most sought-after artists?’ she returned caustically, deeply resenting the slight condescension towards her career that she sensed in his tone.

Okay, so it didn’t need great intelligence to initially become a model, just the right look, and a certain amount of luck, but it certainly took more than those things to remain one. She worked hard at what she did, never gave less than her best, and she deeply resented his implication that it should be otherwise. She had always regarded herself as something of an artist too, in her own way.

‘Touché,’ he allowed dryly. ‘I just can’t imagine doing what you do, day in and day out.’ He shrugged.

Sabina narrowed cornflower-blue eyes on him. ‘Are you meaning to be insulting, Mr McAllister, or does it just come naturally?’ she said slowly.

He grinned unabashedly. ‘A little of both, probably.’

She shook her head, incredulous at his arrogance. ‘You just don’t care, do you?’ she murmured slowly.

He looked puzzled. ‘About what?’

‘About anything,’ she realised in wonder.

How she wished she still had that tolerantly amused outlook to life, that she could laugh at herself as well as other people. But she knew that she didn’t. That she never would have again, thanks to—

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Couldn’t think of that.

‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she decided abruptly, glancing pointedly at the gold watch on her wrist. An engagement present from Richard. That, and his diamond engagement ring, were the only two pieces of jewellery she ever wore.

Brice McAllister was watching her consideringly, head tilted slightly to one side, green gaze narrowed speculatively. ‘Why?’ he finally challenged.

It was a challenge Sabina easily picked up on. And chose to ignore. ‘Because I have somewhere else to go,’ she told him determinedly.

‘Home to Richard?’ he taunted softly, standing up slowly, his sheer size totally dominating the room.

Sabina took a step back, suddenly finding the room oppressively small. She also found herself backed up against the unlit fireplace.

Brice walked slowly towards her, his narrowed gaze not leaving her face. He stopped about a foot away, that gaze searching now as he continued to look at her.

For the second time since she had met him Sabina found she couldn’t breathe.

This close to, she could feel the male warmth of him, could smell the slight tang of the aftershave he wore, could see every pore and hair on the darkness of his skin. But it was none of those things that constricted her breathing. She knew it was his sheer physical closeness that did that.

She swallowed convulsively. ‘I really do have to go,’ she told him breathlessly.

Brice looked at her steadily. ‘So what’s stopping you?’ he prompted huskily.

Her legs, for one thing. They refused to move. In fact, she felt so weak at the knees they were only just succeeding in supporting her. She felt like a mesmerised rabbit caught on the road in the glare of car headlights, incapable of movement, even in the face of such obvious danger.

And Brice McAllister, as she had half guessed on their very first meeting, been even more convinced of it at their second, was exactly that—dangerous!