Undying Love. Carole Mortimer

of his gaze. ‘And I never give up on something I want as badly as I want you. I’ve left a trail of broken people behind me who could tell you that.’

      She had gone very pale, believing his threat. ‘That was business——’

      ‘Business or personal, it doesn’t matter,’ he shrugged. ‘I always win in the end.’

      She had heard of his ruthless business dealings, of the people he had ruined in his desire to add to the Dalmont coffers, but she had never heard of this singlemindedness with a woman before. Although perhaps he had never been turned down before! ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘Not this time you won’t,’ she told him with quiet conviction.

      ‘You loved your husband, is that it?’

      She couldn’t help flinching at the scorn of his tone. ‘Yes,’ her voice was husky, her head bent.

      ‘You still love him?’ he grated.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I don’t believe it!’

      Her head went back proudly, her eyes flashing. ‘It’s the truth,’ she snapped.

      ‘And the parties almost every night, the men who pay you attention—that’s mourning him, is it?’ Rick derided harshly.

      ‘He wouldn’t want me to stay at home.’

      ‘I would!’ he bit out fiercely, his eyes jet-black. ‘I’d want you to lock yourself away until you died too.’

      His intensity took her breath away, and she swallowed hard. ‘Maybe that’s what I am doing, waiting to die,’ she said softly.

      ‘At parties every night?’ he scorned.

      She looked at him with steady green eyes. ‘Maybe I just don’t want to be alone when I die.’

      Rick Dalmont looked as if she had physically hit him, paling slightly beneath his olive complexion. ‘Shanna…?’

      She sighed, shaking off his hand. ‘Selina seems anxious for you to return to her side,’ she drawled. ‘I’m sure she’ll be much more—amenable than I could ever be.’

      ‘I don’t want Selina,’ he rasped.

      ‘Poor Selina,’ she murmured, her cool façade back in place. ‘She’s very attractive.’

      ‘She doesn’t have black hair and green eyes.’

      ‘I’m sure there are thousands of willing women who do.’

      ‘With emphasis on the willing, hmm?’ he taunted.

      ‘Exactly.’ She gave him a saccharine-sweet smile.

      He shook his head. ‘It’s still you I want, Shanna.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘I really believe you are,’ he frowned at her quiet sincerity.

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

      ‘I can’t work you out.’ Rick shook his head dazedly.

      ‘Don’t even try,’ she advised. ‘Just don’t become involved with me——’

      ‘I want to go to bed with you, not become involved!’

      Her smile was genuine this time. ‘And one precludes the other with you?’

      ‘Yes,’ he bit out tautly at her mockery.

      ‘Goodnight, Mr Dalmont. We’ll meet again?’ she drawled.

      ‘You can bet on it!’

      ‘I’m not usually a betting woman, but I’m sure that if I were I would win that bet.’

      ‘Little tease!’ he rasped.

      Her humour faded as quickly as it had begun. ‘That’s one thing I’m not, Mr Dalmont. I’ve told you bluntly to leave me alone, you’ve chosen not to take that advice. You would be doing us both a favour, and saving yourself a lot of time, if you gave up on me now.’

      ‘Because you’ll never give in to me?’

      ‘No.’

      He shrugged. ‘I’m not prepared to give up on you yet. I’ll be seeing you, Shanna.’ He ran a fingertip lightly down her cheek, lingering against her mouth, nodding confidently before going over to Henry and Janice to take his leave.

      Shanna wasn’t altogether surprised at his departure from the party; he knew there was no point in pursuing her any further tonight, not when she had made her feelings more than plain. And she didn’t want to stay here any longer herself now; the verbal encounter with Rick Dalmont had opened up wounds that she knew would never get the chance to heal.

      ‘What did you do to him?’ Henry demanded when she joined him. ‘I’ve never known Rick to leave a party at eleven o’clock before!’

      She shrugged. ‘There has to be a first time for everything.’

      ‘Yes, but——’

      ‘It may have escaped your notice,’ she taunted, ‘but Selina has gone too.’

      ‘She left with Gary,’ her brother dismissed. ‘She gave up once Rick returned to you. She decided it’s Gary’s lucky night instead.’

      ‘Bitchy!’ she smiled.

      Henry grimaced. ‘Selina picks up a different man every time she comes here. I’ll have to tell Janice not to invite her again.’

      ‘A snob too!’ Shanna mocked.

      ‘Stop changing the subject,’ he scowled. ‘What did you do to make Rick leave?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Nothing?’ Henry frowned.

      ‘Exactly that,’ she nodded. ‘And I intend to continue doing nothing. Don’t forget to tell Janice I’ll be here for lunch tomorrow,’ she reminded lightly, intending to show him she had far from forgotten the talk she wanted to have with him.

      ‘She always cooks enough for an army,’ he answered vaguely.

      Her brother’s air of distraction did nothing to reassure Shanna. Henry always knew what he was doing, had been a more than competent successor to their father as head of the family newspaper and magazine empire.

      Poor little rich girl, Rick Dalmont had called her. He didn’t know anything about her. Until her marriage to Perry four years ago, perhaps that description would have fitted her, but marriage had matured her far beyond the spoilt girl she had been at twenty-one.

      She had married Perry against her father’s wishes, something that had been hard to do considering her closeness to her single parent, her mother having died years ago. Her father had been completely against her marrying a man who risked his life for a living. But the marriage had been a success, and it had perhaps been Perry’s constant brushes with death that had speeded the process of her maturity and cherishing of the deep love they had for each other. Whatever the reason, her father had been assured of her happiness before he died two years ago. At least she had given her beloved father that, and he had been spared the pain she was still suffering, the pain of losing Perry.

      No one knew or could understand the loss she felt at Perry’s death, not even those closest to her. And no one knew how she feared death for herself…

      She breakfasted alone the next morning, as she had for the last six months, before tidying the apartment. Not that it needed much of that, one person didn’t make much mess, and because she and Perry had spent most of their marriage living out of suitcases she had learnt not to have too many personal possessions, so the apartment was bare of all personal imprint.

      It was a new apartment since Perry’s death, the one they had used as their home-base when in London had been on the other side of town. But photographs of Perry were prominent