A Past Revenge. Carole Mortimer

looked at the tip of his cigar as smoke curled up to the ceiling. ‘Not at all. My little niece may have her parents convinced what a sweet little girl she is, but I happen to know better,’ he derided.

      So did Ellie, although she wasn’t about to go into the other girl’s indiscretions just now. ‘What does Carly’s behaviour have to do with us?’ she frowned.

      Cold grey eyes raked over her mercilessly. ‘Use your imagination, Ellie Smith,’ he mocked. ‘Your performance just now may have been a little—mechanical, but I’m sure you have one.’

      ‘I don’t understand,’ she shook her head, pale at the description he gave to her inexperienced lovemaking.

      ‘A complete stranger comes up to you at a party and asks you to leave with him, you agree, and you now ask how I know you know Carly,’ he scorned harshly, pulling on the black silk robe that lay over a chair. ‘What are you, a consolation gift from my dear little niece?’ he made the words an insult.

      Ellie was so pale now her eyes looked as dark as emeralds, her long hair tangled down her back. ‘Consolation gift?’ she repeated dazedly.

      His expression was grim. ‘It’s just the sort of thing that little madam would do,’ he rasped. ‘And I’m glad she chose someone like you.’ He looked at her once again. ‘Anyone remotely resembling my wife would have turned me off completely.’ He stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray with vicious movements.

      ‘Your—your wife?’ She felt as if someone had just dealt her a painful body blow.

      ‘You can cut the cute little act now, Ellie,’ he derided. ‘I realise Carly asked you to send me those charming little messages across the room with your eyes to help me forget the fact that my wife served me with divorce papers today. And it has helped,’ he nodded, his eyes narrowed. ‘Now get your beautiful little body out of my bed,’ he bent down to slap her bottom hard. ‘I don’t want you any more tonight, pleasant as the experience may have been.’

      Ellie had never felt so mortified in her entire life. She had had no idea until now that he had misunderstood her coy glances at him earlier, but she now knew the reason for the desperate drive behind his possession, realised that the ‘bad news’ he had received today had been his wife’s intention of divorcing him.

      She could only stare at him now, not knowing how to defend herself. It was obvious he thought her as promiscuous as she knew Carly to be, that he thought the two of them had planned together that she should share his bed as a way of helping him forget his impending divorce. It was also obvious that he had mistaken her virginity and inexperience as a mechanical response to his lovemaking, so how was she now supposed to tell him she had fallen in love with him on sight, that he had taken her virginity! She couldn’t, not when he saw her only as a mild diversion in his bed.

      ‘I’m going to take a shower now,’ he told her. ‘You can use the other bathroom if you want to, but I want you to have left by the time I get back.’ He picked up his jacket for a second time, taking out a leather wallet, pulling several notes from inside it, putting them on the dressing-table. ‘Take a cab home,’ he ordered. ‘I don’t feel like going out again tonight, and I don’t want you walking alone at this time of night.’

      ‘Please—–’

      ‘Not enough?’ he raised dark brows mockingly, misunderstanding the reason for her protest. ‘Maybe not,’ he acknowledged with a humourless smile. ‘But you aren’t very experienced at this sort of thing yet. Complacence may have been what I wanted tonight, but I can assure you most men will want more than that. Maybe you could give me a call when you’ve learnt to show a little more fire and enthusiasm,’ he dismissed derisively, pausing at the door. ‘And don’t try and rip me off once I’ve gone to shower,’ he warned in a pleasantly threatening voice. ‘I’ll have you arrested so fast you won’t know what’s hit you.’ He closed and locked the bathroom door behind him, the shower running seconds later.

      Ellie had listened to him with increasing wide-eyed incredulity, the reality of what he thought her to be becoming apparent by the second. He certainly didn’t believe her to be a friend of Carry’s! She moved slowly from the bed to pick up the money he had thrown down so casually, counting it as if in a dream. Two hundred pounds!

      Danielle came back to shuddering reality, the humiliation she had suffered at Nicholas Andracas’s hands that night something she had never forgotten. It had been the first time in her nineteen years that someone had treated her with such contempt, and although he may have forgotten her existence in the last seven years—may have forgotten her the moment he entered that bathroom for all she knew!—she had never forgotten him, not even for a day.

      The news of Nick’s divorce had hit the newspapers a couple of days after she met him, his wife accusing him of adultery several times over. After her own experience with him she could quite well believe that Beverley Andracas probably deserved the millions of dollars she received in settlement from him. Any woman who could stay married to such a man for four years deserved everything she could get out of him.

      But her main worry now was whether or not he would recognise Danielle Smith, successful portrait painter, as Ellie Smith, the girl he had once paid for going to bed with him? God, that must have been a novel experience for him, he had probably never paid a woman for sex in his life before! He would never need to.

      But she was still worrying about whether he would recognise her as she waited for him and Audra McDonald to arrive at her apartment the next afternoon. If he didn’t remember her she could carry out this meeting with some degree of dignity, but if he should remember her …! The consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about, and she tried not to.

      When the doorbell rang promptly at two o’clock she took her time about answering it, checking her appearance in the mirror one last time. The denims and loose green top weren’t an act of defiance on her part, more a need to be wearing something so completely different than the sophisticated black evening gown she had been wearing the last time she met Nick Andracas. Her outward appearance had changed the last seven years, her hair was styled shorter now, her once slightly rounded face smoothed out to high cheekbones and angled features, her whole bearing one of maturity now rather than a raw adolescence.

      She deliberately trained her attention on Audra McDonald as she opened the door, ignoring the man who stood arrogantly at her side, although she was instantly aware of him, sensing that same charged electricity she had known in him seven years ago. Audra McDonald was as beautiful as her photographs proclaimed her to be, although the sharp brown eyes were narrowed assessingly on Danielle, as if gauging her attractiveness, the brief contempt registered there dismissing her as unimportant. That suited Danielle perfectly, she wanted as little tension and unpleasantness from this commission as possible.

      Although she wasn’t sure she could count on that to continue as she took the other couple through to the lounge, turning to find the brown eyes were no longer scornfully dismissing, snapping with anger now as Audra McDonald saw and recognised her lover’s open interest in Danielle. Danielle was forced to recognise it too as she also met the warmth in narrowed grey eyes.

      Nick had changed little in the last seven years, the black hair showing flecks of grey, the cynicism in his expression deepened, but otherwise he was the same devastatingly attractive man she had once fallen instantly in love with. She felt a similar leap of her senses to the one she had felt that night, although she remained outwardly cool and uninterested, maturity showing her how best to handle this meeting.

      ‘Do you have any idea what sort of portrait you would like?’ she addressed her question to Audra McDonald, although she wasn’t altogether surprised when Nick Andracas answered.

      ‘We know exactly what sort of portrait we want, Miss Smith,’ he told her smoothly. ‘It’s a requirement of the play Miss McDonald is in, and will be presented to her at the end of the play’s run.’

      ‘Oh,’ she nodded understanding, giving no indication that his gravelly sensuous voice meant anything to her, her interest wholly professional as she listened to him explain the details of the portrait needed.