Charm. Flora Dain

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

      ‘No, Darnley. I’m being sensible.’

      Morning’s here and already we’re arguing. Our food smells delicious – ham and eggs, warm pastries and coffee. Our intimate table for two is shining with silver and vivid with fruit juice. Our breakfast sparkles cheerfully in the sunshine.

      Darnley glowers at me, his expression stormy.

      I’m damp from the shower, my hair a curling, rebellious mess, and I’m wearing only the thin waffle-cotton robe supplied with our thick, luxurious towels. He’s fully dressed, his soft silk tie carefully knotted, his suit immaculate, no hair out of place.

      He looks stunning.

      I feel soft and pink and ready for bed.

      His cheeks slant into deep hollows over his clenched, stubborn jaw. He’s already been at work a good two hours on seemingly endless business, most of it baffling and technical.

      He’s just poured a third cup of coffee so he can stay at table long enough to make me eat the croissant he put on my plate before I sat down.

      I’m not hungry. I’m trying to be reasonable. I’ll eat when he sees sense.

      We’re arguing about Ryan and I’m gaining ground.

      ‘If Ryan’s gone to Fort Worth there must be some reason. And I want to talk to him alone. You’ll just get in the way. Or you’ll bully him into saying something he’ll regret.’ My affection for Ryan is long gone but I’m no fan of blood sports. Exposing Ryan to Darnley’s wrath without prior warning would be like pushing a puppy into the den of a leopard – or a Wolfe.

      Darnley’s exasperated. ‘It makes no sense. You want to meet him. I want to meet him. We’ll go together.’

      ‘He wants to meet me,’ I insist, my temper rising. ‘And I want to hear his side of the story.’

      The wave of anger from across the table hits me like a blast from a furnace.

      ‘His side? So I’m a liar now?’

      I roll my eyes and start on the croissant, hoping this tiny concession will calm him down. ‘There’s two sides to everything and so far I’ve only heard yours. I know him. I can’t believe he’s as bad as you make out. Maybe you’ve got this all wrong. Maybe it’s all a mistake.’

      He gulps the last of his coffee and crashes the cup back onto the table. ‘Fine, if you insist. At least let me put you in a decent car and send somebody with you. It’s a long drive. You don’t know the city. You’ll never make it in that death-trap rental you came in yesterday.’

      I slam my knife down on my plate, spraying flakes of pastry all over the cloth. ‘It’s a perfectly reputable company and the car’s fine, thanks very much. It’s less than an hour from here. It’s hardly Timbuktu. If it makes you any happier I’ll get them to send a bigger car.’

      ‘Eat.’ He slumps back in his chair and I relax. If he’s scolding me about my calorie intake then I’ve won on the car. I cram flaky morsels of croissant and peach conserve into my mouth and pretend to chew. His sullen, furious gaze has made my mouth go dry. A hasty sip of fruit juice helps.

      But I don’t hold his attention long. I’m starting to realise that running an empire is hard work. The time he devoted to me last night must have been filched from a tight schedule. I woke to the deep, steady staccato of his voice as he strode about the suite making call after call, taking others in between. They’ve carried on without cease.

      He’s switched off his phone to pick a fight during breakfast but the fifteen minutes he’s given up to me and my problems are fast running out and now I see his eyes stray repeatedly to his watch.

      With any luck he’ll soon leave me in peace. And as I finish the last of my croissant he heaves a long sigh, gives me an exasperated look and gets to his feet. ‘Fine. Do what you like.’

      I get up from the table in a flurry of crumbs and shake out my damp, knotted hair. As I run my fingers through it he notices my wrists and frowns again. All at once he seizes my hands, turns them over palm upwards and inspects them carefully. Last night’s passion has left faint rosy rings on the outside edges where I tugged repeatedly during our glorious – my glorious – ordeal.

      I recall with a faint blush that he held back from taking his own pleasure. I hold my breath and try to pull away but he grips me harder and glances up, his eyes dark as graphite. ‘Are you OK? Should you put something on these?’

      ‘I’m fine.’ I smile airily, my tone light. ‘The marks will be gone by evening. Anyway, what’s the big deal about letting me out alone? Scared somebody else will tie me up?’

      His eyes flash and for a split second I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I breathe out slowly as his eyes narrow.

      ‘You don’t get it, do you? You might be in danger, Ella. You’re worth money now to the right people. You seem to think industrial secrets are a walk in the park but if there’s big money at stake – and I assure you there could be – you’re at risk. I just want to keep you safe, that’s all.’

      I laugh softly, still high as a kite after his lavish attentions last night. ‘Now who’s being ridiculous? You keep me safe? You’re the most dangerous person I know. You go off to your meeting. I’ll see you later.’

      As he turns towards the door I follow him. Still playful, I lean up and kiss him lightly on the jaw like a happy housewife in a fifties commercial.

       Mistake.

      ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ His eyes flash. He glares down at me, his jaw rigid, and kicks the door shut again with his foot.

      I feel the blood drain from my face. Now what? His breathing is laboured, his eyes wild. Something about me has enraged him but I’ve no idea what it is. Is he always like this?

      ‘Dammit, Ella. Kiss me like you mean it.’ He closes his arms around me and fastens his mouth on mine, his tongue making fresh claims, his lips hot and hard. After last night I’m still fired up and my warm, sensual shower did nothing to calm me down. Now his eager mouth reminds me that only hours ago I was stretched out at his mercy, aching and wet, while he was doing his utmost to make me wetter.

      And now I’m wet again and in seconds he finds this out for himself as his questing fingers betray me. He pulls away, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. Nervous now, I have the grace to blush but something new and determined about his manner tells me I’m not to be let off lightly.

      ‘Open your legs.’

      He reinforces his command by forcing his knee between my thighs and pushing me up against the wall. ‘Now put your arms up over your head and lean on them. Hard. Push away from the wall.’

      Startled, I obey as heat flares once more between my thighs, the embers of last night’s passion stirring instantly to life.

      ‘Hold still.’ He continues to hold my gaze as he pushes my robe wide open and reaches round to scoop it into a twist, coiling the thin cotton into a roll. In seconds he’s bundled it into a cushion and wedges it behind my shoulder blades.

      ‘Spread wider.’ His look is focused, absorbed. He could be a master arranging the limbs of a puppet, except his voice has dropped to a low growl. His tone is so deep it scares me. I look on entranced, my heart pounding with excitement, my arousal beginning to burn. I glance down as I feel his shirt cuffs brush my belly and instantly earn a reproof.

      ‘Don’t look down. Keep your eyes on my face. I’m simply undoing my flies.’

      Heat flares again. Now? He wants to do this now?

      He takes his time, like the emotions