busying himself instead with coffee and croissants.
She hurried on, 'I was wondering who the woman was—the one in the
miniature.'
He put his cup down and stared at her. 'Don't you know?'
'Should I?'
'I'd have thought you'd have recognised your own grandmother,' he
said drily. 'Particularly as you were named after her.'
'My grandmother?' Joanna echoed in astonishment. She drew an
outraged breath. 'What the hell's her picture doing on your wall?'
'Smiling,' he said.
Joanna's lips compressed. 'Please don't be evasive. I should have
thought the portrait of a Chalfont was the last thing any Blackstone
wanted around him— except to use as a focus for dislike.'
'No one would ever regard your grandmother in that light,' he said.
'She was universally respected and admired. Loved too.'
Joanna shook her head, trying to reconcile the vivid face in the
portrait with the depressed and dowdy woman in the photograph
album at home.
'I think you've made a mistake,' she said with a trace of curtness. 'The
woman in the portrait doesn't resemble my grandmother in any way.'
'Then let's say it's how I imagine she looked, and leave it at that,' he
said. 'You never knew her, of course.'
'No, she was comparatively young when she died— in her late
thirties.' Joanna paused. 'My father's never talked about his mother
very much, but Nanny told me once that she was expecting another
child, which died, and there were complications.'
'Wasn't that rather unusual—even for those days?'
'Perhaps.' Joanna thought of the photographs. The woman at her
grandfather's side hadn't looked as if she possessed much physical
strength, let alone zest for living.
'A sad story,' Cal said, after a silence. 'So much beauty and charm
just—snuffed out like that.'
'I think you have a rather exaggerated impression of her,' Joanna
commented drily as she got to her feet. 'It's time I was going.'
'I'll call you later today,' he said. 'I've arranged for some of the local
estate agencies to send particulars of cottages for us to see.'
'Cottages?' Joanna repeated. 'What do you mean?'
Cal gestured round him. 'This is very much a bachelor flat,' he said.
'You'll hardly want to live here on a permanent basis.'
'You actually intend us to buy a house—live together?' Her voice rose
in shock.
'What did you expect?' His eyes glinted at her. 'A series of one-night
stands?'
'Yes—no—I don't know.' She almost wrung her hands. 'Oh, this is
awful!'
'It won't be that bad,' he said calmly. 'I'm comparatively well trained,
and I won't stint on the housekeeping money.'
'That is not,' Joanna said between her teeth, 'what I meant and you
know it. How dared you assume I'd be prepared to just—move in with
you?'
He shrugged. 'You moved in with Martin.'
'I married him.'
'Yes, you did,' Cal said meditatively. 'Was that necessarily a
prerequisite?'
'What do you mean?' - Cal's eyes were hard. 'Would you have lived
with Martin—slept with him—if there'd been no wedding- Ting on
offer?'
'You have no right to ask me that.'
'I have whatever rights I choose to exercise,' he said harshly. 'We
established that when you came to me last night. So, what were the
parameters of your relationship with Martin? Were you still a virgin
on your wedding night? Did you keep the poor bastard on ice until
after the ceremony?'
'I—won't be cross-examined like this,' Joanna said unsteadily. 'How
dare you --?'
'In other words, the answer's "yes".' The grey eyes bored into her
relentlessly. 'Tell me more, Joanna. Did Martin know you were
simply using him as an escape route from me, or did you fool him into
thinking you loved him?'
'Damn you!' Her voice broke. 'I did love Martin— I did...'
'But what's your definition of love?' Cal got to his feet. 'The sort of
affection you might bestow on a helpless puppy that strays into your
life—caring, but passionless.' He came to stand beside her. There was
anger in his face, and something else less easy to define. 'Or this?'
He took her by the shoulders, jerking her forward into his arms. For
an instant his dark face swam in front of her dilated eyes, then his
mouth possessed hers.
She closed her eyes instinctively, half expecting the same kind of
controlled savagery he'd shown her two years before, already
flinching from it, but she was wrong. This time his lips were warm
and sensuous as they moved on hers, exploring the soft contours with
delicate eroticism.
She stood, unmoving and bewildered, in the circle of his arms, aware,
deep Within her, of a slow, sweet, insidious warmth beginning to
build up. Her mouth was beginning to tingle beneath his gentle,
persuasive pressure, and, when she felt the questioning flicker of his
tongue across its sensitive fullness, she sighed, her lips parting
involuntarily to allow him to penetrate her inner warmth and
sweetness.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, deeply,
achingly, breathing her breath, drinking the moisture from her lips.
Joanna's whole body was shaking suddenly, that strange inner
warmth turning to swift uncontrollable flame as she began, almost
dazedly, to respond to his kisses. The little warning voice in her brain
was crying in despair that this should not—could not be happening,
but her mind was no longer in command of her flesh's urgency. She
had never been kissed like this before—had never known or wanted
to know how it could be. Now, frighten- ingly, she was parched with
the barrenness of her existence till this moment—thirsting for the
knowledge that only this man—her mortal enemy—could impart.
This was wrong—so wrong, she thought, her mind and body reeling.
At any moment she could sink to the floor at his feet, as boneless and
lacking in will as a puppet. At any moment...
Cal tore his mouth from hers with a little groan, and stood looking
down at her for a moment, his breathing ragged, colour flaring along
his high cheekbones. Joanna swayed towards him almost blindly, her
hands reaching up to lock behind his neck, as if he were the sole
reality in a world gone mad.
And her need, her desire, was part of that madness.
As she moved, Cal's own hand slid down the supple length of her
spine to the small of her back, urgingthe lower part of her body
forward until it ground with devastating intimacy against his, making
the layers of clothing between them meaningless.
He parted the lapels of the robe, sliding down the strap of her black
silk camisole, and baring one rose- tipped breast. For a long moment
he gazed down at her, his face stark, then, drawing a long breath, he
touched her, his fingers moulding the delicate flesh, bringing her
nipple to aching, throbbing life. Joanna cried out, half in pleasure,
half in dismay, her head falling back to surrender the long vulnerable
line of her throat to his mouth. He planted a row of tiny, feather-light
kisses from the hollow beneath her ear down to the ridge of her
collarbone, and the smooth curve of her naked shoulder.
But it was not enough. She wanted more—much more, and her need
manifested itself in a tiny wordless moan.
He whispered her name against her skin, then his mouth closed on her
bare breast, his tongue stroking the nipple with sensuous expertise,
making her whole body shudder in voluptuous delight. Seconds spun
endlessly away, creating an eternity of pleasure she had never
guessed at. Never until now.
At last he lifted his head and stared down at her desire-flushed face,
her dilated eyes, her mouth pink and Swollen with silent entreaty.
'Is this how it was for you?' The words rasped across her
consciousness. 'Did you want Martin like this, Joanna? Tell me the
truth.'
What did it matter? she wanted to cry, jarred back to shamed and
unwelcome reality. What could anything matter except the here and
the now?
He said grimly, 'Answer me, damn you!'
'I—can't.' Even as her lips framed the words, the urgent buzz of a
telephone sounded harshly and insistently through the room, and with
it the last fragile strands of the sensual web that bound her snapped.
Suddenly Joanna was free, standing alone, one shocked hand pressed
to her cheek, as Cal, swearing under his breath, strode across to lift
the receiver.
'Yes?' He bit out the word.
Hands shaking, Joanna pulled the edges of the robe together across
her body and fled back to the bedroom. She snatched up her dress and
dragged it on, jerking nervily at the zip, hearing something tear. She
thrust her feet into her shoes, and grabbed up her bag, probing with
desperate fingers for her car keys.
In the bedroom doorway, she almost collided with Cal. His hand
gripped her arm. 'Where are you going?'
'Let go of me!' She shook herself free. 'I'm going home.'
'Don't run away like this. I'm sorry about the interruption. I'd left
instructions we weren't to be disturbed...'
'I'm sure you did.' Her face was burning, but with mortification now,
instead of passion. 'Whoever called you has my undying gratitude.'
He sighed, leaning resignedly against the door-jamb. 'I thought you'd
say that, somehow.'
'I'm sorry to be so predictable.'
His smile was wry. 'Judging by recent events, predictable is the last
word I'd apply to you, beauty.'
Her flush deepened. 'Please—don't call me that.'
'But you are beautiful,' Cal said quietly, allowing his gaze to drift in
unashamed appraisal down her body. 'As beautiful as my dreams
promised.' He expelled a long, husky breath. 'Waiting for you,
Joanna, is not going to be easy. I know that now. But I also know the
eventual—consummation will be all I expect, and more.'
'Don't count on it,' she said, between her teeth. 'Now, please let me
past. I want to get out of here.'
He moved out of the doorway, allowing her to pass unmolested into
the living-room. 'I'll call you this afternoon about viewing those
cottages.'
Her fingers tightened on her bag. 'It's too soon,' she told him tautly. 'I
need time to think—to adjust.'
'Take all the time you need,' Cal said urbanely. 'And let me know
what you've decided this afternoon.'
She gave him one last angry, resentful look and left the suite, hanging
the door behind her.
The walk from the lift across the club foyer to the exit, collecting her
shawl on the way, seemed one of the longest of her life, and she felt
hideously self- conscious every step of the way. But that was only a
minor humiliation, compared with the future Cal Blackstone was
forcing on her, she thought, her stomach lurching painfully, as she
started the car and set off back to Chalfont House. This new demand
of his vastly exceeded the pound of flesh she'd painfully agreed to pay
him.
She crunched a gear, and, grimacing, pulled the car into a convenient
lay-by and stopped, switching off the engine.
I can't go through with this, she told herself, no matter what the
consequences. I know that now.
Somehow she would have to talk to Simon, and explain the pressure
Cal had placed her under. His reaction would probably be violent, she
realised gloomily, and she would have to calm him down, make him
see that a headlong confrontation was pointless.
At least it's never worked in the past, she thought wearily. That's why
we Chalfonts now have so little, and the Blaekstones so much.
No, they would have to move warily, draw Cal's fangs so that he was
no longer a danger to them. And the way to do that was to remove
every particle of Simon's indebtedness to him, whether business or
personal.
That was what we should have done from the first, she thought. I
shouldn't even have tried to negotiate with him—just shown him the
door. I must have been crazy even to consider going along with his
outrageous demands. Crazy to think I could just—allow myself to be
taken, and then walk away afterwards as if nothing had happened.
She lifted a questioning finger and touched it to her lips. But then she
had not bargained for the effect his kisses would have on her, she told
herself broodingly. She had thought her loathing of him, her
resentment of his tactics would be sufficient armour for her against
his undoubted experience and attraction.
How could she have been so wrong?
It had been a profound and potentially disastrous misjudgement, and
it made her writhe inwardly to realise how narrow her escape had
been the previous night. It was doubly shaming to acknowledge that