An Exception to His Rule(39)

                Harriet grimaced. ‘I did tell Isabel I thought you were a bit of a control freak.’

                ‘What brought that on?’

                Harriet looked at him askance. ‘The car you insisted I drive.’

                ‘Oh, that.’ He lounged back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

                Harriet studied him. His dark hair was still damp and there were blue shadows on his jaw. He looked perfectly relaxed and not as if he’d just fought a fire. For some reason, to have him so big and powerful and quite at ease in what she’d come to regard as her home annoyed her. ‘Yes, that,’ she said tartly.

                He lifted his shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t be so far off the mark in believing you and your brother’s vehicle were something of a menace on the roads but—’ he sat up ‘—before you take umbrage, just the sight of it annoyed me enormously.’

                Harriet stared at him.

                ‘Does it make me a control freak to provide you with an alternative, though?’ he mused gently. ‘I don’t believe so.’

                Harriet continued to stare at him as several things ran through her mind. She’d experienced a maelstrom of emotions due solely to this man. She’d never stopped thinking about Damien Wyatt while he’d been away, even if she had been able to bury it in her subconscious. She’d been physically stirred by him. She’d told him some of her painful history. She’d cooked him dinner—she’d even made him a lemon meringue dessert.

                She’d danced with him, ridden with him, been hugged and kissed by him—she could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers, come to think of it—and her fingers went to her lips involuntarily at the mere thought of it.

                Only to see that he was watching her intently.

                She snatched her hand away as a tide of pink rose in her cheeks, then threw up her hands in serious frustration. ‘Look,’ she said levelly, ‘because I’m not prepared to jump into bed with you doesn’t mean to say I think you’re dodgy, although it’s just as bad but quite the opposite really.’

                He frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

                Harriet bit her lip and could have shot herself—if ever she’d voiced an unwise utterance this was it...

                ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said stiffly.

                ‘Oh, come on, Harriet,’ he said impatiently, ‘I can take it.’ He looked briefly amused. ‘Spit it out, Miss Livingstone.’

                Harriet glared at him. ‘If you must know, I suspect you of being far too good in bed, Mr Wyatt, for any girl’s peace of mind.’

                He sobered completely and stared at her narrowly. ‘How, one has to ask,’ he said slowly, ‘did you work that out?’

                Her eyes were full of irony. ‘You’re talking to a girl who’s kissed you, remember?’

                His lips twisted. ‘So you did. Well—’ he drained his glass and stood up ‘—on that note I think I’ll leave you to your memories, Miss Livingstone, and I will take mine...somewhere else. Goodnight.’ And he patted her on the head, told Tottie to stay put, and strolled out.

                Harriet stared after him in a state of suspended animation. In other words, with her mouth open and her eyes huge and dark with disbelief.