‘You,’ he ground out. ‘What are you doing here? What do you want?’ His hair was wet and tangled and his shoulders, torso and long muscular legs also gleamed with the sheen of water. Stubble darkened his chin.
Aware that there was altogether too much of him on show, Ginny, pulses hammering, elected for safety and looked him in the eye. She said with stinging emphasis, ‘I want you to leave my sister alone. Non-negotiable.’
‘Your sister?’ he repeated. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Oh, don’t pretend.’ Looking past him, Ginny could see the tumbled bed in the light of the shaded lamp on the night table. Her throat tightened uncontrollably, making her voice husky. ‘She was here this afternoon. At the hotel. I saw her leaving.’
‘And from that you deduce—quoi?’ He seized her wrist with one hand, drawing her forward into the room, and slammed the door with the other. Shutting them in together.
She wrenched free. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Her voice quivered.
‘I think it is called conversation,’ he said. ‘In private.’ The dark gaze pinned her like a butterfly to a cork. ‘So you think she has been with me, and we are lovers?’
Ginny swallowed, trying to control the flurry of her breathing. The room, not large at the best of times, seemed to be humming with anger, which closed round her oppressively, making her want to step back, away from him.
Away, too, from the frankly enticing scent of soap and shampoo emanating from his cool, damp skin. But that would take her nearer to the bed, so she stood her ground. Because she was the one with the right to be angry. And she needed to stay angry.
She said defiantly, ‘You find her attractive. Your behaviour the other night made that perfectly clear. And she hasn’t had a great deal of experience of men, so she’ll have been flattered. But she’s engaged—in love.’ She added with energy, ‘And I won’t let her screw up her life just so that you can satisfy a passing fancy.’
‘Engaged, certainement. At least for the present. In love?’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I think you are the one who is naïve, Virginie.’
He paused.
‘But let us be frank. Would it not make you happy if the young Monsieur Welburn, the rich and worthy, was no longer your sister’s fiancé and could, peut-être, return for consolation to the girl he chose first—toi-même.’
He added harshly, ‘Now you are the one who must not pretend. Or did you think your so tender and half-dressed embrace with him that night had been unobserved?’
She remembered the sound of the closing door. She said hoarsely, ‘You—were there?’
‘I had been saying goodnight to Marguerite. When I saw that I intruded, I left another way.’
Ginny lifted her chin. She said with cool clarity, ‘There was no intrusion. What you saw was perfectly innocent. He’d had a wretched evening, and was—upset, that’s all.’
His mouth twisted cynically. ‘And when they are married, he and your sister, and all his evenings become wretched, who will he turn to then? Because la belle Lucille, she requires a stronger man than the unfortunate Jonathan. Someone who will not indulge her foolishly, but give purpose to her life each day, and teach her to be a woman in his bed at night.’
She stiffened. ‘I suppose you’re referring to yourself with all this macho nonsense.’
The dark brows lifted. ‘And if so, why should you care? I would be doing you a favour, n’est ce pas? Is that not what you want?’
Her mouth felt suddenly dry. She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue, as she searched for a reply. Any reply, as the silence in the room lengthened. Tautened. Began to spark with emotions that had nothing to do with the anger which had brought her here like an avenging Fury. And which scared her.
She thought with swift desperation, What am I doing—challenging him like this? I should have spoken to Cilla instead. I must be crazy...
In a voice she did not recognise, she said, ‘I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry. I—I have to go...’
To get out of here while I still can...
She took a step towards the door, but he remained where he was, blocking her path.
‘Not,’ he said, ‘until you have answered my question. And told me the truth.’ The dark eyes bored into hers. ‘So, say it to me—what do you most want, Virginie?’
She looked away, trembling. ‘I—I can’t tell you.’ She moved her hands almost helplessly, as she faced the shocking truth he had demanded. ‘Because I—I just don’t know any more.’
‘Then I, moi-même, shall tell you.’ His voice was a harsh whisper. He reached for her, pushing her coat from her shoulders, letting it tumble to the carpet, then pulled her close, his mouth seeking hers with a hunger that would not be denied.