The Bad Boy Wants Me(126)

He jumped out of his chair and crossed the room so freaking fast I gasped with astonishment when he grabbed my upper arms. His face was tight with barely leashed fury and his eyes were glowing. Oh my god! He could pierce someone’s soul with those wolf eyes. My mouth dropped open and I stared at him, shocked.

The air between us crackled with tension. He opened his mouth to say something, then he appeared to remember himself. His breath came out in a rush. He let go of my arms and stepped back. His hands hung by the sides of his body, but they were hard fists.

I stood rooted to the spot staring at him. It was amazing how suddenly and violently his mood had changed. One moment he was relaxed and placatory, even amused, and the next he was charging at me like some thunder god.

I was startled by the lightning change in him, but even more shocking and confusing was the way my traitorous body was still reacting to him. My eyes couldn’t help staring at his broad chest, the way it rose and fell with every breath he took, the snug fit of his trousers over his lean hips.

What was wrong with me?

How could I be aware of his innate sexiness and his primal virility when we were slap bang in the middle of a slanging match?

He took another step away as if I was something that was dangerous to him, his eyes were hooded and guarded.

‘I came home early because my ever resourceful secretary managed to reduce the twenty-eight days of notice necessary at the Registry Office to six days. She made us an appointment for three days’ time. We’re getting married at 2.00 p.m. this coming Monday, and I was going to take you to dinner tonight to celebrate,’ he said softly.

A strange silence crept in between us.

He just stood there, his eyes steady on me. It was like we were at two ends of a bridge. We could see each other but we could not touch. Two much bad stuff lay between us. I felt the pressure to say something. Anything. I had to make it right. I had been a bitch. The rusty wheels in my brain turned round and round. Anything at all would be good, Tawny.

‘So take me out then,’ I said, my voice barely a whisper.

‘Do you like Japanese food?’ He said the words slowly.

‘Not to celebrate our wedding,’ I said.

He smiled crookedly. ‘French?’

‘Nearly there.’

He smiled. ‘Italian?’

‘You have one last try.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘English?’

I smiled. ‘I can live with that.’

‘Pick you up at your door at half-eight?’

‘Sounds like a fine plan to me.’

He broke eye contact, nodded, and turning away disappeared into his study.

I stood there looking at the empty doorway. What the hell just happened between us?

It looked very much as if I was throwing away my best laid plans and going out on a date with Lord Ivan de Greystoke.





Chapter 19


Tawny Maxwell

I washed my hair, dried it, and painstakingly put corkscrew curls in it. Then I painted my nails ice cream yellow, colored my eyes smoky and moody, glossed my lips, and got into the new black dress I bought at Liberty.

Mama always said, it is better to be late than arrive ugly, but I was standing in front of my mirror by seven-thirty sharp, and nobody could have guessed I once ran barefoot and tangle-haired to the creek to swim naked.

Ivan knocked on my door and I saw my eyes light up like a Christmas tree in the mirror. Girl, that’s a bad sign right there. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to the door and opened it.

Oh my!

Darkly urbane, radiating a wild, feverish excitement, he stood, dressed all in black except for a fabulously cut cream jacket. His blazing eyes lusted for me. It made my knees go weak but I smiled all sultry and sexy-like, and didn’t let on that I thought he was prettier than a glob of butter melting on a stack of pancakes.

‘Can I keep you?’ he teased.

‘Only if you keep me in a jar and give me lots of treats!’ I replied.

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry there’ll be all kinds of lovely things in there for a good little girl like you to suck and swallow.’

‘‘You’d charm the dew right off the honeysuckle,’ I said sarcastically.

‘I settle for charming the dew right off you,’ he leered.

‘I’ll be darned. You managed to turn that old saying into something dirty.’

‘It’s a talent,’ he said with a filthy snigger.

I batted my eyelashes the way that was more parody than sexy. ‘Do you think they’ll let me into The Dirty Aristocrat like this?’

‘The Dirty Aristocrat is a sex club,’ he said, his lips twisting upwards so sexily, and darn it to hell, but I wanted to lick that dirty smile right off his face. Men like him should be kept locked up in special places to be used purely for copulation purposes.