The Final Seduction(21)

'Which you did, I suppose?'

He shrugged, and then grinned. 'Yeah, I did. Then I sold them on-two for the price of one.'

'And made a big profit?'

'Huge. Don't look so surprised, Shelley.'

'I can't help the way I look! I suppose you invested the profit?'

He shook his head. 'Not in the conventional sense, no. Houses are about  the best and safest investment there are-but not many people have the  skills to make the best of them. Fortunately, I do. So I carried on. I  bought various properties-one here, one there. One might need an  extension, another a new kitchen-a big house might need a granny annexe.  I put in loft extensions and conservatories and earned a reputation for  sympathetic additions-and that was what did it. If people think you're  going to create something which is both well made and beautiful-well,  you're onto a winner. I even learned to landscape gardens.'

So he still had that driven work ethic. 'And all the time you were getting a big return on your money?'

'That's right,' he nodded, and rubbed his chin with a thoughtful thumb  and forefinger as he watched her reaction. 'When John Cutliffe grew  tired of running the Westward, he was very particular about who he sold  it to. He wanted someone he knew would love the building. Someone who  would preserve and care for it. The oak panelling in the hall badly  needed the attention of a carpenter, and that was just for starters.  John wanted reassurance that the new owner wasn't going to blitz those  exquisite stained-glass windows and put ugly replacements in their  place.'

'I can see why he chose you,' she said truthfully.

Suspicion touched the thoughtful features. 'Why, thank you, Shelley,' he  murmured. 'Praise from you is always welcome, if a little unexpected.'

Her suspicion matched his. 'But you've obviously spent masses making the  Westward look so beautiful. Hasn't that eaten into your profits?'

'What's the matter, kitten? Worried that the coffers have all dried up?  That I'm rich in assets, but not in cash?' He pre-empted her indignation  with a shake of the honey-tipped head. 'I realised that the place was  not being used to its full potential. Milmouth is too far off the map to  rely on being fully booked all year round-and I didn't just want to  open during the summer season. So we started specialising in  celebrations. Weddings are our big thing. But we do birthdays, too, and  we hire the house out for corporate use sometimes, if the price is  right.' He pulled a face.

'Those aren't my favourites,' he admitted. 'Corpulent businessmen getting drunk and trying to pull the receptionists!'

'Oh,' said Shelley faintly.

'We bought our very own Rolls-Royce, which is driven by our very own  chauffeur. Brides like to travel in style,' he grinned. 'Then I hired a  chef fresh out of college who has proved inspirational-he was featured  in one of the nationals last month. Plus we now have year-round  employment for our workers-it doesn't stop when the summer ends.'                       
       
           



       

'Quite the knight in shining armour, aren't you?' she sniped. 'Do you rob the rich to pay the poor?'

He smiled. 'That was Robin Hood-and he wasn't a knight. I think you're mixing your metaphors, kitten.'

'Gosh, you seem to know something about everything, these days, Drew! And all without the benefits of a university education!'

There wasn't a flicker of response. 'Do I detect a note of bitterness beneath the sarcasm? Perhaps of regret?'

She hoped he couldn't read her lying eyes. 'Regret?' she said lightly,  and even managed a disbelieving laugh as she shook her head. 'No.'

'No?' He had moved away from the piano and was standing just in front of  her, and Shelley found herself shying back from him, like a nervous  horse. 'That's not what your body language is saying to me, Shelley.'

'I don't know very much about body language!'

'Well, I do-'

'So I hear! Especially female body language!'

He stilled. 'Don't talk in code, Shelley,' he said softly. 'Say what you really mean.'

It hurt. That was the stupid, crazy, illogical thing about it. It hurt  like mad. 'I gather that women fling themselves at you in locust-like  numbers-but that you're very choosy!'

'So?'

She realised that she had run herself into a tight corner. She looked at him. 'I don't know.' She shrugged helplessly.

He looked angry then. No, not just angry.

Seething.

The explosion, when it came, was quiet and deadly. 'Do you really think that you can break off our engagement-'

'You forced me to break it off!'

'-to go swanning off to Italy with your rich lover and live with him for  three years-so it doesn't exactly fall in the category of brief fling,  does it?-and then come back here and start acting like a betrayed  wife-as though you have every right to?'

Some inner need to know and to torture herself made her ask, 'So have you?'

'Have I what? Made love to hundreds of women?' he grated. 'Do you want names and dates while we're on the subject?'

She clapped her hands over her ears, completely forgetting that they had been covering her aching breasts for a reason. 'No!'

'No, that's right!' he agreed roughly, his eyes riveted to the straining  swell. 'There's only one thing you want right now, isn't there,  Shelley? And you're just crying out for it.' He pulled her into his  arms, as she had known he would. Prayed he would …

He dipped his head to speak softly into her ear. 'Like I said,  kitten-your body language speaks volumes.' His mouth moved from ear to  neck with painstaking precision. Barely touching her when, quite  frankly, if he had thrown her down onto the carpet and then, weighted  himself on top of her she would have cried out with pleasure.

He placed his hands loosely at her shoulders-so no one could have said  that he was holding her against her will. Because he wasn't. He wasn't.  Oh, Lord-his mouth was brushing across her cheek now, and she was  restlessly turning her face so that he could capture her lips and he was  laughing at her, mocking her.

And finally, when their lips fused, the pleasure was so intense that it  was like lights going off inside her head, sparks igniting in her veins.  Coupled with the honeyed tug of desire, it was the most devastating  cocktail imaginable. And he had always been able to do this. Bring her  to this earth-shattering brink within minutes.

The hands moved from her shoulders with lazy deliberation towards her  breasts. She could have stopped them. Stopped them before they started  playing idly with the tips so that she moaned. And then prevented him  from cupping them luxuriously, measuring their weight like a  connoisseur, even though she hated to think of his expertise in this  area. Pain fused with pleasure, making it even more intense.

Feeling the hot, sharp pull of surrender, she pressed her body against  his in blatant and unashamed need, when he abruptly pulled away from  her, his face full of bitterness as he stared down at his shaking hands.

'God, it's so true!' he said, as if he was talking to himself. 'It's so  bloody true! The predictability of women in general-and you in  particular!'

She stared at him, shook her head in confusion, too baffled for words.

'Last night you wouldn't come near me!' he accused hotly. 'You looked  like I was guilty of a capital crime when I tried to kiss you! Did you  still see me as your poor, jobbing carpenter with no ambitions other  than to keep a roof over his head?'                       
       
           



       

The unjustness of the accusation stung her. All her life she had wanted  him, no matter how much he had-or didn't have-in his wallet. 'You know  that's not true!'

'Do I?' He shook his head. 'All I know is that today you've discovered  that I'm worth something and you can't wait to fall into my arms like a  windfall-overripe and juicy-just waiting to topple from the tree. Are  you overripe and juicy, kitten? Want me to find out?'

The insults fired her up, his scorn and obvious dislike giving her back  her power of speech. And pride. 'You? You think you're worth so much?  Well, I'll tell you exactly what you're worth, Drew Glover-nothing!  Nothing at all!'

'But you couldn't wait for "nothing" to engage in a vigorous bout of sex with you, could you, Shelley?'

She burst out with a high, nervous laugh. 'You make it sound like a boxing match!'

'Then tell me how you like to describe it, kitten,' he suggested, on a silky threat.

And his question brought it crashing home to her how completely his love  for her had died. Oh, he still felt desire, strong desire-yes-he had  made that very clear. But what was desire without respect? Wouldn't that  just chip away at her self-esteem, and risk destroying it completely?

'Your new-found wealth seems to have affected your judgement,' she told  him coldly. 'You have become even more high-handed and right now I could  almost hate you, Drew Glover!'

'Maybe you could-but you still want me all the same, don't you, Shelley?  Just the same as I want you.' His voice was like silk, his words rich  and dark and sultry, and she could feel the tension between them  gathering momentum, like a snowball rolling down the side of a hill.