Vows & a Vengeful Groom / Pride & a Pregnancy Secret: Vows & a Vengeful Groom. Bronwyn JamesonЧитать онлайн книгу.
leaving her quivering with suppressed wrath for the six seconds he took to round the car and slip into the driver’s seat. Kimberley counted to six again, while he started the engine and she controlled her urge to shriek those questions.
“Indications to the contrary?” She managed to sound cool and composed. And adult.
“This decision to reappoint the household staff without consulting me—did you have a reason other than to thumb your nose at me?”
“Without consulting you? I’m sorry, but I didn’t realise you were now the head of my household.”
As he powered through the security gates and into the street, he cut her a narrow look. “I didn’t realise you considered yourself a part of this household.”
Touché.
Kimberley inhaled long and deep. Provoked by his remark about her childishness, that head-of-my-household comment had just slipped out. “You’re right,” she admitted in a more reasonable tone. “I’m only a visitor, but I did consult with Sonya before calling any staff back on duty. I didn’t think she needed the extra work.”
“Perhaps she does.”
That perceptive comment deflated the last of Kimberley’s resentment. How could she remain piqued when they were on the same wavelength regarding Sonya? “Yes, she does…to an extent, which is why I asked the cook to take an extra week of holiday leave. Sonya enjoys the kitchen and that’s enough for the moment. Plus with Marcie in the house she has both help and company.”
Another sidelong glance. “You aren’t enough help?”
“In the kitchen?” Kimberley laughed dryly and shook her head. “You know what happens when I’m allowed access to a cooktop!”
For a heartbeat their gazes caught and a decade-old memory arced between them. Burning bacon, a shrieking smoke alarm and Kimberley hopping from one foot to the other, yelling for help.
Her husband of six days had picked her up fireman style and bundled her back to the bedroom. In here, he’d said, you can burn and scream all you want.
“Things change in ten years,” he said now.
“Some things. Others stay the same.”
Stationary at a traffic light, Ric leaned his forearm on the wheel and turned to study her profile more closely. She’d tied her hair back, worn minimal makeup and jewellery and one of those blend-into-the-background dresses whose only plus was the fact it ended short of her knees. Rather than diminishing her beauty, the austere look drew all attention to her face. With that amazing, contrary combination of fire and ice, of strength and vulnerability, of have-me mouth and hands-off eyes, Kim Blackstone would never blend into any background.
“What hasn’t changed?” he asked softly.
For a moment he thought she would ignore his question, but then she rolled her head against the seat and the answer was there in her eyes, in that moment, in the crackle of sexual awareness.
This hasn’t changed.
From the moment she’d strutted into his life, fresh from a two-year apprenticeship with a diamond master in Antwerp and bursting with a passionate impatience to overhaul the marketing of Janderra’s rare coloured diamonds, she’d lit his senses with white-hot desire. For seven and a half weeks she’d kept him at bay with her sharp tongue and cutting lines. That hadn’t changed, either. The same distrust, the same defence mechanisms, the same defiance that put her in the beige background dress instead of the stunner Sonya had described her buying today.
The light changed to green and Ric urged the Maserati forward. The engine’s smooth growl reverberated low in his belly. If Kim didn’t feel threatened by this undiminished sexual spark between them, then she wouldn’t feel a need to employ those obvious defences. She was working to keep him at arm’s length, he realised with a delayed jolt of perception. She tried to keep her own desires in check.
First time around he’d allowed her time and space while he enjoyed the challenge, the pursuit, the anticipation. This time the stakes were higher. He wasn’t playing games; he was playing for keeps.
From the corner of his eye he caught the almost imperceptible lift of her chin. Defence mechanism number one. A precursor to speech, used when preparing for verbal battle.
Deep inside Ric smiled in anticipation. Bring it on, babe. I’m ready.
“I may not have learned how to cook,” she said, circling back to her earlier comment about kitchen helpfulness. “But I have changed in other ways.”
“How?”
“I’m more cautious now. I don’t make snap decisions. I weigh my options so I can make an informed choice.”
With the position on the Blackstone’s board, for example. That’s where she wanted to lead the conversation; that’s why she’d taken her time in choosing her words so cleverly. A pity and a waste, since he wasn’t ready to go there. They were within five minutes of their destination and an inevitable disruption. Their long, involved and probably heated discussion was for later, without interruption, so he let her leading comment take this conversation in another direction. “Such as deciding to wear that dress—” his gaze swept over her before returning to the road “—instead of the new one?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The new dress you picked out in Double Bay this afternoon.”
“Sonya,” she said on an accusatory note. “I can’t believe she told you about that!”
“Not nearly enough, as it happens. Why don’t you fill in the gaps.”
“You want to hear about our shopping expedition?”
The incredulous look on her face was priceless. Ric stifled a grin. “I want to hear about the dress and why you decided not to wear it.” He let his eyes drift over her in lazy speculation. “Was it too short? Too low-cut? Too revealing?”
“All of those things,” she replied without missing a beat.
“Then I can’t wait to see you in it,” he murmured.
“I doubt that will happen.”
“Spoilsport.”
The start of a smile lurked around the corners of her mouth but she looked away quickly, peering out the side window in sudden rapt interest. He noticed the exact second her pseudo-interest turned real. Her shoulders stiffened, her head snapped around. “Where are you taking me?”
“My place. Is that a problem?”
“You said dinner. I assumed you meant at a restaurant.”
“I could get a table at Icebergs if you’d prefer,” he said mildly. “Although I can’t promise we’ll have privacy to talk or that our tête-à-tête won’t appear in a society column tomorrow.”
Indecision ghosted across her expression.
“Which wouldn’t be all bad,” he mused. “It’d give them something to talk about other than Howard and Marise.” Flicking on an indicator, he pulled over to the side of the road and reached for his mobile phone. “I can call ahead and secure a table if you don’t mind being noticed dining with me. Or we can eat at my place, as planned, with the privacy to talk business and no risk of interruption.
“Your decision, Kim. What’s it to be?”
Six
Perrini was too damn clever by half! Kimberley quietly simmered while she chose privacy, just as he’d set her up to do. They had business to discuss and if he tried baiting her again as he’d done over the dress and just now over the restaurant, then she might feel inclined to throw something at him. She would prefer if that didn’t appear in any society columns, thank you very much.
Which