The Dare Collection February 2019. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
hadn’t got me out here prematurely.
‘Ciao!’ He strides into the foyer when I’m on the brink of shooting him an angry text message, his expression relaxed, his manner as charming as always. He is handsome, elegant and kind and yet I feel nothing for him, except the warmth of an easy friendship.
‘I thought you were here already.’ My response is short and I wince at it.
‘I was finding a parking space.’ He shrugs, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek.
I force a smile, reminding myself that he’s come out of his way because I was forgetful. He’s being kind. I’m not. His eyes roam my face with an intensity that leaves me cold, and guilt runs through me. Guilt that I don’t love him any more when I think he’s probably still in love with me.
‘What’s your appointment?’
‘A fashion shoot around the corner. I’m just scoping out the lighting today.’
Pietro is a great photographer. He’s very creative and that expresses itself in myriad ways, from his impeccable personal style and grooming to his apartment that is a work of art, to his photographs, that are poignant and breathtaking.
‘Anyone exciting?’ I ask.
‘Just supermodels.’ He grins and I laugh.
‘Nice. All in a day’s work, huh?’
‘You got it.’
Noise around us lifts as various classes come to an end and students begin to move to their next destination.
‘I’d better get back,’ I say, holding a hand out for the laptop. But he puts his hand in mine instead and then lifts my hand to his lips.
‘I really had fun with you on Sunday.’ His dark brown eyes are boring into mine and I fight the urge to pull my hand away.
‘Miss Amorelli.’ Connor’s voice is like spiced rum on my nerve-endings. Hot and dangerously addictive. I don’t yank my hand out of Pietro’s but I dislodge it carefully and drop it back to my side, turning slowly to face him.
‘Mr Hughes,’ I say with what I hope sounds like professional detachment. I turn back to Pietro. ‘This is Connor Hughes—one of my professors.’
Pietro’s impressed. He, like I, keeps up with the news. ‘The Donovan barrister?’
Connor’s tight smile is confirmation, then his eyes clash fiercely with mine.
‘I need a word with you in my office.’
My heart palpates. Is he crazy?
‘Fine,’ I say, not sure I want to do any such thing.
I can feel Connor’s enmity towards Pietro and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
‘I’ll be there soon,’ I say dismissively, turning my attention back to Pietro.
‘Now,’ he insists softly, but with an edge that I understand.
I roll my eyes and Pietro laughs, unhooking my bag and passing it to me. He seems completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. ‘I have to go anyway,’ he says with a grin. ‘I’ll see you Sunday?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod, but I’m frowning, wondering what the hell Connor is playing at.
Pietro puts a hand on my waist and leans forward, kissing my cheek.
I feel Connor’s harsh glare.
‘Sunday.’ I nod, watching as Pietro turns and leaves the building.
Connor is still behind me. It takes every single ounce of my strength not to speak my mind. But I’m furious!
‘Where’s your office?’ I ask, the words stony, my eyes not meeting his.
‘Second floor. The McMahon wing.’
‘Fine.’ I move in that direction without looking at him. I opt for the stairs instead of the lift, moving up them quickly then turning right. Classrooms run halfway down the corridor before giving way to a faculty lunch room and then several offices. His is the second from the end. I stand to the side of the door. He’s right behind me. He pauses, not looking at me, either, and then pulls a set of keys from his pocket, sliding one into the door and unlocking it before stepping back.
‘After you.’
I shoulder my way inside, taking brief note of the layout. A desk, leather sofa, a chair, laptop and a window with a view of Holborn. It’s a nice office. Not huge, but elegantly furnished, and yet I bet it’s nothing compared to his usual corporate digs.
I hear the door click shut and spin around, ready to let fly. But the look on his face arrests me. I am frozen.
He is staring at me like I am his only chance for survival. His need is so fierce that, for a moment, everything else evaporates from my mind. The air around us thickens, anger transforms into desire, but then I’m angry again.
‘Why am I here, Connor?’
He takes a step towards me. ‘Who was that?’
I’m tempted to tell him to go to hell, but then I remember asking him this exact same question a few nights earlier, about the woman in the red dress. His curiosity is natural.
‘A friend,’ I say simply.
‘You saw him on Sunday?’ he prompts, scanning my face.
‘Yes.’ I don’t know why I’m being so non-communicative. I certainly don’t want to mislead Connor but I don’t like the way I’ve been hauled to his office like I’ve done something wrong.
‘Let me be clear about something,’ he says with a nod, and suddenly the man who was looking at me as though I were his dying breath has disappeared and I am faced with Connor Hughes, legal genius. He is calm and analytical. ‘I’m not interested in being a fill-in for some other guy. If you’re seeing him, or anyone else, go fuck them, not me.’
I draw in a shocked breath.
He moves a step closer. A muscle is jerking at the base of his jaw. ‘You don’t leave my class early just so you can run your social life.’
The sheer injustice of his accusation is infuriating. ‘I had to get my laptop back off Pietro,’ I snap angrily. ‘He came out of his way to bring it to me so I had to fit in with his timings, okay?’
‘Why did he have the laptop?’
‘I left it in his car on Sunday,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘He’s a good friend of my cousin’s and always comes to our family lunch. He drops me home most weeks.’
Connor’s eyes narrow slightly. ‘Which brings me back to my original point. If you’re seeing him, that’s fine. But we’re done.’
I don’t even want to analyse why the threat makes me ridiculously pleased—the inference that there’s a ‘we’ and that we’re not currently ‘done’. It’s stupid.
‘I’m not seeing Pietro,’ I say, but I am still angry. ‘But we’ve spent one night together, Connor. You have no right to act like a possessive husband.’
He angles his jaw, as if in silent concession of the point, and then he moves the final step towards me so that his body presses into mine. He pushes me back against the wall, trapping me, and I feel that now familiar, insatiable need to be with him burning through me. ‘I saw you with him and I felt... I feel possessive.’ His eyes bore into mine and I feel a hint of what it would be like to have the full force of his attention in the courtroom. How hard it would be to be questioned by him in a legal setting. ‘If you’re with me, you’re with only me.’
His jealousy is palpable. I wish it annoyed me, but it doesn’t. It’s a rush and I know how easily I could get addicted to having all of Connor’s attention and desire wrapped around me.
‘I