The Barbarian's Bride. Alex RyderЧитать онлайн книгу.
of resisting had never even entered her head, she found herself outside, high above the late-night traffic of West London. Across the buildings to the south she saw the lights of Chelsea Bridge in the distance. Overhead, a jet, landing-lights piercing the thin clouds, thundered towards touch-down at Heathrow.
His hold on her elbow was light yet electrifying, and she swallowed nervously. There had been a time when she would have known how to deal with a situation like this. She might even have treated the whole thing as a joke and laughed it off. She might even have flirted with him a little, but those days were gone. The only things she wanted out of life now were stability and security, and she already had those with Damien. Marriage to Damien was going to be her salvation and anything that threatened it was a hazard to be avoided at all costs.
‘Have—have you known Damien for long?’ she ventured awkwardly.
He gave a slight shrug. ‘We know each other through our mutual business interests. It’s because of him that I’m paying this all-too-short visit to London.’
‘I see…’ It sounded plausible enough. Damien seemed to know so many people and he was forever introducing complete strangers to her. It was impossible to remember them all. She had no reason to doubt this stranger’s story but, if that predatory grin on his face was suddenly translated into action, she could easily side-step him and dash through the window back into the anonymity of the crowd.
‘And now we’ll talk about you, Janene,’ the dark stranger murmured softly. He reached for her hand and glanced at her engagement-ring. ‘Damien tells me that you’re to be married soon. How long have you known each other?’
‘We—we met six months ago,’ she answered haltingly, wishing he would talk about something else.
He stepped closer and, with her back to the balustrade and his body between her and the window, there was no chance of escaping. ‘How old are you, Janene?’
Right now she felt like a very nervous seven-yearold, but she answered shakily, ‘Twenty-four.’
His face was hovering over hers like a hawk over a helpless rabbit. Those blue eyes seemed to impale her, making her incapable of movement as he raised a hand to finger her thick red tresses. ‘You are breathtaking in your beauty,’ he whispered in a soft, husky voice. ‘In my country, such a desirable woman as you would have been a bride at sixteen. Lovers would have begged for a kiss from those sweet red lips. Men would have fought like tigers over you. Gold, silver and precious jewels would have been yours for the asking…flowers strewn at your feet.’ He paused, and studied her expression with amusement. ‘Ah! You are embarrassed and you think I am too effusive in my praise of your charms?’ He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I know all about English women. Cold and remote and suspicious of anyone south of Dover. Breeding inhibits the true expression of their feelings.’
Her heart was thudding in her ears and she could feel herself being drawn under by those compelling blue eyes. With an effort she tore her mesmerised gaze from his, but his soft voice continued to provoke and inflame her.
‘It merely increases a man’s pleasure to strip the shell of cold reserve away bit by bit and release the storm of fire and raging passion beneath the surface. And there is a fire in you, Janene. I sense it. A raging volcano, ready to…’ Suddenly he spread his hands and heaved a sigh. ‘But I forget myself. A thousand pardons. You are promised to another. If it were to anyone other than my good friend, Damien, I would steal off with you in the night and take you to my tent, and there, under the stars, we would lie in each other’s arms and…’
She chanced a quick glance into those dangerous eyes and smiled in spite of herself. ‘Tent? Did you say tent?’
‘A mere figure of speech,’ he admitted with a crooked grin. ‘Some day you will see my humble abode… Well, it’s not that humble. Quite luxurious, in fact. I’m sure you’d be favourably impressed. You and Damien must be my guests some time.’
His display of dry humour made him seem just a little less threatening, and she murmured, ‘I’m afraid that you’ll have to ask Damien about that.’
He inclined his head. ‘But of course. It is always up to the man to make the decision and it is the woman’s place to defer to his wishes in all things. However, I’m sure he couldn’t deny you anything you’ve really set your heart on. He loves you greatly, is it not so?’
She detected something beneath the bantering tone— a subtle edge of interrogation—that once again put her on her guard. ‘He wants to marry me,’ she answered firmly. ‘I think that should answer your question.’
There was a moment of silent tension between them, then he gave a thin smile. ‘Yes. He would be a fool not to love a woman such as you. And since you’ve known him for six months and accepted his ring as a token of your promise, I can only assume that you reciprocate that love.’
She swallowed. ‘I’d never dream of marrying a man I wasn’t in love with.’
‘Of course not,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m sure you’ve thought long and deep about it—’
‘It’s getting chilly now,’ she interrupted prudently. ‘I’d like to go back inside now, if you don’t mind.’
He gallantly removed his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. ‘In a moment. Meanwhile, this will keep you warm.’
She could feel his body-heat on the material, and the protest she had been about to make died on her lips and her eyes fell away in confusion.
Her passive acceptance of the situation seemed to please him, and he said huskily, ‘You don’t belong with that crowd in there, Janene. A garden of weeds is the wrong setting for a rose.’
He leaned closer, and for a terrified moment she was certain that he was going to sweep her in a crushing embrace and kiss her. Would she have the strength or the will to resist? And, if she didn’t, would he take it as permission to go even further?
‘Look…’ she said, near to panic, ‘I—I don’t think that Damien had this in mind when he asked you to— to look after me.’
His dark eyebrows arched upwards, mocking her feeble protest. ‘Had what in mind? Surely it would please him to know how much I approve of his taste in women. He would surely take it as a compliment. Anyway, I’m sure he’s not the jealous type.’
He was just playing with words now…not to mention her feelings and peace of mind. ‘Well…just stop all this talk about how—how beautiful I am.’ She nodded in the direction of the window. ‘There are plenty of women in there a lot more glamorous than I am. There’s nothing special about me.’
‘Damien thinks there is,’ he countered smoothly. ‘When he told me about you he became quite lyrical. So lyrical, in fact, that I put it down to over-zealous exaggeration. Now, however, I can see that he didn’t do you sufficient justice.’
His persistent flattery was wearing away at her defences and she couldn’t deny the fact that her heart was beating faster than normal, nor that she was starting to feel light-headed. But then, a woman would have to be an unfeeling lump of clay not to be overwhelmed by that potent blend of polished charm and raw sex appeal.
Pulling herself together and trying to keep a firm grip on reality, she diverted the talk towards safer ground. ‘You said that you’d come to London to see Damien. Are you and he in the same kind of business?’
For some reason he seemed to find that suggestion amusing. ‘Not really, Janene. You could say that fate has caused our paths to cross.’
She kept the conversation going. ‘I see. And what exactly are your interests, Kassim?’ She’d never yet met a successful man who could resist the temptation to talk about himself, and she didn’t suppose that he’d be any different.
His blue eyes glittered and there was another flash of white teeth. ‘At the moment, my interest is in an enchanting woman with hair like the setting sun and eyes the colour of emeralds.’
Oh,