very
primitive about him, barely veneered by the politeness that civilisation
demanded. And he was treating her like mesmerised prey he was already sure of;
with offhand gallantry that was merely that and nothing else. Why had he wanted
to meet her in the first place? Why had he pushed and manoeuvred for this
meeting with her, only to sit and observe her from across the table with those
inscrutable black eyes?
The two women returned to their table in silence, and with formal
politeness both men rose. Again Sara felt the brush of those strong, tanned
fingers across her bared back, and could barely repress a shudder that mixed
fear with apprehension.
'Would you like to go dancing after dinner? You have the figure of a
good dancer and you walk lightly.'
Sara forced her head back, her mouth tilting in a challenging smile. 'Do
you like disco? That's the only kind of dancing I enjoy. It's tremendous
exercise, you know.'
Monique gave an exaggerated shudder, her mouth puckering as if she'd
tasted something acid. 'I love to watch dancing. The ballet . . . Paul and I
see every performance of the New York City Ballet, you know. Daddy was a
patron.'
Monique had her uses, after all! Sara let her smile become brilliant as
she murmured challengingly, 'I don't really care for watching, I like music
with a beat that makes my body want to move.'
What was she talking about? Actually, she loved ballet — adored the
opera even more. But the man had wanted to meet Delight, and Delight he was
going to get!
His eyes had narrowed slightly, the only reaction she was able to
obtain.
'So you'd rather participate than watch? I was talking of dancing of
course, Miss ... Delight.' From holding hers, his eyes moved casually away, as
if her answer didn't really matter. 'And how about the two of you? Paul. . .
Monique . . . what do you say, shall we all go to a disco tonight? I leave it
to you - or my delightful dinner partner - to name the place, since I am a
comparative stranger here.'
'I really don't feel up to a late night tonight, thank you all the
same.' Sara was remembering with panic that Delight was a really fabulous,
uninhibited dancer, while she hadn't had enough practice to know if she could
or not. And no doubt he was a fantastic dancer too - the light-footed way he
moved and the way he held his body reminded her of a fencer or a fighter. He
was a karate black belt, fifth degree, he'd said. No doubt he danced very well,
too. Well, he wasn't going to show her up!
'You're the one who's always complaining about having to get up early in
the morning . ..' Paul and Monique were engaged in a low-voiced argument,
ignoring her. Riccardo leaned close to her with a quizzical lift of one black
eyebrow. ' I have read everything about you in the press, but if I didn't know
better I would think you were... afraid, for some reason. I do not bite,
Signorina, nor do I believe in... forcing a woman who is not willing.'
Sara could feel the warmth of his body, far too close to hers. And the
warmth of the tell-tale blood that rushed into her face. To hide it, she bent
her head, pretending to rummage in her purse as she said lightly: 'Oh, good!
Then I can trust you take me home without the usual hassle, can't I? Looking up
at last she met his angry eyes with what she hoped was an air of insouciance.
'It's not that I haven't enjoyed the dinner, but I am a working girl, and six
o'clock comes awfully early!'
'You are very good at evasions, are you not? For all that on the surface
you appear to be a typical example of an extremely liberated young American
woman, I think you are a little bit afraid of a man who does not fit into the
mould you are used to.'
"Aren't you flattering yourself, Duke?'
Her deliberate vulgarity was rewarded by the tightening of his jaw
muscles as his eyes flicked over her like whips.
She would not — could not back down now, but Sara was miserably
conscious that Paul and Monique had declared a mutual truce while they watched
and
primitive about him, barely veneered by the politeness that civilisation
demanded. And he was treating her like mesmerised prey he was already sure of;
with offhand gallantry that was merely that and nothing else. Why had he wanted
to meet her in the first place? Why had he pushed and manoeuvred for this
meeting with her, only to sit and observe her from across the table with those
inscrutable black eyes?
The two women returned to their table in silence, and with formal
politeness both men rose. Again Sara felt the brush of those strong, tanned
fingers across her bared back, and could barely repress a shudder that mixed
fear with apprehension.
'Would you like to go dancing after dinner? You have the figure of a
good dancer and you walk lightly.'
Sara forced her head back, her mouth tilting in a challenging smile. 'Do
you like disco? That's the only kind of dancing I enjoy. It's tremendous
exercise, you know.'
Monique gave an exaggerated shudder, her mouth puckering as if she'd
tasted something acid. 'I love to watch dancing. The ballet . . . Paul and I
see every performance of the New York City Ballet, you know. Daddy was a
patron.'
Monique had her uses, after all! Sara let her smile become brilliant as
she murmured challengingly, 'I don't really care for watching, I like music
with a beat that makes my body want to move.'
What was she talking about? Actually, she loved ballet — adored the
opera even more. But the man had wanted to meet Delight, and Delight he was
going to get!
His eyes had narrowed slightly, the only reaction she was able to
obtain.
'So you'd rather participate than watch? I was talking of dancing of
course, Miss ... Delight.' From holding hers, his eyes moved casually away, as
if her answer didn't really matter. 'And how about the two of you? Paul. . .
Monique . . . what do you say, shall we all go to a disco tonight? I leave it
to you - or my delightful dinner partner - to name the place, since I am a
comparative stranger here.'
'I really don't feel up to a late night tonight, thank you all the
same.' Sara was remembering with panic that Delight was a really fabulous,
uninhibited dancer, while she hadn't had enough practice to know if she could
or not. And no doubt he was a fantastic dancer too - the light-footed way he
moved and the way he held his body reminded her of a fencer or a fighter. He
was a karate black belt, fifth degree, he'd said. No doubt he danced very well,
too. Well, he wasn't going to show her up!
'You're the one who's always complaining about having to get up early in
the morning . ..' Paul and Monique were engaged in a low-voiced argument,
ignoring her. Riccardo leaned close to her with a quizzical lift of one black
eyebrow. ' I have read everything about you in the press, but if I didn't know
better I would think you were... afraid, for some reason. I do not bite,
Signorina, nor do I believe in... forcing a woman who is not willing.'
Sara could feel the warmth of his body, far too close to hers. And the
warmth of the tell-tale blood that rushed into her face. To hide it, she bent
her head, pretending to rummage in her purse as she said lightly: 'Oh, good!
Then I can trust you take me home without the usual hassle, can't I? Looking up
at last she met his angry eyes with what she hoped was an air of insouciance.
'It's not that I haven't enjoyed the dinner, but I am a working girl, and six
o'clock comes awfully early!'
'You are very good at evasions, are you not? For all that on the surface
you appear to be a typical example of an extremely liberated young American
woman, I think you are a little bit afraid of a man who does not fit into the
mould you are used to.'
"Aren't you flattering yourself, Duke?'
Her deliberate vulgarity was rewarded by the tightening of his jaw
muscles as his eyes flicked over her like whips.
She would not — could not back down now, but Sara was miserably
conscious that Paul and Monique had declared a mutual truce while they watched
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