said, “You are a filthy blackguard to think I would consider giving myself to you for any reason!"
He laughed, and with a gasp of horror she-pushed herself away from him, lifted her skirt with one hand, and dashed across the room. Not until she had put some distance between them did she face him once more, her breasts rising and falling in indignation. He was leaning against the door again, his hands in his pockets, his infuriating mouth curled up in that mocking half smile.
"So, chere. Did we decide on a thousand?" "I don't have a thousand!"
"No?" He shrugged and moved away from the wall.
"Very well, then, our business is finished. I will bid you adieu. "
Panic rose in her as he started to leave. "Wait!"
He stopped and looked around, regarding her with a long, penetrating stare. She moistened her lips and forced herself to speak with less vehemence.
"I don't have a thousand, Mr. Kane. I can prove it if you care to see my father's records." She met his look directly. "I-am willing to meet whatever other requirements you have in mind ... "
The American's lips curved in a cynical smile that made her cheeks burn with shame. She backed away as he approached her, yet set her shoulders with grim determination, refusing . to allow the cold fear and numbness settling throughout her body to show on her face.
He stopped in front of her, towering nearly a head taller than she, his white-suited shoulders blocking out the world beyond. His eyes were dark now, like building storm clouds on the verge of dusk.
She jerked her chin up a notch before speaking. "I am well aware of your reputation, sir. You are a base seducer of the worst kind. You are a crude, arrogant boor, Mr. Kane, and I cannot imagine why the gentle people of this country respect you so. There are names for people like you back in England."
"Chere, there are names for people like me everywhere. Back in N'Orleans we're known as poor white trash. But we learn to get by the best way we can, finding our pleasures wherever and however we can. We make things happen, Miss St. James, or we die."
"And I suppose that includes blackmailing respectable women into your bed?" she demanded sharply.
For a moment he looked as if he might strike her, so deadly still did he become. Only the bunching of his left hand into a fist and the slight twitch bothering one corner of his lips hinted at his fury. Then the moment passed. His shoulders relaxed again into their habitual insouciant set.
"Mademoiselle St. James, I have never had the need to blackmail a woman into my bed. However..." He slid his hand around the back of her neck and she thought she
might swoon. Odd how her dread and fear over this moment seemed inconsequential compared with the shocking thrill his nearness evoked. He twisted his fingers slowly yet determinedly in her hair and pulled her close. "There is always a first time," he finished.
She couldn't have moved if she wanted to, spellbound as she was by his closeness. His grip on her hair was angry, yet there was something going on behind those eyes that was even more disquieting than his fury. There was desire, yes. He wanted her, and by the look on his features and the hardness of his body, she would not have been surprised if he had dragged her to the bedroom that moment, or taken her right there on the floor. But there was something else, an emotion less obvious man desire and anger, but just as unnerving. It crossed his face like a shadow, turning the fury into a look so haunted and confused that it left her breathlessly aching to hold him.
He dropped his hand as if she'd burned him, then turned and walked to the door before stopping. He considered her frozen features for a long moment, then continued, his voice deep and unsteady. "For five hundred pounds and that porrait entitled 'Sunshine,' I might consider going to Japura.”
"The portrait? But why—"
"Damned if I know, Princess. I guess there's a little part of us all that never outgrows the need to
He laughed, and with a gasp of horror she-pushed herself away from him, lifted her skirt with one hand, and dashed across the room. Not until she had put some distance between them did she face him once more, her breasts rising and falling in indignation. He was leaning against the door again, his hands in his pockets, his infuriating mouth curled up in that mocking half smile.
"So, chere. Did we decide on a thousand?" "I don't have a thousand!"
"No?" He shrugged and moved away from the wall.
"Very well, then, our business is finished. I will bid you adieu. "
Panic rose in her as he started to leave. "Wait!"
He stopped and looked around, regarding her with a long, penetrating stare. She moistened her lips and forced herself to speak with less vehemence.
"I don't have a thousand, Mr. Kane. I can prove it if you care to see my father's records." She met his look directly. "I-am willing to meet whatever other requirements you have in mind ... "
The American's lips curved in a cynical smile that made her cheeks burn with shame. She backed away as he approached her, yet set her shoulders with grim determination, refusing . to allow the cold fear and numbness settling throughout her body to show on her face.
He stopped in front of her, towering nearly a head taller than she, his white-suited shoulders blocking out the world beyond. His eyes were dark now, like building storm clouds on the verge of dusk.
She jerked her chin up a notch before speaking. "I am well aware of your reputation, sir. You are a base seducer of the worst kind. You are a crude, arrogant boor, Mr. Kane, and I cannot imagine why the gentle people of this country respect you so. There are names for people like you back in England."
"Chere, there are names for people like me everywhere. Back in N'Orleans we're known as poor white trash. But we learn to get by the best way we can, finding our pleasures wherever and however we can. We make things happen, Miss St. James, or we die."
"And I suppose that includes blackmailing respectable women into your bed?" she demanded sharply.
For a moment he looked as if he might strike her, so deadly still did he become. Only the bunching of his left hand into a fist and the slight twitch bothering one corner of his lips hinted at his fury. Then the moment passed. His shoulders relaxed again into their habitual insouciant set.
"Mademoiselle St. James, I have never had the need to blackmail a woman into my bed. However..." He slid his hand around the back of her neck and she thought she
might swoon. Odd how her dread and fear over this moment seemed inconsequential compared with the shocking thrill his nearness evoked. He twisted his fingers slowly yet determinedly in her hair and pulled her close. "There is always a first time," he finished.
She couldn't have moved if she wanted to, spellbound as she was by his closeness. His grip on her hair was angry, yet there was something going on behind those eyes that was even more disquieting than his fury. There was desire, yes. He wanted her, and by the look on his features and the hardness of his body, she would not have been surprised if he had dragged her to the bedroom that moment, or taken her right there on the floor. But there was something else, an emotion less obvious man desire and anger, but just as unnerving. It crossed his face like a shadow, turning the fury into a look so haunted and confused that it left her breathlessly aching to hold him.
He dropped his hand as if she'd burned him, then turned and walked to the door before stopping. He considered her frozen features for a long moment, then continued, his voice deep and unsteady. "For five hundred pounds and that porrait entitled 'Sunshine,' I might consider going to Japura.”
"The portrait? But why—"
"Damned if I know, Princess. I guess there's a little part of us all that never outgrows the need to
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