Wild and Wanton by Dorothy Vernon Page A

expression could alter a face so much. When he smiled, even if the smile was mocking, his face exuded charm. That air of faint amusement, she thought, must come in handy to screen what really was going on in his mind, an asset in both the private and business spheres of his life. It was better than the poker face so many top executives assumed, because instead of instilling wariness, it was mesmerically disarming. All this enabled Lindsay to glimpse the underlying strength of his personality. He had said he didn’t like being thwarted, and this was painfully apparent. The forcefulness and dogged determination of his character were as blatant as a banner. This man, once crossed, would make a dangerous adversary. His frown caressed her with coldness. Yet even as fear coursed through her, she was overwhelmingly conscious of him in a different, more physical, sense.
    â€˜Not so much as a finger,’ he said, holding his finger aloft and poising it in line with her face. Her iced blood warmed, then grew cold again as apprehension held her in its grip. It was almost a relief when the threat became reality and his finger descended on her cheek.
    She might not have been as experienced as the majority of women her age, but neither was she a quivering adolescent who had never been touched. Still, no man’s hand on any part of her had ever sent such sexual awareness through her body. Her skin pulsed with currents of feeling.
    His finger rested for several heartstopping seconds where it had lit, then slowly, as though savoring her skin, moved down her cheek. It occurred to her that the sensitive fingertip must be absorbing some of the feeling it elicited. The sudden, ragged intake of his breath confirmed that suspicion, much to her dismay.
    â€˜So that’s it! It isn’t what I’ve done, but what I haven’t done!’ he blurted.
    â€˜Of course it’s not that,’ she said crossly, her voice half strangled by the emotion swelling in her throat.
    It stunned her that his innocent touch sent more fire through her than she could ever have imagined possible. It was steam heat, earthy and primitive. Perhaps most humiliating to Lindsay was Nick Farraday’s reason for touching her. It wasn’t that they had finally rid themselves of the company of other people, whose presence had handcuffed his desires. Nor had he spent the evening looking at her with adoring eyes, panting for the moment when at last they were alone. This was a cold, experimental probe to find out something. Well, they had both found out something. She now knew the full extent of her vulnerability to him. And he was proceeding under the mistaken notion that he now knew the reason for her mood: he had thought she found it irritating that he hadn’t tried to make a pass.
    What could she do? That question was made irrelevant by the awareness of what
he
was about to do. But in the state of shock that seized her she couldn’t summon the energy to deflect the hands reaching out to trap her wrists and bring her forward.
    Coming alive to what was happening, she knew that she had to find means to put up a fight. She pulled hard to free her wrists, but their freedom brought neither satisfaction nor relief, because he simply shifted his arms until they circled her. She wriggled frantically to avoid contact with the muscled wall of his chest. As the gap between them started to close, the grim mouth above her twisted into a devilish grin, mocking her futile efforts.
    â€˜Well, well! So I was right about the wild and wanton inner you.’ An excited gleam pierced the blue intensity of his eyes. ‘This is what you want, so why are you resisting? Are you wrestling with me to add some spice?’
    â€˜Most certainly not!’ she screamed at him, furious that everything she did goaded him still further.
    She was fighting not only him, but the weakness attacking her limbs. She was losing ground fast. He wasn’t the first man to