Shame flooded
through her. That of all the men in the world it should be a man like Diego Saez who could reduce her to such a condition.
She felt the rage against herself, her own weakness, her own folly, as ice in her veins. She clung to it. It was her saviour, her one chance of escaping with her skin whole. Because if she stayed…
She flung open the door of the car and climbed out. The chauffeur was still getting out of the driver’s seat, but she didn’t wait. She stood on the pavement, rigid with lashing fury. She had to keep angry—she had to!
Diego Saez got out and said something to the chauffeur. He nodded and got back into the limo. It began to pull away from the kerb.
‘Come,’ said the man at her side, and slid his hand under her elbow.
She jerked away violently. She was trembling with emotion that this arrogant man was simply assuming that she would fall into his bed like a ripe peach, just because he wanted her to.
‘Take your hand off me!’ Her voice was loaded with anger as she stepped back.
The rest of the world had disappeared. Somewhere in her mind she realised she was standing in Brook Street, outside Claridge’s. There was a doorman not three feet away, and several other people disgorging from a taxi.
She had to get away.
Urgency overwhelmed her, overriding everything else. She started to walk away, heading past the hotel façade towards the traffic lights on the corner. Her heels clicked on the damp pavement. Her breathing was short. Heart pounding in a horrible, sick fashion. There was pressure inside her head.
She started to walk faster.
There were footsteps behind her. Rapid, heavy.
A hand clamped around her shoulder, halting her. Turning her around.
‘Portia—’
His voice sounded impatient. There was a dark look in his eye. His prey was escaping, walking out on him. Diego Saez’s prey for the night was daring to walk out on him…
Something, it might have been hysteria, started to climb in her throat. She crushed it down.
‘Leave me alone!’ she snapped at him, trying to jerk herself loose.
But this time it did not work. His fingers bit into her.
Panic stabbed at her. He wasn’t letting her go. He was holding on to her. Touching her…
‘How dare you manhandle me?’ The words cut from her, clipped and furious. ‘How dare you touch me? You disgust me!’ A sharp, searing breath sliced through her throat and her chin flew up. He was standing there so tall, overpoweringly so. He seemed to loom over her. His face, as she threw her angry words at him, darkened. She didn’t care. Didn’t care that she was making a scene right outside Claridge’s. Didn’t care that she was finally venting that terrifying surge of emotion he aroused in her.
She stepped back. ‘Did you think—did you really think—’ her voice was icy with scorn ‘—that you could just help yourself to me?’ Her eyes were cold grey pin-pricks, flashing disdain, disgust. Outrage. ‘Do you really think that I would even consider having an affair with you? Of all people? A man with your history? Your reputation? Your past? Do you really think I would demean myself with a man like you? Do you think your money makes you acceptable?’
Something changed in his eyes. Something that just for a second sent a shaft of fear through her. And then, like a metal gate slicing down, it was gone. His face was like a mask. Completely expressionless.
Her breath was coming in sharp, painful jags, like ice in her lungs. Her chin had flown up, her hands clutching her open jacket across her, her shoulders rigid, eyes arctic with rejection.
He was standing quite still, she realised. Completely motionless. But it was the stillness of a jaguar poised in a jungle clearing, every muscle under complete, absolute control.
The still before the kill.
Fear stabbed through her again, countering the icy rage that still consumed her, which itself was forcing down yet another emotion—one that she could not cope with, could not admit or acknowledge or allow.
With one part of her mind she knew she had behaved disgracefully, lowering herself to speak in such a way to him—but she had had no choice. None. She had to protect herself from him—any way she could.
He was just so, so dangerous…he made her feel out of control.
He spoke. His voice was without emotion.