And
what she was tempting him to.
Which he must resist or risk breaking the most essential rule he lived by.
* * *
As Tara gained her bedroom relief filled her. Dear Lord, but that had backfired on her—big-time! Hissing like that at Marc to be more convincing in his role-play! Had she been nuts to demand that? To take the initiative he would not?
Memory was hot in her head, as if it were still happening—sitting up close and personal beside him, so that the heat from his body was palpable through the fine jersey of her dress. And then, after so stupidly getting a kick out of winding him up with her taunt about being a grouch, putting her hand on his thigh.
Hard muscle and sinew...and a strength beneath the material of his trousers that had made her want to snatch her hand away as if she’d touched white-hot metal. But she hadn’t been able to, because his own hand had closed over hers, imprisoning it between the hard heat of his thigh and the soft heat of his palm.
And then she’d felt her throat catch as that casual meshing of his fingers with hers, that slow, sensual stroking of his thumb, had lit up a thousand trembling nerve-ends in her...
No! Don’t think about it! Focus, instead, on getting to bed.
Tomorrow was going to be another long day. Just putting up with Celine was ordeal enough—let alone Marc as well.
Putting him out of her mind as best she could, she got on with getting into her night attire, carefully hanging up the beautiful dress she’d been wearing, then removing her make-up and brushing out her hair. The familiar rituals were soothing to her jagged nerves—as much as they could be soothed.
Aware that she was still on edge, and knowing why and deploring it, but unable to calm herself any more, she headed for the palatial en suite bathroom to brush her teeth. As she did so she glanced askance at the door inset beside it. It was no surprise that she’d been put into a bedroom with what must be a communicating door to wherever it was that Marc Derenz slept, because otherwise it would look too obvious that she wasn’t really there in the role she claimed. But all the same it was unnerving to think that only a flimsy door separated her from him.
Without thinking too much about what she was doing, let alone why, she went to test it. Locked—and from the other side. A caustic smile pulled at her mouth. Oh, it was definitely time to remind herself that whatever Marc Derenz did in public in order to put out the impression that they were having an affair, in private he was obviously keeping to the arrogant warning he’d given her—not to take his attentions for real...
Well, that was a two-way message, and it was time to remind him of it! She reached for the bolt on her own side, meaning to shoot it closed. And jumped back.
The door had been pulled open from the other side, and Marc Derenz was stepping through into her bedroom.
Her eyes flashed in alarm. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
She saw his brows snap together in his customary displeased fashion, as if she had no business challenging his walking in unannounced to her bedroom. Quite illogically, she welcomed it.
It’s better to dislike him than to—
Her disturbing thought was cut short.
‘I need to speak to you,’ he announced peremptorily.
He was still in his dinner trousers, but he’d taken off his jacket and his tie was loosened. It gave him a raffish look. As did the line of shadow clearly discernible along his jawline.
Tara felt her stomach hollow. It just did not matter how disagreeable he was. Marc Derenz really should not be so bone-meltingly attractive...
And he shouldn’t be in your bedroom either.
The realisation hit her and she took a step back, suddenly aware that she was in her pyjamas. Oh, they might be modesty itself, with their wide silk trousers and high-collared cheong-sang top, but they were still nightwear.
‘Well?’ she prompted, lifting her chin. She didn’t like the way his dark eyes had swept over her, then veiled instantly. Didn’t like the way she was burningly aware that they had... Didn’t like, most of all, the way her nerves had started to jangle all over again...
‘I’ve been emailing Bernhardt—Hans’s son.’ Marc’s voice was brusque, as if he wanted to get this over and done with. ‘I’ve told him in no uncertain terms that he must make sure Hans joins us. I won’t have Celine here on her own. Even with you here to—’
‘To protect you,’ completed Tara helpfully.
Another of his dark looks was his reply, before he continued as if she had not interrupted him. ‘Thankfully Bernhardt agrees with me. He’s going to tell his father he’ll stand in for him at a board meeting so Hans can arrive tomorrow evening. It’s all arranged.’
She could hear relief in his voice, and saw a snap of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘So we just have to get through tomorrow, do we? Trailing along while Celine looks at houses?’ Tara said.