‘How do you judge me?’ she asked, too intrigued not to satisfy her curiosity.
‘To you, purpose outweighs feminine vanity. You have no desire to heighten sexual attraction. You are sensual. Your hair is long, beautifully fair, and uncompromisingly straight. That strengthens your charisma. Frequent visits to a hairdressing salon do not interest you. The fringe is neat and tidy. From that I conclude it is an easy solution to keeping the long fall from intruding on your face. There is no artifice or disguise. Your vision is not obscured. Practical. Efficient. You think of yourself as a person first, a woman second. Your inner needs are more important to you than drawing attention from men. An admirable quality indeed.’
Amanda was stunned by the truths he had so easily perceived. She had gone past the point of wanting to attract men. She had concluded years ago, after a number of disillusioning disappointments, that if a Mr Right did come along, it would happen quite naturally without any need for her to do anything except be herself.
She was not desperate for a man. She had other things to do that were important to her. And she was not about to let this man stand in her way, no matter how fascinating she found him. He could not be right for her even though...no, it was impossible.
‘Are you a hairdresser by trade, Mr Upgrade?’ she mocked at him, trying to restore her equilibrium.
‘I have shorn many sheep,’ he mocked back, ‘but none as fair as you.’
‘If you see so much in hair, what do you make of my eyes?’
/> ‘When they look upon me and shine as brightly as the stars do tonight, I will tell you. In the meantime, let us concentrate upon the draping of your hair down to the soft, supple swell of your breasts...’
His gaze followed his words and Amanda had the prickling sensation of her nipples pushing against the lace fabric of her bra. The lace felt tight, constrictive, abrasive. She wondered what it would be like having his hands cupping her swelling breasts and was shocked at the vividness of the image that leapt into her mind, the darker tone of his skin against hers, those long lean fingers closing over her soft flesh, caressing her, sensitising her.
She gave herself a mental shake and was grateful that the black suit was not so form-fitting that he could see the effect he was having on her. ‘You judge much from my appearance, Mr Upgrade,’ she said dismissively, needing the distraction of some other subject, yet failing to bring her mind to focus on anything other than what he was making her feel.
His eyes simmered up to hers. ‘Salome used seven veils to seduce a king’s mind. I think you would only need one.’
‘I’m not a dancer,’ she stated firmly. Nor was she going to try.
He ignored her interjection, pressing the image in his mind into hers. ‘A veil in shimmering shades of blue and green and silver...translucent. To match your eyes.’
‘My eyes aren’t silver,’ she said pettishly.
‘They are like crystal over water, reflecting many facets, tantalising glimpses of what lies behind them.’
Instinctively Amanda lowered her lashes, afraid of revealing too much, not realising how provocative the action was.
‘Ah, yes...the strength of mind is greater,’ he said with satisfaction, walking towards her again, diminishing the space between them. ‘But it is encased in a woman’s body. A body I could bend to my will.’
She stiffened as he reached touching distance. Every nerve in her body twanged with tension, whether from anticipation, excitement or fear, she did not know.
He stopped. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Buchanan.’
She wasn’t at all sure of that. She could feel his power draining what strength she had. Her impulses were going haywire.
‘I give freely, generously–to the right people,’ he said persuasively.
By what standard did he judge the right people? Her father had not been considered a right person by Xa Shiraq, and since this man carried out Xa Shiraq’s orders, perhaps he had been the one who ensured her father’s unique discovery went discredited in the eyes of the rest of the world.
‘Measure yourself against me,’ he invited. ‘You are smaller, softer, more slender. Women were made to be partnered by men. They need a man to stand by them, protect them, look after them.’
‘An old-fashioned idea,’ Amanda protested. ‘No longer appropriate.’
‘A physical reality. Never dismiss the physical strength of a man and the pleasure it can give, Miss Buchanan. However steely your will, it is not proof against it.’
‘Why do you feel it is necessary to tell me what I know?’ Amanda asked, holding her ground with increasing difficulty.
‘Because you are denying what is self-evident. Mind over matter. But I know what you are feeling, Miss Buchanan. Whether you choose to indulge yourself or not.’ His black eyes burned into hers. ‘I know what you are feeling. I feel it, too. I think we both will always feel it. And remember it.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Her voice was a bare husky whisper.
‘Because I have never felt it before,’ he murmured.
Her eyes warred with his, fighting the link of intimacy he was forging with her. Amanda was certain of one thing. If she succumbed to this man she would never be herself again. He would dominate. She knew he would. He was that kind of person.