His smooth switch in approach was bewildering. Jane had seen Ryan Blair in a number of moods but she had never before been a victim of his charm. Even knowing that it was being ruthlessly wielded in order to get his own way didn’t lessen the impact.
When he had been engaged to Ava his manner towards Jane had been noticeably reserved. She had rarely seen him relaxed and he had never laughed in her presence. That must be why his sudden warm smile now made her stomach dip. His whole face shifted, the cynical lines of experience curving, softening and erasing the hint of threat in the hypnotic gaze which burned with a fierce intensity that beckoned her to fall into their fathomless blue depths. It was like looking at a different man, a stranger whom under other circumstances she might have...
Heat flushed through Jane’s veins as she guiltily realised how far her mind had wandered. Steel doors slammed shut on the forbidden thoughts and she jerked back in her seat, horrified to realise how close her face had drifted to his during their whispered conversation.
What had he been saying? Something about her being sociable to his other guest. Was he suggesting that she act as his hostess for the evening? The idea was so bizarre that she shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ He laid a finger against her bare upper arm, and again the brief physical contact had a mind-clouding effect. Jane’s mouth went dry; as she looked down she saw the fine hairs rise on her skin, all the way down to her wrist. Fear. It had to be fear creating this smothering, debilitating awareness of his physical strength, his power.
It was Dan Miller who answered, with the hearty boom that seemed to be his natural mode of expression.
‘Cold? I know just the way to warm you up. How about tripping the light fantastic with me? That dance-floor is looking awfully lonesome with nobody on it!’
He grabbed Jane’s left wrist and pulled her to her feet, the jolting reminder of her injury helping to startle the automatic protest out of her mouth.
‘Really, I don’t think—’
‘Oh, go on, Jane. I don’t mind being abandoned to my own devices, and you know how much you enjoy dancing,’ Ryan interposed lazily as she floundered for a tactful form of excuse. ‘If I get bored over here by myself I can always come over and cut in,’ he added to her dismay, and Dan laughed.
‘No chance, mate!’ he said, tugging Jane in his wake. ‘It’s your own fault for not evening up the numbers. Find your own dancing partner; I’ve staked my claim on this one!’
Glancing back over her shoulder, Jane saw Ryan was wearing a complacent smile of satisfaction, his half-closed eyes glittering as he watched them thread their way through the tables to the small, fan-shaped polished wooden dance-floor.
Although he was a competent enough dancer, light on his feet in spite of his stocky build, Jane found that Dan’s ebullience made even a sedate waltz a challenge as he constantly sought to out-perform his own ability. On the turns he added extra steps, flourishes and dips that forced her off balance, forcing her to maintain a tight grip with her left hand that made her sore fingers feel as if they were trapped in a wringer.
Perspiration filmed her body as she mindlessly followed Dan’s eccentric moves, fighting to block out the increasing pain by concentrating all her attention on his sprightly conversation. She discovered that he was staying at the hotel, he was in his early fifties and acrimoniously divorced. He chuckled over the fact that Jane was a full head taller than he was, and joked that he always felt safe in the arms of a well-built woman.
If he hadn’t been hurting her she might have been amused by his heavy-handed gallantries, but as it was she merely pinned a vacuous smile to her face and endured, relieved when the set ended after the second dance and her cramped fingers could relax.
Ryan made no attempt to disguise his interest in her body as they returned to the table, his big frame lounging in his chair, his eyes studying her over the top of his glass as she walked towards him, rising slowly from her legs to the sway of her hips, to the shimmering fabric tautly encasing her generous breasts. He had got over his initial surprise at her attire, it seemed, and was now intent on a more intimate inventory.
Angry adrenalin coursed through her veins as Jane realised she was being mentally stripped by a connoisseur. She wasn’t going to let him undermine her confidence in herself as a woman as well as her ability to run a company. Shoulders back, her hair flaring around them, she flaunted her last few steps with a defiance that made his eyes narrow and his chin lift sharply, the way it had when she had clipped it with her fist. As it had then, a hot wildness trembled in the air between them. Then he smiled, and Jane’s skin tightened at the benign pleasantness that prowled across the primitive features.
Ryan Blair benign? Mild and gentle? She didn’t think so!
As they sat down the waiter came to take their orders and Jane, who had arrived with the intention of taking full advantage of a free meal, found herself scanning the menu with a total lack of appetite. She had a feeling that if she tried to put anything deliciously rich or spicy into her tense stomach it wouldn’t stay there long. In the end she chose a salad starter, with grilled fish as her main course.
‘No need to stint
yourself on my behalf, Jane,’ Ryan said drily, in a tone that implied she was trying to impress him with the economy of her choice. ‘I can afford to indulge your taste for luxury—you’re not going to spend the rest of the night washing dishes in the kitchen.’
‘I should say not! We have better things to do, don’t we, honey?’ Dan gave her an incomprehensible wink of complicity. ‘Not dieting, are you, Jane? No need to with a sexy figure like yours.’
His crude flattery didn’t soothe away the sting of Ryan’s words. ‘No, just selective,’ she said, directing a blue glare at her tormentor that made him smile sardonically.
Her right shoulder kicked up and she half turned so that her hair swung forward, obscuring her face from his line of vision, attempting to ignore his taunting politeness by pretending a fascination she didn’t feel for Dan’s brash tales of his own numerous exploits.
To her surprise Ryan made no attempt to interrupt, allowing Dan to dominate the conversation and Jane to get away with her studied rudeness. Unfortunately she paid a painful price, for Dan liked to touch as he talked and whenever her left hand was idle he would cover it with his own, playing with her fingers, squeezing to emphasise the punchlines of his jokes.
Twice more he rousted her onto the dance-floor. After the second occasion Jane excused herself and, staring at her brittle face in the powder room mirror, knew that it was time to admit defeat—she wasn’t going to be able to get through the evening without some chemical assistance. Her hand was throbbing unbearably, and the two glasses of wine she had hoped would have an anaesthetising effect had made her head begin to pound.
She was not going to give in now, dammit! Ryan had offered a reward and she was going to hang in there until she could demand her due: a moratorium on his revenge.
She dug into her drawstring bag for the painkiller the clinic doctor had prescribed and dry-swallowed the small, innocuous-looking capsule. After a moment’s pause she took another, reasoning that a double dose would be twice as fast and effective and last twice as long. She wasn’t intending to drive or operate machinery, and who knew when this interminable evening would end? She lingered on as long as she dared in the fashionable marble cavern, reapplying her warpaint and brushing her hair, mentally girding herself for a fresh round of bruising social courtesies.
The pills provided a euphoric buzz rather than the deadening numbness that Jane had expected, and, without the pain clouding her perceptions, she suddenly became aware of the thinly veiled malice with which Ryan was watching her try to fend off Dan’s increasing over-familiarity. It struck her forcibly that he had deliberately needled her before Dan’s unexpected arrival, guessing that her knee-jerk reaction would be an attempt to crunch Ryan’s ego by cold-shouldering him in favour of the brash Australian.
She tried a polite yawn and a tentative comment on the lateness of the hour.