And as for wanting to kiss him? She couldn’t think of anything more revolting than having his smug mouth on hers.
She brought her glass to her lips, pleased with how steady and cool she felt, how detached. But then his gaze dropped to her mouth and her equilibrium wavered, all but disintegrating when the tip of his tongue came out to touch his bottom lip as if he was thinking about how she would taste.
It was a brief, subtle move but it set every one of her nerves on edge.
She had to force the cool liquid down past the lump in her throat without choking but she did it, and was pleased with herself until she realised that he was deliberately trying to put her off stride again. And it had worked. She now felt as if she were burning up from the inside out.
Damn him.
The man was beyond evil. He was a demon. The devil himself.
Fortunately the Baron chose that moment to break into their silent stand-off with a comment about the meal, which Carly had completely forgotten about.
She pushed the last of it around her plate as if her appetite hadn’t fled, but then she noticed how pale Benson looked and could have kicked herself.
Concerned, she forgot all about his obnoxious grandson and clasped Benson’s wrist. He gave her a wan smile, knowing that she was surreptitiously taking his pulse. One forty over eighty, at a guess. Not critical, but definitely too high for a man in his condition.
She gave him a warning squeeze. ‘I think you should call it a night,’ she advised softly. And she definitely wanted to. Anything to get away from the pointed glare of the man opposite her.
Dare watched the intimate little tableau play out before his eyes. The woman had no shame. No shame whatsoever, and his increasingly bad mood had nothing to do with the fact that he would like those slender fingers wrapped around a certain part of his anatomy, and where he was imagining was a long way from his wrist.
He didn’t know what had possessed him to taunt her the way that he had, but it had very nearly backfired when he’d got a whiff of her light scent.
He breathed in deeply. He was pretty sure it was only shampoo he had smelt, shampoo and woman, and his recall was so strong she might as well have been sitting right beside him. Or in his lap.
A muscle jumped in his jaw and he realised he was clenching his teeth hard enough to break them. It pained him greatly that his body hardened in anticipation every time he looked at her. And when she spoke; that lilting English accent...he’d lived on and off in the country for about a year and never noticed what a turn-on it was.
At times she sounded exactly like a reprimanding English schoolmarm and at others as if she’d just climbed out of bed after being satisfied over and over. Add in that firecracker temper and haughty attitude and it was all he could do not to haul her across the table and find out if all that fire and ice translated to passion between the sheets. Or, on the table, rather, given their location.
Dare wondered what his grandfather would think if he told him it would take little more than the crook of his finger to have his mistress in his own bed.
The thought made him sick. He wasn’t here for that. And he certainly wasn’t here to compete with the old man. Let him make a fool of himself over a woman if that was his wont. Dare never had before and he never would.
Especially not over a woman like this. One with such a low moral compass. Which was probably why it bothered him so much that he found her so attractive. He just didn’t understand it. He’d been exposed to a limitless amount of beautiful women since he’d reached puberty and even more since he’d made it rich. Women more beautiful than Carly Evans, and yet all evening he’d struggled to take his eyes off her.
Bottom line, he despised her for what she was and he despised himself for wanting her regardless.
‘Goodnight, Mr James.’
‘It’s Dare,’ he reminded her, holding out his hand even though he knew it would be a mistake to touch her again. He couldn’t help himself it seemed, his legendary self-control a distant memory in her presence.
She hesitated, glancing at his hand, and he nearly smiled for real when good manners—of which, yes, his had been in short supply that evening—determined that she must.
Immediately he raised it to his lips. ‘Sleep well.’ Or not, his eyes said.