pine table, drinking coffee and reading the New York Post. His bare chest was dangerously attractive, those broad shoulders tanned and powerfully muscled, black hair covering his chest to the long dark line at his navel.
‘Can’t you put something on?’ Serena asked tautly, averting her gaze. ‘You shouldn’t wander around like that!’
His blue eyes flicked to hers. ‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s my home.’
‘Yes, but I’m here,’ she said, folding her arms and hovering in the doorway at a distance from him.
He gave a cool laugh. ‘You’re my wife, Serena. You’ve seen my chest before!’
‘Not very often!’
‘That can easily be remedied,’ he said softly, blue eyes mocking her as they slid with insolent sexual appraisal over her slender body.
‘Very funny, Nick!’ she said tightly, green eyes flashing at him. ‘Now, please put something on, or I’ll have to eat breakfast in the living-room.’
There was a tense little silence. Nick studied her through narrowed eyes, then said softly, ‘You didn’t blush. Perhaps you are growing up, after all.’
Hot colour swept her cheeks immediately and she turned to walk away from the door, hating him for having made her so acutely aware of him, and making her feel a fool because of it.
The soft laughter that came from the kitchen made her grind her teeth with rage. She heard him walk coolly out, go into his bedroom, and get his dressing-gown.
‘There,’ he drawled lazily, presenting himself in his dark red dressing-gown, hands thrust deeply in the pockets. ‘Am I now fit for breakfasting with?’
Serena studied him through her gold lashes. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, recovering herself with dignity, and followed him into the kitchen, realising with a sudden shock that after three years of marriage her husband was almost a stranger to her.
And a very disturbing stranger, at that.
He sank down in his chair again, flicked open the Post, and began reading.
Serena studied his hard profile. A ruthless tycoon who had married her for her title and inheritance…why did he insist on keeping their marriage going when it was such a shell? Why did she? A sigh left her full mouth, and she cleared her throat.
‘When do you leave for Washington?’
‘Washington?’ he drawled, his American accent giving the capital city an air of glamour.
‘Yes,’ she said coolly, walking to the table and deliberately lowering his newspaper with one slim hand, meeting the sudden steely flick of his eyes. ‘Washington! You remember. You were on your way there last night!’
He studied her for a second. ‘You’re getting bold, Serena.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I don’t want you here, Nick. I made that plain last night.’
‘That’s not all you made plain,’ he said softly, mockingly, and let his eyes drift to her mouth. ‘That was quite a kiss you gave me in bed. I almost thought I’d got the wrong apartment.’
Hot colour swept over her face. ‘I was asleep!’ she said accusingly. ‘I didn’t know what was happening!’
‘Neither did I,’ he said lazily. ‘I expected you to start screaming as soon as I touched you and try to claw my eyes out. That’s your usual response to my touch, isn’t it?’ His eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘I wonder what made last night different’
‘I just told you,’ Serena said flatly, turning away to get a plate and cup from the cupboard, refusing to look at him any more in case he saw the flare of sudden arousal in her green eyes. ‘I was asleep and I didn’t know what was happening. I was having a dream, if you must know. That’s why I woke up so slowly…why it took so long for me to realise what you were doing.’
He smiled sardonically, drawling, ‘Nothing to do with me personally, then?’
‘No!’ she said angrily, sitting down and reaching for the coffee-pot. ‘You know perfectly well how I feel about you personally.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly, mockingly. ‘I disgust you. Sure. It came across loud and clear last night!’
Her green eyes burned with angry accusation. ‘It must have done, or you would never have left me alone, Nick!’
His mouth curved in a cynical smile. ‘Well, maybe I have other plans for you,’ he said softly. ‘Later on in the day…’ He shook out the New York Post, cynical blue eyes flicking over the small newsprint again.
Serena ignored him, and buttered a slice of toast, but inside she was shaken. This argument was too personal. His kiss last night had been too personal. In fact—everything so far about this little ‘visit’ was too personal.
They had got through the last three years without ever having personal conversations. Normally, they were polite strangers with very little to say to each other. The arrangement worked very well. Why was Nick suddenly tampering with it? Flicking a series of switches and provoking personal confrontation…?
Because he’s got nothing better to do, she thought bitterly. He lived life at a whirlwind pace, blasting his way through obstacles, rarely stopping to think of the consequences of his actions on the people he blasted out of his way.
Odd that he should operate like that, given his family background. His parents were wealthy Bostonian bankers. Nick had been born into a world of American grace and privilege, and had not quite fitted in. His dynamic personality and quick, enquiring mind had stuck out like a sore thumb in that world.
But, although their strange marriage had given her brief glimpses into his past, she was aware that their conversations never turned to personal subjects.
Like sex, for instance, she thought with a prickle of unease.
Nick had opened this visit with sex, and the subject was still lingering between them like a crackle of electricity, making Serena distinctly nervous.
Shooting him an anxious look, she said huskily, ‘Nick, you are leaving this morning, aren’t you?’
He didn’t look at her. ‘I’ll be leaving just as soon as the jet’s ready. The pilot’s going to call me.’
‘Oh…’ She nodded, bit into her toast with small white teeth.
Serena wanted him out of the apartment as soon as possible. Tomorrow was a big day for her. She didn’t want Nick complicating it. His presence here today was unexpected and unwelcome, but at least it wouldn’t blow a hole in her private life. Whereas tomorrow…
Suddenly Nick got to his feet. ‘I’m going to take a shower and get dressed,’ he announced, throwing the newspaper on to the table. ‘If the pilot rings, take a message for me.’
He strode out of the room, leaving her burning with resentment. He treated her like his secretary. Well, not quite, she thought with a flash of anger towards him, because he was probably having an affair with his secretary.
Clearing the table, Serena put the dishes in the dishwasher. The luxury apartment block on Fifth Avenue was kept in perfect order by the people who ran it. There were no personal staff here, although all Nick’s other homes did have personal staff.
This was one of her favourite homes. Nick had excellent taste, and all his homes were furnished in a similar style with French antiques, pale green or cream and gold colours, and a general air of Bostonian elegance. It appealed to her sense of beauty, and was in keeping with her love of ‘old money’ as opposed to flashy new. Her own family background was not as luxurious or stylish as Nick’s, but she had often wished it were. The threadbare, faded beauty of Flaxton Manor had been charming, but hard to live with, particularly when springs leapt out of ancient sofas and cut one’s legs, or whole sections of roof caved in after rainfall.
Serena