able to come away without too many awkward questions being asked.
‘So what do you do when you aren’t running around this country picking up strange men?’
She ignored the deliberate snipe. ‘I type a little.’
‘You type?’
‘Well, a lot, actually.’ Well, she did, didn’t she?
‘Are you saying you’re a PA?’
She chewed on the inside of her mouth, trying not to compound the lies. ‘No. I’m freelance.’
‘You work for an agency?’
She shook her head. ‘For myself.’
‘Typing.’
She didn’t know why he sounded so disparaging. ‘That takes up a fair proportion of my work.’ Which was true, she thought. It did. ‘What’s so strange about that?’
‘Only that you strike me as a woman who would have carved out a more determined career path for herself.’
Rayne was glad he couldn’t detect how her deception made her heart skip a beat. ‘I have.’ She saw the question in the heart-stopping clarity of his steel-blue eyes and letting her own slide away, told him trenchantly, ‘Seducing rich elderly men!’
His mouth twitched at the corners as though he were trying to assess the authenticity of her remark.
‘I think it’s time we left,’ he stated blandly.
The journey back was an uncomfortable one, not because of King’s driving, because he handled the Lamborghini like a dream. But since leaving the café he had barely said two words to her and now, motivated by the view from the ribbon of road that displayed the whole sweep of Monaco below them, Rayne tried to lighten the mood a little by remarking, ‘This scenery’s unbelievable. So is this weather! Was it as lovely as this in New York?’
‘Who said I was in New York?’
Mistake! Rayne admonished herself, feeling those perspicacious eyes roving over her like a hawk’s, waiting for her to show any weakness; waiting to pounce.
She shrugged and said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘Mitch.’ She could hardly tell King that she’d run a check on him before she’d been stupid enough to come here. Because that was how she was beginning to feel, she realised, despairing at herself. Utterly, utterly stupid!
Consoling herself with the thought that she was worrying unnecessarily and that it was only her jumpiness and her overreacting that was creating suspicion in his mind, she ventured to say carelessly, even though it was a lie, ‘He led me to believe you were over there on some business or other.’
‘Did he now?’
She saw his hands tighten on the wheel, the knuckles whitening above those long dark fingers. But surely Mitch would have known where he was, wouldn’t he? She swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry.
‘Do you come and see him often?’
‘Not as often as I should. And I wouldn’t be here now if Hélène hadn’t contacted me to tell me Mitch wasn’t feeling his best, and also happened to mention the attractive young chauffeuse who had very surprisingly stepped in and taken Talbot’s place. I got here as soon as I could, and I’m glad I did.’
‘Why? Because you don’t trust me?’
‘Men in our position can’t afford to trust anyone.’
‘That’s pretty cynical. Is that what money does for you?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘So why flaunt it? I mean this car. The Bentley. All those houses you probably own. If you don’t want to attract the wrong sort of people you could always drive a Mini.’
‘But then I wouldn’t be enjoying the benefits of all I worked for.’
All my father worked for! she wanted to scream, and had to bite her tongue to stop the words from tumbling out.
‘And is that all you work for?’ She couldn’t keep the disdain out of her voice as she added pointedly, ‘Lamborghinis? Homes in England, Switzerland and who knows where else? Relaxation aboard exclusive yachts?’
‘You’ve really done your homework, haven’t you?’ He was frowning as he directed a sidelong glance her way, making her realise she had said too much.
‘I only know what I read. What everyone reads,’ she tagged on quickly, not wanting him to guess how avidly she soaked up any information about him—and always had.
‘It isn’t just my money that’s bothering you, is it, Rayne—if Rayne’s even your real name,’ he speculated, causing a little shiver to run through her as he operated the remote control switch and opened the gates because they had reached the house. ‘It’s something much more fundamental than that.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t even know you,’ she prevaricated with colour suffusing her cheeks as the car growled through the gates towards the exclusive villa standing in its prominent position, high in the hills.
‘Maybe not,’ he agreed, pulling up outside and cutting the engine, then making every nerve in her body zing as he threw his door open and added with nerve-racking purpose, ‘But I think the time has come to change all that.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU’VE got it all wrong!’ Rayne threw over her shoulder, flying ahead of him into the villa. Her blood was pounding in her ears, her racing heart making her sound as though she’d just run five miles.
‘Have I?’ King demanded grimly, the strength of his own hormones putting a flush across his high cheekbones. ‘I’m not a callow youth, Rayne, and if your story holds any water—as I’d like to believe it does—I can’t think of any other reason why you constantly feel the need to antagonise me.’
Oh, dear heaven …! She stopped dead, breathing hard, her lashes coming down over her eyes, because he could see it, even though she was refusing to. But how could it be this strong, she wondered hopelessly, when she despised him as much as she despised Mitchell Clayborne? It was as if all of her pent-up teenage frustrations about him had rushed back and were screaming to be dealt with. But how could he be so astute? How could he tell?
Dry-mouthed, she touched her tongue to her top lip as he turned her round to face him.
‘You terrify me,’ she said, startling herself, because surely that was Lorri speaking. The hapless kid who had adored him from a distance, and who would have died for him, given half the chance. Not the mature twenty-five-year-old who knew him for what he was and hated him with every trembling bone in her body.
‘I know,’ he acknowledged sagaciously. ‘But it’s yourself you’re afraid of, Rayne. The fear of an involvement that wasn’t in your plans. Well, believe me, my beautiful girl, the thought of what you’ve been doing to me since I got here—and what you can still do to me—terrifies me, too.’
She laughed, but her throat felt clogged. ‘You? Terrified?’
‘Does that seem so strange?’
‘No, just inconceivable,’ she responded, wishing her credit cards were sorted so she could tell him where to go and just get the hell out of there. As it was, she felt like a butterfly caught in a fly-trap whose promise of the sweetest pleasure only hid danger beneath. Her head was spinning and her legs felt weak, while every organ in between was throbbing with the almost uncontrollable need to reach for him, pull him down to her and drown beneath the pleasure of his ravaging mouth, breathe in his heady, far too tantalizing cologne.
‘Why? Because I’m a man? And obviously a very experienced one at that?’
‘Something like that.’ She didn’t know what she was saying any more. Couldn’t seem to tell him where to