a kind of derisive snort, he strode over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of wine from the bottle which he had obviously opened earlier and which lay cooling in an ice bucket. Had he been planning some kind of celebration? she wondered fleetingly.
And just how long had he been home? A slight desperation crept into her veins as she saw that his grim face showed no sign of relaxing. He silently moved towards her and held out a glass of Chablis. It was her favourite wine, and he had chosen one of the finest vintages, but suddenly the thought of drinking it sickened her to the stomach.
He continued to regard her unsmilingly and an angry pulse began to beat at the base of her throat. Just what right did he think he had to stand there and offer her wine, while that condemning look tightened the features of his arrogant face? As if she were some kind of criminal!
‘I don’t want any wine,’ she said shortly.
‘No,’ he answered curtly, and his mouth curved with scorn this time as he put both the untouched glasses back down. ‘I shouldn’t imagine that you do—I can smell it on your breath as it is.’
She’d had a total of three glasses of champagne all evening, hardly enough to qualify her for the drunk of the year that he was making her sound like! But she had no intention of justifying her behaviour to him. She would not be treated as though she were on trial. She stared him full in the face, her dark eyes sparking angry fire, feeling more furious than she could ever remember feeling in her life.
And yet she was achingly aware of his slanting blue-grey eyes, with the dark brows which matched the thick, naturally ruffled hair. She hadn’t seen him for just one week and it took every bit of concentration she possessed not to stare at that magnificent muscular physique, imagining him naked... hating herself for wanting him, even though he was behaving in this inexplicably hostile way towards her.
‘You’re obviously jet-lagged—’ she began, prepared to be conciliatory, but he interrupted her with a seemingly casual query.
‘New dress?’
Now why were her cheeks growing pink? ‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘You know darned well it is.’
His experienced eyes had obviously assessed the quality and the superb cut of the gown which clung to the streamlined curves of her body, and that direct scrutiny made her skin tingle, the fires of lust and anger igniting in her veins.
‘You aren’t usually quite so generous with yourself,’ he remarked, in a seemingly offhand way which spoke volumes.
Enough was enough! Alessandra decided to tell him the truth. That way she would have nothing to feel guilty about. Because she could just imagine how she’d feel if she lied and told him she’d purchased the gown herself, only for Andrew to let slip that it was a bonus, bought by the company.
Oh, why the hell had she let him talk her into it? What had, at the time, seemed a perfectly reasonable action was fast developing into something else entirely. But she wasn’t going to feel guilty. For she had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.
‘No, you’re right,’ she answered coolly. ‘I’m not normally quite so generous with myself.’
‘But on this occasion you were?’ he persisted in that impartially analytical manner she’d only ever heard him use at work. ‘I’m intrigued to know why.’
‘I didn’t actually buy it—’ she began.
But he interrupted her with a clipped demand. Then just who did?’
‘The company.’
‘The company?’ he echoed softly, his deep voice full of sarcasm, the blue-grey eyes narrowing unfathomably. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really!’ she snapped.
He elevated his dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows. ‘How very extraordinary. I must say that I’ve never considered buying any of my staff dresses,’ he emphasised deliberately. ‘Particularly exorbitantly priced dresses which do rather more to reveal than to conceal. Dresses which are designed solely with the intention of turning a man on.’ He looked directly into her eyes, his handsome face cold with arrogant enquiry. ‘But presumably that’s what Andrew had in mind?’
‘Andrew had nothing to do with it!’ she retorted furiously.
‘No?’ He clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘He just paid the bill, did he?’
‘Oh, I’m not talking to you when you’re in this kind of mood!’ she retorted, and made to whirl away, but he stayed her with one hand on her bare arm which, in spite of her rage, had her senses dancing in frantic plea for more of his touch. She turned her face up to him, her eyes wide in silent appeal. ‘Cameron...?’ she said, on a whisper.
But there wasn’t a flicker of answering emotion on his face. ‘And did Andrew help you choose it—honey?’ He mimicked Andrew’s nickname for her softly, his voice roughed with an intimidating menace which was completely alien to her.
‘Wh-what are you talking about?’ she stumbled, meeting the blaze of fury in his eyes.
‘Try listening to the answering machine,’ he suggested silkily, and his hand dropped from her arm.
The cessation of his touch was strangely disconcerting and Alessandra walked on her high, spindly heels towards the answering machine like a robot, aware, and yet trying not to be aware, that those cool blue-grey eyes never left her.
She pressed the message button and Andrew’s disembodied voice echoed around the flat.
‘Alessandra—are you there? It’s ten o’clock, and I want to check you’re home safely, honey—so ring me as soon as you get in—if this message ever reaches you!’
Damn Andrew and his stupid nicknames! Alessandra swiftly turned round, suddenly frightened again. This wasn’t how she had wanted Cameron’s homecoming to be—not at all. ‘I can explain—’ she began, but he shook his head and walked towards her with a stealthy intent which set her heart pounding.
‘So did Andrew help you choose it?’ he asked again, standing just inches away from her. ‘Did he like the fact that it fits so closely? So that when your nipples are hard—like now—they press against the silk and you might as well be wearing nothing at all?’ he demanded brutally.
It seemed pointless telling him that he, and only be, had that effect on her—with Cameron around her nipples seemed to be almost permanently erect. She could tell by the look on his face that he wouldn’t listen.
‘So tell me,’ he continued, and Alessandra knew, from the cruel pleasure she saw carved on his features, that he knew precisely the effect he was having on her. ‘Are you wearing any panties underneath that thing? Are you supposed to?’ His eyes glittered. ‘What did Andrew say?’
Alessandra felt the pooling of desire deep at the fork of her body, her senses so inflamed that the pride she normally possessed had suddenly vanished. So that, instead of storming out of the room and away from his vile accusations, she found herself unable to move, her skin on fire, despising herself, and yet yearning for what she knew could be the only possible conclusion to this angry confrontation.
‘May I?’ he asked conversationally as his long fingers slithered the silk of the dress all the way up her thigh until her tiny black bikini pants were revealed. ‘Oh,’ he said neutrally. ‘You are wearing some.’ His finger skimmed along the centre of them and Alessandra gasped with shock and pleasure. ‘And so wet too.’ He removed his hand, and she could have wept with frustration.
‘But you aren’t going to be wearing them for very much longer, are you, my delectable love?’ he continued remorselessly, and he reached down again, this time with both hands, and decisively pulled the delicate fabric apart with one swift, sure movement, so that it made a tiny rasping sound as it tore, and the panties slid slowly down her legs to the floor.
Alessandra followed as he took her into his arms and pushed