I backtrack, stiff and a tad offended.
I expected – what? Surprise? Disappointment? His open, forceful sneer is a shock.
His anger practically flows over me in a wave of heat. I flounder, stunned as much by his sudden change of mood as by his low tone, now hard-edged and bitter.
The flash in his eyes punctures the illusion that this was a romantic moment. ‘I guessed soon after. I can’t say I’m surprised. Oldest trick in the book.’
How cruel. A stinging feeling prickles behind my eyes. I fight it back and hold my ground. ‘Yes, well, I just thought you should know. And for the record I really enjoyed it. I guess you should know that too.’
His eyes snap in disbelief. ‘You enjoyed it? So that makes it OK, does it?’
I swallow, bewildered at his cruelty but determined to finish. ‘It was – the most thrilling night of my life.’
His grin turns into amazed disbelief. ‘Thrilling? So how do you plan to top it? Raid Fort Knox?’
I frown. ‘Wait – what are we talking about here?’
His eyes burn into mine as he leans forward and lowers his voice. ‘Hey, that’s a good question. What are you talking about?’
I colour and look away.
His low murmur etches into me like acid. ‘Ah, yes, the honey-trap. That’s what made me smell a rat. I’m talking about you and your former boyfriend defrauding me of five million dollars.’
There’s an explosion between us as my glass shatters on the rim of the table and sprays vodka martini everywhere.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later we’re alone in his suite. Attentive waiters and offers of medical help have all been impatiently waved away. On the way up here shock dried the roof of my mouth and kept my blank gaze fixed on his face. Now feeling’s flooding back and I want answers.
‘Just tell me what’s going on, Darnley, please. And start at the beginning. I’m sure this is all a simple misunderstanding.’
To do him justice, he seems equally shaken. Concern furrows his face as he fetches me water when I decline brandy and start to shiver.
‘Hey, you’re cold. You’re in shock.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders as I sip and I recover quickly, his warmth and closeness bringing a glow to my cheeks faster than any spirit.
He looks worried but the barrier’s still there. I nestle closer for warmth and all at once I sense him grow still.
‘Ella, can I try something?’
I stare up at him in alarm. ‘What kind of thing?’
What now? He wants to examine my phone? Check my emails? Prove I’m a liar?
He frowns, like he has to concentrate, his face barely inches from mine. ‘I’m not sure. I just want to make up my mind about something.’
He brushes my lips with his. I sit perfectly still for a long moment as sensation rockets through me. All at once something that reignited the second I saw him earlier this afternoon flares into a forest fire and I launch myself at him. In seconds I’m pinned beneath him on the sofa and he’s kissing me deep, his tongue surging into my mouth in a full-on invasion. One hand captures my wrists and hauls them high over my head. The other dives deep into the cloth-filled spaces between us as he probes the soft warmth between my thighs. The mounds of my breasts are crushed under the weight of the pounding heartbeat drumming through the muscles of his chest.
I writhe below him, thrilled at my capture, relishing imprisonment. I offer up all the spent, frustrated passion I’ve battened down so long, burning all the more fiercely now because it had no hope of release until he suddenly unleashed it.
Miss Normal heads for home.
At last he pulls away and I remember to breathe. He sits up and helps me rearrange myself and now I feel shakier than before, for different reasons.
I smile up at him through my eyelashes before I remember he doesn’t do playful. ‘Did that help any?’
He’s still panting, his chest hauling in air like he’s just run a race and inexplicably failed to finish. He darts me an irritated look. ‘Not really. Where were we?’
‘Industrial secrets?’ I prompt, gently.
He quits the sofa like he needs more air. Briskly he pulls up a chair, sits and leans forward with his arms on his knees, his fine long hands clasped loosely between them. ‘Know anything about thermal imaging?’
I roll my eyes and he sighs.
‘OK. Put simply, it’s taking pictures of heat sources. Detects people or animals in the dark. Useful for surveillance, war-zones, hunting, riot control. One of my companies was developing a cheap, mass-produceable micro-imager that could be used in home surveillance units. Not only that but it could calibrate the image to a precise enough ratio to give an instant read-out of the likely size and type of the source. So, say your home alarm system is triggered late at night while you’re away, it would tell you or your local police whether the intruder’s a cat, or a man or a group of men, their height and weight, whether they have weapons, and then send the data to your phone so you could decide on the best response.’
This is not entirely new to me. Ryan often came over all technical – one of his few charms, as I recall. Anyway it made a change from literature. When he took the trouble to keep it simple I even managed to follow some of it.
‘Did Mitchell talk much about his work?’
‘I only know he majored in surveillance technology. I gathered that was why he joined your company in the first place. But what’s the connection?’
Darnley’s eyes narrow to slits. ‘We sacked him. He was caught passing commercially sensitive stuff to a rival. But he was part of the team developing the thermal imaging software and when he left he took the untested version and all the plans with him and immediately set up his own company to develop it.’
I frown. Ryan was always wrapped up in his work. I could forgive that – so am I. What finished it for me were tiny lies, the constant lateness and the feeble excuses. He even filched money from my bank account. But this? I shake my head. ‘I can’t believe he’s a criminal. I’ve known him since college. He’s just – self-absorbed.’
As far as I was concerned it was the upgrade that did it. She was the last in a long line of female straws.
Troubled, I scan Darnley’s stern, classical face. With a shock I see he’s looking at me intently, his expression alive with something almost like pain. ‘So – you want to find him and make him give it back, is that it?’
He’s frowning now. ‘No, I just want to give him a piece of my mind. He used our resources to work on our idea and then stole it – along with the time and effort we’d invested in it. But his version’s untested, unreliable. He won’t get far if he tries to sell it on. I want you to give it back.’
I grin in disbelief. ‘Me? It’s got nothing to do with me.’
His eyes glitter dangerously. ‘I’d like very much to believe that. But we both know there’s a little more to it than that, don’t we, Ella?’
‘We do?’ Once more the conversation is slipping away from me. Miss Normal has given up and gone home and now nothing’s normal any more. And to prove it he suddenly says something so high and wild I know I must be dreaming.
‘Yes, we do. The patent he applied for is in your name. Right now you must be worth – at a rough guess – some five or six million dollars.’
I