She turned her back on him, walking casually towards the window, to stand and stare out across the city. She was more simply dressed than the majority of the female guests, having come straight from the office, but the black top and silky wrap-round black and white patterned skirt she was wearing emphasised the tan she had got on Ionis. She loved the Greek islands, and Ionis most of all; hardly anyone went there. The beaches were small, and very private. She knew that the other girls in the office thought she was odd because she chose to take her holidays where she was unlikely to run into any men. She was staring up at the stars when she felt the hand on her arm.
‘Full of dangerous allure, aren’t they? So tan-talisingly out of reach, drawing man to his doom, perhaps, like moths to the flame.’
She had seen his reflection in the glass as he came towards her, and now they were mirrored side by side, his height and breadth dwarfing her.
‘You’re an astronomer?’ Her amethyst eyes betrayed nothing, but she allowed a hint of amused disbelief to colour the words. How easy it was to deceive men into seeing in a woman only what they wanted to see! She could tell that he thought she was flirting with him. How little he knew!
‘Let’s just say that while I’m attracted to dangerous and alluring things, I prefer them to be a little more within reach …’
His eyes were on her when he spoke, and although Genista smiled, inwardly she was thinking cynically, ‘I’ll bet! And I’ll bet you don’t like reaching very far for what you want either. Well, this time, my friend, while your greedy hands are stretching for the apple your feet will be taking you into quicksand.’
‘Are you here on your own?’
He certainly believed in being direct, his eyes were on her ringless fingers, and Genista raised her eyebrows and smiled.
‘If I’m not?’
He smiled, and for the first time Genista realised that his mouth was faintly cruel, turning down slightly at the corners; the mouth of a man who was unlikely to feel compassion for the weak.
‘Then he’s a fool for leaving something as beautiful as you on your own. And his loss is my gain!’
Genista had to bite hard on her tongue to prevent herself from commenting sharply on that ‘something’, but of course it was typical. He was obviously that type. His attitude was no more than she had expected. Hadn’t she learned young that the male sex considered any girl attractive enough to warrant a second look fair game? Was he married? Somehow she did not think so. He didn’t look married, although she admitted wryly that that was an irrational judgement. However, it would do no harm to make sure.
‘And you?’ she asked softly. ‘Are you … alone?’
‘Alone and unencumbered,’ he confirmed, taking her arm. His fingers were hard and warm, curling round the tanned flesh of her upper arm. Despite her red hair she tanned well, and her skin had the colour and texture of a sun-ripened peach.
‘Would you like to dance?’
She was going to refuse when she saw Greg heading for them. He had been making his desire for her very plain recently. She thought she had successfuly disguised her reactions from her companion when she allowed him to draw her into the dancers, but he surprised her by commenting urbanely as his arms slid round her waist.
‘An ex-admirer?’
‘More of a nuisance, really,’ Genista, too surprised by his perception to contemplate lying, realising her mistake, when his eyebrows drew together slightly. How typical, was her annoyed reaction. No doubt he thought she had covertly encouraged Greg’s attentions, secretly enjoying them. Men seemed to find it impossible to accept that a woman might not be interested in them. Well, he would learn.
‘Relax!’
She hadn’t realised how tense she had become, until his fingers stroked lightly along her spine. The action caught her off guard and she shivered with revulsion, thick, dark lashes masking her amethyst eyes.
Her companion had obviously taken her shudder for one of delight, for he pressed her closer to him so that her breasts were crushed against the black cotton shirt. She tried to move away, but his hands were spread out against her back. She could feel the warmth through her thin top.
‘How about introducing ourselves? My name’s Luke Ferguson. And yours?’
‘Genista,’ she told him briefly. She hated telling people too much about herself. It made them curious and they started to pry. It was a legacy from her schooldays when the other children had been inquisitive about her lack of a father. There was no slur on illegitimacy these days, but the old scars still ached.
‘Genista! Pretty and unusual. Like its owner.’
‘You find me unusual?’ She was back on safer ground now—the accepted give and take of flirtation.
‘You’re right,’ her companion drawled, pulling her closer. ‘Pretty is too tepid a description. You’re an extremely beautiful woman, Genista, and I don’t want to spend the rest of the evening sharing you.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
Several people were watching them; in fact they had been the centre of a good deal of covert speculation as soon as they started to dance together. Genista could see Greg glowering at them from the kitchen door. She, personally had few doubts about what Luke had in mind; the same thing her father had had when he met her mother and Richard when…. But no, she was not going to think about Richard now. She would let her companion dig his own grave and then she would derive immense pleasure from watching him fall into it.
‘If I told you, you’d probably have me certified. I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ The hooded eyes were gleaming with a warmth which made Genista grateful for the fact that they weren’t alone. Luke Ferguson was no callow boy, but a sophisticated male animal—and it showed.
‘And for that I should have you locked up?’ The verbal sparring was merely a prelude to the real purpose of the evening and she felt a tiny frisson of fear run down her spine when she saw the look in Luke’s eyes. The desire burning there was real enough; too real, and just for a second, before dismissing the thought as pure imagination, she wondered if she had set a match to a fire she would be unable to control.
When the music stopped he released her reluctantly, and Genista let him slide his arm around her shoulders to pull her close to him as they left the floor. She was behaving in a way which was totally out of character, but he did not know that. No doubt he was used to women acquiescing eagerly to his every suggestion. She was only surprised that he hadn’t already insisted that they went back to his flat. He was in for a rude—and very public—shock when he did, she told herself grimly. His eyes, which had seemed almost black across the width of the room were, in reality, very dark grey, ringed with a slightly paler grey, and the desire she could see smouldering in their depths seemed to be his only vulnerability.
Greg came over to them, his arm draped round the blonde typist Genista had seen watching Luke earlier. Greg’s eyes were faintly bloodshot and Genista guessed that he had had too much to drink.
‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘What’s all this? Has our ice maiden melted at last? You are a lucky man, Luke. Genista is one very choosy lady.’
‘You’ve had too much to drink, Greg,’ Luke told him evenly. ‘Why don’t you take him away and make him a cup of black coffee?’ he suggested to the blonde.
Quite a few people were watching them discreetly. Genista had been wondering how she would deliver the body blow which would deflate for all time Luke Ferguson’s inflated ego, and all at once she knew. He turned to her, his fingers trailing down her cheek in a caress which parodied tenderness, the desire burning in his eyes plain for all to see.
‘If you’re ready to leave?’
He really was an excellent actor, she marvelled. His voice had held just the merest suspicion of a faint tremor,