Lucy King – Propositioned by the Billionaire (страница 3)

Phoebe blinked. Agh. What on earth was she thinking? Her body had no business behaving like this, especially without her prior approval. And that would not be forthcoming this evening. Or ever, she reminded herself belatedly, pushing all thoughts of what sort of things a real man might be required to do out of her head.

Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to concentrate. What had he been saying? She thought frantically. Boyfriends. That was it. ‘What boyfriend?’ she managed, squeezing her hands tighter and hauling back some of the self-control that had fled when he’d pulled her against him.

‘The jerk in the pond.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ After her last disastrous relationship, she was off men. For ever. Especially ones who crept up on her and nearly gave her a heart attack. However good-looking.

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No. Of course not.’ What was he talking about? She struggled to pull herself out of the steel circle of his arm, but it was no good. Alex didn’t seem inclined to let her go.

Instead he gripped her chin with his long brown fingers and turned her face so that the light fell on her cheek. ‘He took a swing at you with the bottle,’ he said harshly. ‘Where did he hit you?’

Phoebe’s skin sizzled beneath the pressure of his fingers. ‘Have you lost your mind?’ she said, baffled as much by the tingles shooting through her as the direction of the conversation. ‘Mark didn’t hit me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I think I might have noticed if I’d been thwacked by a bottle of champagne. Particularly vintage.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Not funny.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said sharply. There was absolutely nothing funny about the damage he could have done tonight, possibly the most important night of her and Jo’s lives. ‘Can I have my chin back?’

He let her chin go as if it were on fire and she swung her head round to glare up at him. For a moment they simply stared at each other and Phoebe became aware that, still locked in his vice-like embrace as she was, every inch of her body pressed up against every hard-muscled inch of his.

Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and her heart thumped. Her mouth dried and she swallowed. She had to get a grip. And not of his biceps. ‘Right. So you barged in because you thought my boyfriend had hit me?’ A rogue bubble of delight bounced round inside her before she reminded herself that not only did chivalry not exist in her world, she neither needed nor looked for it.

His brows snapped together. ‘Where I come from men don’t hit women.’

Something warm started to unfurl deep inside her. ‘Where I come from no one hits anyone.’ The Jacksons employed far more subtle tactics.

‘He called you darling. You cried out and jerked back.’

Oh. She felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Well, yes, but only because I didn’t want to get splashed,’ she said. ‘And Mark calls everyone darling.’

His hands sprang off her as if she were a hot coal and he stepped back. ‘You didn’t want to get splashed,’ he echoed softly, his voice suddenly so cold and distant that it sent a chill hurtling down her spine and she automatically rubbed her upper arms.

In the thundering silence that hung between them, a seed of shame took root in her head and the blush on her cheeks deepened. His face was dark, tight and as hard as stone.

The combination of sheer disbelief and icy disdain that replaced the concern in his eyes made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. If she’d kept her mouth shut she’d still be in his arms, enveloped in his heat and strength, feeling all warm and deliciously quivery instead of feeling as shallow as the pond and utterly rotten.

Then she rallied. Hang on a moment. Why was she being made to feel the guilty party in this little melodrama? She hadn’t exactly begged him for help. And it was hardly her fault if he’d mistaken her dodging an arc of champagne for something more serious. While a spattering of water turned her sleek mane of hair into a frizzy mess, a carelessly flung spray of champagne would turn it into a frizzy sticky mess and she had enough to worry about right at this minute.

Phoebe nipped that seed of shame in the bud. ‘This,’ she said coolly, pointing at her hair, ‘takes hours to straighten and my dress is dry-clean only.’

For a split second Alex looked dumbstruck and then his expression shuttered and his eyes went blank. She cast a glance over his hair, thick, dark and unfairly shiny. Of course he would never understand the struggle she had with her hair, nor the burning need to keep it under control. But what was his problem?

‘Look, I didn’t ask you to interfere,’ she pointed out. ‘And I certainly didn’t need your help.’

‘So I’m beginning to gather.’

‘I had the situation totally under control.’

‘You were standing barefoot with a twig in your hair and your dress hitched up around your hips—’

‘Thighs,’ she snapped. ‘But wherever my dress was and whatever my hairstyle, you had no business interfering.’

Alex shoved his hands through his hair. ‘What did you expect me to do? Stand back and watch you get hurt? Did you really think that he was going to come out willingly?’

Phoebe blinked. ‘Well, yes.’ With a little persuasion and guidance.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Mark is built like a tank and was totally out of control. Your lack of judgement astonishes me.’

Phoebe flinched. Ouch, that hurt. ‘I wasn’t in any danger,’ she said. ‘Mark was incapable of hitting anything. Anyway, what did you do with him?’

‘I threw him out.’

Of course. ‘Did anyone see you?’

He frowned. ‘Does it matter?’

Phoebe gaped. Did it matter? She briefly wondered if steam actually whooshed out of her ears. ‘Of course it matters.’

Alex let out a harsh incredulous laugh. ‘You’d seriously put what other people think before your own safety? Your priorities are unbelievable.’

‘My priorities are my own business. You,’ she said, glaring at him, ‘overreacted.’

Alex looked as if it was taking every ounce of his control not to wrap his hands round her throat and throttle her. ‘Do you have any idea how volatile someone in that state can be? They can switch from charming to violent in the blink of an eye.’ He leaned in so close that she could see her own image reflected in his eyes and snapped his fingers and she jumped. ‘Just like that.’

Phoebe stamped down the stab of curiosity that suddenly demanded to know whether his reaction was based on personal experience of something similar and channelled her indignation instead. ‘Look,’ she said icily, ‘this isn’t the first time I’ve come across someone who can’t handle his drink. Before you,’ she said, stepping forwards, uncurling her fist and jabbing him in the chest with her index finger, ‘barged in and started throwing Mark around like some sort of caveman everything was fine. I was dealing with it perfectly well. On my own.’

Phoebe broke off, breathing heavily, suddenly aware that Alex wasn’t listening to her. His jaw was rigid. Colour slashed along his cheekbones. He was staring at her mouth, his big frame almost vibrating with an odd sort of electric tension.

She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand. She could feel the scorching heat of his body burning through his shirt to singe her palm. She could feel his nipple, hot and tight, pressing against her hand.

Appal thundered through her. His heart? His heat? His nipple? Beneath her hand?

Her gaze shot down to the finger that had been poking his chest. Only now the jabbing had stopped. Now her hand lay flat against his chest and any minute now her fingers would be clutching at his shirt and yanking him towards her.

Time seemed to judder to a halt. Music drifted towards them, the sultry beat winding through her and whipping up unfamiliar sensations that stretched out and took over her ability to think about anything other than having his mouth hot and demanding on hers.

Phoebe could barely comprehend what was happening to her. No man had ever had this effect on her before. She’d felt attraction, tremors of lust even. Quite often. But never this slow drugging desire humming deep inside her, making her whole body itch with the need to reacquaint itself with his.

She wouldn’t even have that far to tug. One centimetre. Maybe two. And they’d be locked together, tumbling down onto the pile of huge cushions that lined the pergola and pulling at each other’s clothing.

In the middle of a party that she was supposed to be running.

With a sharp gasp of horror she snatched her hand away and took a hasty step back. Alex’s eyes shot back up to hers. Dark, lit with something that made her mouth dry and her pulse hammer. ‘No one saw me,’ he said, the trace of huskiness in his voice telling her that an identical thought had been running through his head.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ she managed, although her throat felt like sandpaper. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and swallowed hard. ‘Now I’d like an apology.’

‘I’d like a thank you.’

Phoebe stuck her chin up and gave him a cool smile. ‘Then I guess we’re both destined to be disappointed.’

Alex reached out to slide his hand round to the small of her back and pulled her against him. ‘Not necessarily.’