‘Not all stores,’ she cried, her temper rising at his high-handed attitude. He had no right to question her. ‘For your information,’ she added scathingly, ‘I went to buy a dress—for your dinner party tomorrow night. Satisfied?’
‘Satisfied,’ he snarled, and he grasped her hand in his much larger one, dragging her further into the hall.
She winced and stumbled against him. ‘Please, you’re hurting my wrist.’ As her plea registered he dropped her hand as if it were a hot potato.
‘Hurting you!’ he exclaimed incredulously. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. I’ve been hurting since the first day I set eyes on you.’ And, keeping a tight hold on her arm, he urged her through the open study door, growling, ‘What I have to say to you is best said in private.’
Josie had no time to reflect on his strange comment as she noticed Jeffrey at the end of the hall. Funny; he should have gone home long ago. Maybe that was why Conan was making such a fuss—on Jeffrey’s behalf. But eight o’clock was hardly the middle of the night, Josie thought rebelliously. But she had no more time to think as Conan pushed her into a leather armchair.
‘Sit there and listen, child,’ he commanded.
‘I am not a child,’ she denied angrily.
‘Then stop behaving like one,’ Conan growled. Then he proceeded to treat her to a tirade, the ferociousness of which she would never have believed he was capable of. Too stunned to move or respond, she watched him pace back and forth in front of her like some wild jungle beast in search of prey. He called her every idiot under the sun and then some, without stopping for breath. His jacket and tie had been discarded long since and, mesmerised, she thought how magnificent he looked. His white silk shirt hung half open, revealing his broad tanned chest, matted with curls that arrowed down out of sight, and his grey pleated trousers tantalisingly traced the hard contours of his thighs. He exuded an aura of powerful male sexuality that was frightening but fascinating in its intensity.
For weeks Josie had convinced herself that Conan was satisfied with their pleasantly polite relationship, upholding their original agreement to the letter. But now she was not so sure, as she realised how utterly ruthless he could be when roused. She tensed angrily under the lash of his tongue, but inexplicably her anger drained away to be replaced by a different passion. Her pulse rate accelerated as her eyes slid over the whole length of him to rest on his custom-made leather shoes. She was too afraid to look up as wryly she acknowledged her fear was based more on her own reaction to his vibrant brand of sexuality than the words he roared at her. She needed to get away, and quick...
‘And look at me when I am talking to you!’ he commanded furiously. Stopping directly in front of her, and leaning over her, he placed a huge hand on either arm of the chair, effectively blocking her escape.
Warily Josie raised her eyes to his, struck by the banked-down fury in his gaze.
‘That’s better,’ he intoned with a silky softness that frightened her more than his shouting had done. ‘Now, little girl, I think it’s time you and I got a few things straight. You’re not in the Cotswolds now, but in the heart of a big city, and for starters you will never go out or stay out late without informing Jeffrey or myself where you are. Is that understood?’ he demanded forcefully.
Josie’s eyes clung to his handsome face, incapable of breaking the contact, trapped by the power of his personality as much as his large body towering over her. She sank deeper into the seat. His closeness was having a strange effect on her. She swallowed hard, and deep down inside her an unfamiliar ache unfurled. An ache to feel the strength of his arms around her, his hard mouth on hers, and how had she never noticed before the thick, curling dark lashes that shielded his glittering eyes?
‘Do you understand me, Josie?’ he reiterated.
She jumped. ‘Yes, yes, I understand.’
‘You’re sure?’ His dark eyes gleamed golden as he held her gaze, and for a long, tense moment they simply stared at each other.
‘We struck a bargain, you and I,’ Conan drawled with ruthless inflexibility. ‘A name, and a father for your child.’ His eyes did not leave hers for a second. ‘In return I eventually get what I want But I will not put up with your callous disregard for the concern of Jeffrey, or myself, towards you and the baby. Understood?’
‘Yes. I know, I’m not a fool, I can hear you,’ she said curtly. ‘Probably half the street can hear you. No going out without telling you. Oh, jailer!’ she ended defiantly.
His eyes flared angrily. ‘If I was your jailer, do you really think I would have allowed you to run around London on your own?’
‘No.’ Josie knew she was being unfair, and suddenly feeling very tired, and in no mood to argue, she added, ‘And I will apologise to Jeffrey in the morning. I never thought he would stay behind.’
As if sensing her exhaustion, Conan straightened up and, taking a deep breath, expelled it slowly. ‘And I’m sorry for shouting at you, Josie, but you have no idea how worried I was to arrive home at six and find you hadn’t yet arrived. I couldn’t imagine what had happened to you, and poor Jeffrey was worried sick. He refused to leave until you returned. Promise you will never, ever give me a shock like that again?’
At his words Josie felt the beginnings of a strange warmth building inside her. Conan had been worried about her. Why the thought should please her she did not question; she only knew it did.
‘I didn’t mean to worry you, Conan, but I had nothing to wear for tomorrow night. I had to buy a dress.’
‘Ah, the age-old female cry: “I have nothing to wear!” I should have guessed,’ he drawled, a very masculine grin lighting his dark face. ‘The very least you can do is go and put it on and let me see why my dinner has been delayed for so long.’ Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘But make it snappy, hmm?’
Josie picked up her parcels from the hall and shot upstairs. Shedding her clothes, she speedily unwrapped her new dress, and slipped it over her head. Tiny shoe-string straps supported the bodice that skimmed the soft curves of her breasts; empire-style, the skirt fell from beneath her breasts, skimming her hips to end in soft folds at her feet. Coloured from the palest pink through lavender to the deepest blue, it enhanced her pale complexion, emphasising the violet of her eyes.
She sighed, if only she were taller. And, hastily finding her only pair of four-inch-heeled sandals she slipped them on.
Conan was in the hall as she glided down the staircase. She must have made some sound, because he turned and stared up at her. His dark eyes narrowed intently on her delicate frame. She stopped a few steps from the bottom, paralysed by the intensity of his gaze as silently his eyes swept slowly over her, in a slow, sexy scrutiny that brought colour to her cheeks.
‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked, her glance colliding with his, her colour increasing at the sensuous gleam in his eyes. What was happening to her? She had thought after her disastrous affair with Charles that she was probably frigid. But the longer she spent with Conan, the more she doubted herself. Tonight she was achingly aware of him. Swiftly she lowered her lashes, terrified he would recognise how he was affecting her.
‘You look beautiful, Josie,’ he drawled throatily. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
She took the next few steps in a hurry, flustered by his compliment. She felt her ankle turn. ‘Damn these heels,’ she muttered darkly.