Carole Mortimer - Forbidden Surrender

‘Well, I can assure you I haven’t had plastic surgery, Dominic,’ Marie told her fiancé.

‘Considering I’ve known you since you were ten years old I would say that was obvious,’ he scorned. ‘But there has to be some explanation for this.’

‘I can’t think of one,’ Marie dismissed. ‘Come on, Sara, we’ll go and show Cynthia you aren’t a liar at all.’ She took Sara by the arm and led her away.

Sara was fuming, aware of the fact that Dominic Thorne didn’t like her, distrusted her. Plastic surgery indeed!

‘You mustn’t mind Dominic.’ Marie seemed to read her thoughts. ‘He’s suspicious by nature.’

Sara couldn’t dismiss him so easily, although she did her best as Marie led her from group to group, the other girl loving the sensation they were causing.

‘I really must get back to Pete,’ Sara insisted at last, having noticed that he was having extreme difficulty conversing with the taciturn Dominic Thorne, those steely blue eyes never leaving Marie and herself.

Marie looked regretful. ‘And I suppose I should get back to Dominic.’ The smile she gave him was radiant, her hand once again through the crook of his arm as she looked up at him affectionately.

‘I think we should be going now,’ Sara told Pete.

‘Surely not?’ To her surprise it was Dominic Thorne who made the objection. ‘I was just going to ask you if you would care to dance.’

Sara loved to dance, although Pete had assured her that he was absolutely tone deaf and so hopeless at dancing. But despite her love of dancing she didn’t relish the idea of being relatively alone with Dominic Thorne.

‘I really think we should be leaving now.’ She put as much regret in her voice as she could in the circumstances.

Those hard blue eyes remained fixed on her face. ‘One dance isn’t going to delay you too long, surely?’ he persisted.

‘I——’

‘Oh, go on, Sara,’ Pete encouraged. ‘Five minutes isn’t going to make that much difference.’

‘It never pays to argue with Dominic,’ even Marie added her argument in favour of the dance.

Sara gave a resigned shrug. ‘Very well, I’d love to dance, Mr Thorne.’

‘Dominic, please,’ he could be heard saying as he manoeuvred her on to the space that had been cleared for dancing, some of the couples around them doing more than dancing as the alcohol they had consumed hit their bloodstream. Sara was quite embarassed by some of the things that were going on. ‘Ignore them,’ Dominic advised, seeing her shocked expression.

‘I—That’s a little difficult,’ she gasped as she saw one man blatantly touching the bare breast of his dancing partner.

Dominic saw it too, not bothering to dance any more but taking her hand and leading her out of the double doors that led to the garden.

Sara snatched her hand away, eyeing him warily. ‘Is it always like that?’ she asked disgustedly.

‘It gets worse,’ he derided.

Then thank goodness she was leaving. And thank goodness she hadn’t actually got to dance with this man. Even in the brief moment he had pulled her into his arms she had been aware of his masculinity, of the sensual air that surrounded him. Not that she felt any safer completely alone with him out here, where the noise of the party sounded strangely muted. And she soon realised why—he had closed the doors behind them.

He took a packet of cigars out of his breast pocket, lighting one with a gold lighter. ‘You’ve obviously never been to one of Cynthia’s parties before,’ he mocked.

Sara moved restlessly, wishing he would stop staring at her with those curiously intent eyes, as if he were trying to see into her very soul. ‘No,’ she confirmed nervously.

‘Have you been in England long?’ The query sounded casual, and yet Sara had the feeling it wasn’t any such thing.

She shrugged. ‘A few days.’

He nodded. ‘Are you here with your parents?’

‘They were both killed in a car accident six months ago,’ she said jerkily.

‘I see. I’m sorry,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘So you’re over here on holiday?’

‘Yes.’ No point in mentioning that she was slowly recovering from her own injuries in the car accident, it wasn’t of interest to this man.

‘So Mr Glenn is a relatively new acquaintance?’

‘Very new.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand the reason for these questions, Mr Thorne.’

He shrugged. ‘You didn’t seem surprised by Marie’s likeness to you, and as you are obviously an American and have only just arrived in England I wondered how you’d learnt of Marie’s existence.’

Sara stiffened. ‘I’m not sure that I like your tone, Mr Thorne.’ He sounded almost accusing, as if he suspected her of something but hadn’t yet stated these suspicions.

‘I’m sorry if you take exception to what I’ve said.’ But he didn’t look in the least sorry; his expression was hard, his eyes narrowed to icy slits. ‘But I’m sure you can understand my puzzlement as to your reason for seeking out my fiancéee.’

‘I didn’t seek her out!’ Sara snapped resentfully. ‘I admit that I wanted to see her, but only because so many people had taken me to be her, yourself included,’ she added pointedly. ‘I had no ulterior motive for meeting Marie, as you seem to be implying I have.’

Dominic Thorne remained unmoved by her heated outburst. ‘Did I do that?’ he asked silkily.

‘You know you did. Just why do you think I wanted to see Marie?’ There were two spots of angry colour in her cheeks.

He shrugged. ‘She’s rich, and——’

He didn’t get any further. Sara’s hand swung up to strike him forcibly on the side of the face, and she watched with satisfaction as angry red welts appeared on his rigid cheek. This satisfaction soon faded as she saw the angry glitter in glacial blue eyes.

‘You deserved that!’ she spluttered, backing away. ‘You——’

Now it was his turn to render her speechless—only his method was much more destructive! Barry had liked to kiss her, in his practised way he had believed he was arousing her, but this man, Dominic Thorne, ravaged her mouth with his lips, bent her curves to mould against his hard muscled body, rendered her breathless—and aroused her against her will.

‘How dare you!’ she demanded when he at last released her mouth, pushing away from him.

Her indignation only served to amuse him. ‘Couldn’t you have come out with something a little more original than that?’ he mocked. ‘You disappoint me, Miss Hamille.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘And you disappoint me too, Mr Thorne!’ She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, watching his expression darken. ‘I had expected more than brutality from the celebrated Dominic Thorne,’ she added insultingly.

‘You know,’ he drawled slowly, ‘your similarity to Marie is only skin-deep.’ His look was contemptuous of her slender curves and flushed face.

‘Maybe she appreciates your—your savagery,’ she spat the words at him angrily, ‘but I don’t! Excuse me, Mr Thorne, I hope I never have the misfortune to meet you again.’ She spun on her heel, but was stopped from leaving by his hand on her arm. ‘Let go of me!’ she ordered coldly.

He looked down at her, his jaw rigid, a pulse beating rapidly in his throat. ‘I hope we never meet again, Sara,’ his voice was husky. ‘But for a completely different reason from yours.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Thorne!’ She swung away from him, and this time he made no effort to stop her.

‘Goodbye, Sara …’ he said softly as she closed the door behind her.

She marched straight over to Pete as he still stood talking to Marie, her anger making her look even more beautiful in that moment. ‘I’m ready to leave,’ she told Pete tautly.