Diana Palmer - Any Man Of Mine

“What kind of problems?” she probed.

His lips compressed. “Maria.”

Maria was his mistress. Keena had read about the relationship in the gossip columns long before Nicholas had introduced the two of them. It shouldn’t have bothered her. He was, at forty, an active, virile man, and it would have been absurd to expect him not to have women. But one evening soon after he’d picked up the volatile brunette, Keena had seen them together in a popular night spot dancing so close that the fabric between them seemed to burn. And she’d begged her escort, a harmless young man who’d only lasted one date, to take her home. She couldn’t bear the sight. She’d hated the surge of jealousy, but it had persisted until even now she could hardly bear to hear Maria’s name.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“She won’t believe it’s over,” he said curtly. “She’s calling me in tears twice a day, moaning over the lonely life I’ve condemned her to. Lonely, my foot, with two diamond necklaces, a new Porshe and an ermine coat!”

“Maybe she really does miss you,” she muttered, able to be generous now that she knew he’d lost interest. She felt strangely relieved.

“She misses the Rolls, honey, not me.” He laughed shortly.

“Was it good in bed?” she asked, tongue in cheek, and darted a glance at him.

“The Rolls or me?” he replied, refusing to be ruffled.

“I imagine she misses the warmth,” she retorted, grinning at him.

His dark eyes smiled at her. “Do you think I’d be warm?”

“Like a blast furnace, I’d imagine,” she said demurely. “Is that why you’re going to Paris, to escape Maria?”

“It isn’t funny,” he said, the smile fading.

“No, I don’t suppose it is, to you.” She shot him a teasing glance. “But your love life is like one ongoing adventure to me. I really think you should assign the girls numbers or something so you can keep things in order.”

“I’m delighted that my private life amuses you so,” he said in a chilling voice.

“You could always tease me about mine,” she said grandly.

His dark eyes cut around toward her. “You don’t have one,” he said. “Not a love life, anyway.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What makes you so sure?”

“I keep a sharp eye on you, little one,” he said with a somber tone that startled her. “Sharper than you know. You don’t sleep around.”

She glared at him. “Maybe I should hire a private detective of my own!”

“What do you want to know?” he asked with a wicked grin. “Go ahead, ask me. I’ll tell you.”

She glared at him again. “I’d just love to ask you something so personal it would embarrass you to the roots of your hair.”

“Dream on, honey,” he returned with a smile.

She sized up his muscular, imposing physique. “I’ll bet you crush them,” she murmured absently.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is there only one position?” he asked in all innocence.

The blush started at her hairline, worked down into her cheeks, seeped into her throat and down into the plunging neckline of her dress. And he sat there and watched her and laughed softly, lazily, as if the sight delighted him.

“Instead of the theater, I’d better start taking you to some X-rated movies,” he murmured. “Your education is sadly lacking.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could manage a retort, he picked up her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. It was unexpected, and the sensation it caused made her heart turn over wildly. He caught her eyes, holding them in the dim confines of the car until she felt as if she’d never get her breath again.

He drew her forearm against his lips, sliding it past his rough cheek, holding her eyes the whole time, studying her like some rare and beautiful thing he’d captured.

“I use my elbows,” he whispered, drawing her imperceptibly closer, his voice caressing, seductive. “And I’ve never had a single complaint. Would you like me to prove it?”

Her heart was hammering wildly in her trembling body. She stared at him and couldn’t look away, and she was suddenly afraid.

“Little coward,” he murmured, watching the expressions chase each other in her eyes. “Are you really afraid of me?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m hungry,” she lied.

“For me?” he asked humorously.

She tore her hand out of his grasp and edged back into the corner by the door, glaring at him like some fierce little animal.

“You’re priceless,” he chuckled. “Did you think I was going to make a pass at you in front of Jimson?”

“Jimson is trained not to look,” she reminded him, her voice strangely breathless. “And it’s not kind of you to make fun of me.”

“I can’t help it. You rise to the bait so sweetly.” He cocked his head at her, his eyes watchful. “Haven’t you ever wondered in all these years what kind of lover I’d be?”

She averted her eyes then dropped them. “Yes,” she said finally, because she’d never made a habit of lying to him.

“Well,” he prodded. “What did you think?”

She glanced at him with unfamiliar shyness. “That you’d be heavy,” she grinned.

He laughed softly. “And what else?” he persisted.

She shrugged. “Tender,” she said softly. Her eyes met his across the space. “Patient. A little rough.”

“Not demanding?” he asked quietly, and there were deep undercurrents in the conversation.

“Are you?” she asked involuntarily.

“It depends on the woman,” he replied. “But I can be patient. And tender, when I need to be.”

“How...how do you like a woman to be?” she asked breathlessly.

He stared at her, his eyes darkening, his face hardening with emotion, and there was an electricity between them like nothing Keena had ever experienced.

“The Palace, sir.” Jimson’s pleasant voice interrupted their wordless communication as he stopped the car in front of the exclusive restaurant.

Keena drew in a breath in relief, wondering what had gotten into her to make her ask such an intimate question. It must be my age , she thought wildly, waiting for him to come around and open her door.

“I think we’re going to have to do some talking when I come back from Paris,” he said on the way inside, “I’ve got something in mind that might benefit us both.”

“You want me to design you a wardrobe!” she said with mock enthusiasm. “Something suitably flashy, but elegant, to go with this car. Frankly, I don’t think the job’s for me, but...”

“Damn you!” He burst out laughing in spite of himself. “Come on and feed me before I take a bite out of you!”

It was impossible not to notice as they made short work of filet mignon and lobster, buttery rolls, a salad and rich red wine that he was paying more attention to Keena than he was to the food.

She stopped in the act of lifting a piece of steak to her mouth, staring across the white linen-covered table at him. “Why are you watching me so closely?” she asked with a faint laugh. “Afraid I’m going to try to walk out with the silver?”

“You remind me of a pixie,” he murmured absently. “Mischievous little face, teasing eyes slanted just a bit at the corners, perfect little mouth. You look as if you’re out of place in this setting, and I’ve only just noticed it.”

“I’m twenty-seven,” she reminded him, “and I’d hardly fit under a leaf in somebody’s forest.”

“Twenty-seven,” he echoed quietly. His dark eyes narrowed. “And you barely seem half that to me.”

“It’s because you’re so old,” she told him with mock seriousness. “Entering the golden years, where your bones creak and your eyesight is slowly dimming...”