Kathryn Ross - Seduced By The Enemy

‘Thank you for your concern, Tate.’ He obviously thought he could scare her into backing away from the situation. Well, he could think again. Her eyes met his with determination. ‘I’m not going to upset my father…I’m going to help him.’

‘As long as you understand the situation,’ Tate said smoothly.

Oh, she understood, all right. She understood that Tate Ainsley was a scheming, dishonest rat.

Her hands trembled violently now, rage mixing with anxiety as she gathered up the broken crockery with swift disregard for the sharpness of the pieces.

The next moment she had cut her wrist on a jagged bit of crockery as she leaned across it. Bright red blood spilled onto the sugar, and she groaned in annoyance at such a stupid accident.

‘Obviously you’re not as good at picking up the pieces as you thought,’ Tate grated sardonically.

She glared at him, her eyes bright with dislike.

‘Here.’ Before she could pull away or say anything he grabbed hold of her hand and led her over to the sink, to plunge her wrist under some running water.

The sensation of the cool water running over the cut was soothing, but Tate’s hold on her arm was anything but reassuring. His closeness was totally unnerving.

‘I’m fine now, thank you,’ she said briskly, annoyed with herself for being so clumsy and so stupid. ‘You can let go of me.’

‘I think you need a plaster.’ Tate completely ignored her words. ‘Does Mary keep a first-aid kit in here?’

‘There used to be a box in the far cupboard,’ she said with a shrug.

He released her and went to investigate. ‘Looks like some things don’t change,’ he said as he came back with some plasters and antiseptic. ‘Mary always was the organised type. I could do with her at the castle.’

‘I suppose you could. You seem to be intent on taking just about everything else here.’ The bitter accusation spilled out before she could even think about it.

One dark eyebrow lifted at that statement, but he didn’t look ruffled by it. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said calmly. ‘I have Lawrence’s horses, some of his land…’ He let his voice trail off, and his eyes slid over Helena with cool contemplation, from her long bare legs to the malachite colour of her eyes. ‘But forget Mary,’ he drawled huskily, ‘I think I’d prefer someone with longer legs…someone who looks good in a tennis skirt.’

The sheer audacity of that statement took her breath away. Her cheeks flared with furious colour. The man had nerve, she had to grant him that. Not only was he admitting to taking the Beaumont estate to pieces, bit by broken bit, but he was making a joke of it by luridly intimating that he would like to take her as well…

‘I like seeing you speechless.’ Tate grinned as he caught hold of her arm and took it out from under the water. ‘I shouldn’t enjoy it quite as much as I do, but I have to say there’s just something about the way your skin flushes up, and your sexy lips pout, and your eyes glimmer such a beautiful shade of dark green that makes it incredible fun to wind you up.’ As he was speaking he placed some cotton wool soaked with antiseptic firmly over the wound on her wrist.

She gasped, but it was more from the effrontery of his words than the stinging antiseptic.

‘You have a barefaced nerve, Tate Ainsley,’ she muttered between clenched teeth as he put even more antiseptic on her arm, so that it throbbed violently. ‘And let me tell you that I wouldn’t be interested in you if you were the only man left in Barbados.’

‘Why’s that?’ he asked with lazy indifference. ‘Don’t I come up to Cass’s high standards?’

She ignored that remark, and the unpleasant feeling it stirred up. ‘Because you are a conceited, arrogant type and—’

‘I think your father feels I might be good for you.’ He cut across her, unperturbed.

‘Yes, well…in my opinion my father doesn’t seem to be thinking very clearly when it comes to you.’

He slanted a wry glance down at her. ‘Interesting comment. Care to enlarge on it?’

‘Well, for one I didn’t like the way Pop just signed that document of yours without so much as reading over it,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s just a recipe for disaster.’

‘Your father knew what was in that document,’ Tate said simply as he took out a plaster and stuck it very firmly over her skin.

‘Even so, he could have read it again,’ she said firmly.

‘Perhaps Lawrence just trusts me?’ Tate lifted one eyebrow enquiringly. ‘Which seems to be more than can be said of his daughter.’

She carefully avoided answering that. She would have to be very sure of her facts before she could accuse him outright. Instead she went on briskly, ‘It’s nothing personal, Tate, but as a financial adviser I have seen people come to grief by signing things they either don’t read or don’t understand.’

‘Well, Lawrence is neither illiterate or stupid,’ Tate said drily.

Was he justifying himself? Helena wondered in that instant. Was he saying that if Lawrence lost out in these deals it was just his own fault?

‘Neither were the people I’m referring to,’ she told him crossly. ‘Just trusting.’

‘Well, you have no need to worry about Lawrence.’ Tate’s voice was dismissive and offhand. ‘He’s my sister’s husband—I’m hardly going to rip him off.’

‘I’m afraid avarice is no respecter of family ties…especially the delicate ties of marriage.’

For a moment he stared at her, a strange expression on the lean, handsome features, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had just gone too far. ‘If you’re trying to insinuate—’

‘I’m not trying to insinuate anything,’ she cut across him hastily, a trickle of apprehension curling down her spine at the note of warning in his voice. Tate was not the type of person you threw wild accusations at—she realised that very clearly. She was going to have to tread very warily with him. ‘I’m just concerned that my father has relaxed his high standards m his business dealings. Paul says he has made a lot of mistakes lately.’

‘I’m afraid Paul is a bit of a lame dog where helping your father is concerned,’ Tate said, his manner scathing.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She spluttered the words indignantly. How dared he speak about her brother in those terms?

‘You heard.’ Tate wasn’t even slightly bothered by the look of burning resentment on her face. ‘How’s the wrist now?’ he continued casually. ‘Does it feel better?’

‘No, I do not feel better.’ She deliberately misunderstood him. ‘In fact, I feel downright distressed that you could talk like that about my brother.’

‘It’s easy, believe me.’ He pulled out a kitchen chair for her with a rapid movement that made her jump. ‘And if you’re feeling so overcome with distress perhaps you had better sit down while I clear away this mess of yours.’ He turned his attention to the rest of the broken china on the floor. ‘I daren’t leave you to it—you might amputate your arm.’

‘Ha ha!’ She rasped the words abrasively.

She made no attempt to sit down, but stood watching him with a feeling of helplessness. Something about Tate was totally unnerving: he made her feel at a loss as to what to do with herself, never mind what to say to him.

He worked efficiently, clearing up the sugar and carefully wrapping the broken pieces of crockery before depositing them in the bin.

Her eyes darted to the table, where he had placed the orange-coloured file that he had brought with him. Presumably her father had signed whatever it was he had wanted him to sign. So why hadn’t Tate left for his next meeting instead of wasting his time in here? Her lips twisted in annoyance. There was an ulterior motive, of course. A man like Tate Ainsley didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him.