Sandra Marton - Yesterday And Forever

A flush crept along her skin and she turned her face straight ahead. There’d been nothing proper in her response, either, which was insane. She wasn’t like that—not ever. She liked being with men, laughing with them and talking, going for walks in the park. She liked dancing with them, too, being held next to a warm, hard body, just as she liked being kissed goodnight at an evening’s end. But she had never felt as she had in Daniel Thorpe’s arms, as if her body had suddenly come alive, as if she had been trembling on the brink of some new and miraculous discovery.

She sat up straight and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. It was being light-headed that had done it, and it only proved that she had no choice but to pose for Mueller. Thorpe could buy her a meal out of guilt—she knew that was why he’d made his offer—and then she’d be right back where she’d been before, trapped between a rock and a hard place. Either she posed for Mueller or she starved, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that was no choice at all. She’d just knock on Mueller’s door as if she’d never been there in the first place and say, ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ and then she’d step behind the screen, take off her clothes, and…

God! The prospect was even more terrifying now than it had been earlier. And to think the man beside her believed her capable of—of…

What did a stranger’s opinion of her matter? Let Daniel Thorpe think what he pleased. She had tried to explain, but he wasn’t interested in listening. He had looked at her and seen what he’d wanted to see, not a desperate student who’d learned to survive by living on the cheap, but a woman he’d found half naked in a smelly garret, which in his world meant that she had all the morals of an alley cat.

Not that his attitude was all that unusual. Miranda had run into his sort before, men in New York and even here, in Amsterdam, who assumed you were easy because you moved in a world they saw as ‘exotic’.

‘Us and them,’ Mina had said once, and she was right. There were those who created and appreciated beauty and those who didn’t, and the gulf between them was wide and deep.

‘We’re here.’

She looked up. Thorpe had brought the car to the kerb and parked, but where? She turned and peered out the window, searching for something familiar so she could get her bearings.

‘Let’s go, Miss Stuart.’ She heard the soft ping as he released the automatic door locks. When she didn’t move he reached past her and pushed open her door. ‘I haven’t got all day,’ he said.

She stepped from the car slowly, looking around her with a frown. She knew where they were now—a quiet part of the city she’d walked once or twice, sketch-pad in hand so she could make quick charcoal studies of the Amstel river and the handsome old houses that faced it. It was a lovely place for walking, but not for eating. Miranda knew the location of every cheap cafeteria in the city, and there were certainly no mensas to be found here.

Daniel came up beside her and caught hold of her arm. ‘I didn’t bring you here to gape,’ he said irritably.

‘Where are we going?’ Miranda said as he hustled her along the pavement. ‘I don’t see a restaurant.’

Her words tumbled to silence. She didn’t see one because there was none to see. The building ahead, the one he was hurrying her towards, wasn’t a restaurant at all. It was Amsterdam’s most expensive, and most exclusive, hotel.

‘You bastard!’ Miranda wrenched free of his grasp and swung towards him. ‘Did you really think it would be that easy?’

‘Miss Stuart—’

Her hands went to her hips. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said, her voice twisted with contempt. ‘Was Mueller’s room too tawdry for you?’

His scowl deepened. ‘What in hell are you talking about?’

‘Or did you think I’d fall into your arms at the sight of silk sheets or whatever it is this place has?’

A cool smile curved across his mouth. ‘You have a distorted idea of your charms, Miss Stuart.’ His voice was as chill as his smile. ‘And a very short memory. I told you, I’m not in the habit of buying my women.’

Miranda’s head lifted. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to try explaining why you’ve brought me here.’ She glanced past his shoulder to the elegant building behind him. ‘This is your hotel, isn’t it?’

‘Your powers of detection are truly amazing.’

‘So is my ability to smell a rat.’ She tossed her head—an almost fatal mistake, considering the momentary wave of dizziness that swept over her—and turned sharply on her heel. ‘Goodbye, Mr Thorpe.’

Hard hands grabbed her and twisted her around. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

‘I told you, I’m not going to sell my—’

‘Good. Because I’m not buying.’ She tried digging in her heels as Daniel half dragged her towards the hotel entrance, but he was too strong. Despite her best efforts, she found herself propelled through the door. ‘There’s a restaurant here,’ he said grimly, ‘and that’s where we’re going. I’ll buy you a meal, put you into a taxi, and then—’

A whispered buzz of conversation wafted towards them. Daniel paused in mid-sentence; he looked up at the pair of middle-aged matrons who were watching them with undisguised interest. A slow flush rose under his skin, but his stare was unwavering. The women blanched and looked away, and he turned back towards Miranda.

‘And then,’ he said through his teeth, ‘we’ll never have to lay eyes on each other again. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds fine,’ she said, glaring up at him.

Daniel clasped her elbow and marched her through the elegant lobby, up a short flight of marble steps, and into the kind of place Miranda had only seen in films.

‘Not a silk sheet in sight,’ he whispered maliciously as they stood waiting in the entrance.

Miranda touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. She ached to answer him with some clever remark of her own, but the simple truth was that she was speechless. She hadn’t really thought about the kind of place he’d take her to, but if she had she’d have assumed it would be a cafeteria or a pancake house. Never, not in a million years, would she have thought he’d bring her to a place like this—and, from the look on the face of the tuxedo-clad head waiter mincing towards them, neither would anyone else.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’ The man’s eyes slipped over Miranda, taking in her boots and skirt and the loose tumble of black curls hanging down her back. ‘May I help you with something?’

‘Yes. We’d like a table, please.’

‘Did you have a reservation, sir?’

She felt Daniel’s hand tighten on her arm. ‘No,’ he said pleasantly. His gaze skimmed the half-empty restaurant, then returned to the head waiter. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘Ah.’ The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘In that case—’

‘But I’m quite sure you can seat us,’ Daniel said softly. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Miranda looked up at him. His tone was pleasant and even, but there was a dangerous edge to it. She could see his eyes glinting like shards of ice in his tanned face.

Suddenly the air seemed charged with electricity.

‘Mr Thorpe.’ Miranda cleared her throat. ‘Mr Thorpe,’ she said softly, ‘I know a very nice little coffee shop…’

The pressure of his hand increased. ‘Isn’t that right?’ he said again.

The head waiter swallowed convulsively. ‘Of course, sir. I only meant—I only meant that we could have given you a window table if we’d had some advance knowledge.’ He smiled. ‘But we have a very nice table in the corner—’

Daniel’s arm slipped around Miranda’s waist. She tensed, but his hand settled heavily on her hip, moulding her to his side.