Sarah Holland - Extreme Provocation

Lucy’s green eyes shone with pride and regret. ‘He was very clever. We all miss him very much.’

He studied her for a moment, then said, ‘And what of you, Miss...?’

‘Winslow,’ she said, green eyes teasing him through her lashes.

‘I wanted your Christian name,’ he murmured, a dark look in his eyes.

‘Lucy,’ she supplied, lifting her chin.

He smiled, said softly, ‘Lucy...’ and then his blue eyes were moving over her body with sexual appraisal, lingering on her full breasts, bare beneath the revealing cream silk gown. ‘It suits you. Especially in that dress. Did you know there were several very famous kings’ courtesans called Lucy?’

Hot colour swept slowly up her throat and then her face. She felt suddenly afraid of him, her body pulsing with alarmed excitement.

As if he sensed her fear, he veiled his eyes and smiled. ‘And what do you do with yourself all day, Lucy? Are you still at school?’

‘No,’ she said tensely, lifting her blonde brows haughtily. ‘I’m twenty-three, as a matter of fact, and I have a job.’

The hard mouth crooked. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’ She felt flustered and under threat. ‘I work at a nursery in Kensington. I look after three-year-olds before they go to prep school.’

‘And how long have you—?’ He broke off as there was a knock at the door. Getting up from the desk, he strode coolly to open it, ushering in a sophisticated brunette in casino evening gown, who placed a tray on the desk, then exited.

When they were alone again, he poured coffee from the silver pot. She watched him through her lashes, aware of the scent of his aftershave as he leant close to her, putting the cups down slowly, then moving back to stand over her, hands sliding into trouser pockets as he watched her with those cynical eyes.

Lucy shifted, unnerved by his gaze.

Suddenly, he sat down beside her, one powerful arm sliding along the couch behind her pale head.

‘I wonder if my father’s ready yet...’ Lucy said, shaken.

‘I doubt it,’ he murmured, his eyes fixed on her mouth. ‘He tends to play till dawn.’

‘I can’t stay here that long...’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly, ‘he’ll come along when he’s ready.’ His hand moved slowly, picking up a strand of her blonde hair. ‘Is it natural? It’s quite the most extraordinary colour.’

‘I think I ought to—’ she began huskily, trying to get up.

He moved swiftly, surely, his left hand on her bare shoulder as he pushed her gently back against the couch, his dark head looming suddenly over her.

‘Not just yet,’ he said, watching her through black lashes, and gave a slow, rather deadly smile. ‘After all...you don’t even know my name.’

She studied him warily, her pulses thudding. ‘And what is your name?’

‘Randal,’ he said, and his strong hand moved slowly to her naked throat.

Panic erupted in her veins. ‘Let me go...’

‘I’m afraid I can’t, my dear,’ he said thickly, suddenly very dangerous indeed as his dark head lowered. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you, and I can assure you you’re not leaving this office until I do...’

His dark head seemed to obliterate the light as it lowered, and she felt hypnotised, staring as her heart banged louder and louder until that ruthless mouth closed over hers.

The hot rush of excitement made her gasp, struggling, and that seemed to inflame him.

Suddenly, his mouth was parting hers with hungry demand, and Lucy moaned in hoarse disbelief, her mouth opening helplessly beneath his. But still she struggled, her hands hitting his powerful shoulders, her body wriggling as she tried to push him away.

Her puny fight inflamed him further. A rough sound of pleasure came from the back of his throat. He was pushing her back against the cushions, his mouth a hot onslaught of commanding power, and as his strong hands began to move over her body she gave a hoarse cry of alarmed excitement.

Her hands slapped and scratched at his face and neck. She was fighting in earnest now, a wildcat unleashed in his powerful arms, and then her nails caught his hard jaw with a livid scratch.

‘You little cat!’ he laughed thickly, jerking his head back from her, but his face was darkly flushed and his blue eyes glittering.

Lucy almost fell off the couch, heart pounding as she grabbed her bag and ran to the door, wrenching it open. He watched her from the couch, his blue eyes narrowed, blood on his hard jaw. He did not attempt to follow her, but there was a hard smile on his mouth, and Lucy was terrified he might.

Running across the casino, she attracted startled looks. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that she had left her white shawl in Randal’s office. She stumbled out of the casino into the warm night air in time to see a taxi discharging passengers on the steps.

‘Astor Square!’ she gasped out to the driver as she leapt in and slammed the door. ‘Hurry.’

The wheels spun, the taxi pulled away, and as it swung around the corner away from Marlborough’s she knew she was safe, though her hands were shaking.

Anger flooded her as she remembered the insolent way he had looked at her, and the ruthless way he had simply taken that kiss from her against her will.

How dared he do that! He had lured her into that office, pretending to be friendly, with the express purpose of kissing her! She could see it all now, from the moment he saw her to the moment he took her into his office, right down to the moment he sank down on the sofa beside her, smiling at her sardonically and looking at her mouth.

Fury sparkled in her green eyes. If she ever saw that man again, she’d slap his hard, handsome face until it stung.

As for her father...a sigh broke from her lips. There was nothing she could do to stop him gambling tonight. He probably wouldn’t be home until the early hours of the morning, and how much money would he have lost by then?

Angrily, she thought of Randal preventing her from going into the baccarat room. If he had allowed her entry, she could have been with her father now, in this taxi, driving safely home. The selfishness of the man made her even more furious. No doubt he had more money than he knew what to do with. Certainly, he wouldn’t understand Lucy’s desperation to save her father from bankruptcy.

The taxi dropped her in Astor Square and she went inside, accustomed to the elegant silence of the house. Although she lay awake until three, she did not hear her father come home, drunk, at dawn.

Next day, she went to work as usual at the kindergarten in the leafy little residential street in Kensington. The children were in high spirits, and she was covered in paint at the end of the day, and needed to wash her face and arms vigorously.

She walked home in the late-afternoon sunlight. Astor Square was one of the more secluded squares in Kensington, with a pretty little green enclosed by railings, and rows of small detached Georgian houses around it. Her family had once owned the whole of one side of it.

Sir Charles Winslow, her grandfather, had been knighted by the Queen for his contribution to British architecture. Before he died, he had invested all his money in property, buying half of this square to safeguard the money he left to his only son, Gerald.

But since his death, ten years ago, the family fortunes had dwindled to almost nothing. Her father had wanted cash to spend, not investments to retain. House after house had been sold off. Now, they only retained number one, the first house on the square, and Lucy knew her father had taken out a mortgage on it last year.

When she got in, she found her father already drinking.

He was a tall, debonair man in his early fifties with pale blonde hair, silvering at the temples. ‘Hello, darling.’ he said with lazy charm when he saw her enter the elegant drawing-room. ‘Edward and I are just having pre-dinner cocktails. Care to join us?’