Sarah Holland - Extreme Provocation

‘Will you please stop following me?’ Lucy said tightly.

‘You’d be disappointed if I did,’ he drawled.

‘Let’s put that to the test,’ she said flatly, glaring at him through her lashes. ‘Walk away in any direction, and see how long it takes for me to start wailing with disappointment.’

He laughed, then his eyes narrowed shrewdly and he drawled, ‘You came to the casino to try and stop your father gambling, didn’t you?’

The sudden change of conversation threw her. Shock flared in her green eyes. She didn’t reply, but her step faltered, she bent her head and felt her face run with hot colour.

‘He was in the casino every night this week,’ Randal said lightly, watching her bent head with calculation.

‘He enjoys gambling,’ she said coolly, lifting her head to signify her indifference, which of course she did not truly feel. But she didn’t want him to know how worried she was by her father’s drinking and gambling.

‘But you don’t?’

She shrugged lightly. ‘It’s hardly my sort of thing.’

‘A pity,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I hoped you’d turn up again. Don’t tell me I frightened you off forever?’

‘You’d frighten anybody,’ she said, throwing him a haughty look.

‘Would I, now?’ he murmured, watching her with a wicked smile.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t like the way he’d said that. Desperate to get rid of him, she turned, then walked quickly into a department store. Randal followed her. Scent assailed them from the brightly lit counters.

‘Shopping for make-up?’ he drawled beside her. ‘You don’t need it. You have a beautiful face and perfect skin.’

‘How poetic,’ she said sarcastically.

‘When I first saw you, I noticed you weren’t wearing make-up. It seemed incongruous in the casino. But you don’t need it with those eyes, do you? They’re like green fire—’

‘I do wish you’d go away,’ she snapped.

‘I can’t help myself,’ he drawled, smiling sardonically. ‘You fascinate me.’

‘Well, you don’t have the same effect on me.’ She stopped by a perfume counter, turning to glare at him. ‘Or hasn’t that occurred to you?’

He looked down at her, unsmiling. ‘Oh, yes. But it doesn’t deter me.’

‘Perhaps a kick in the shins would work better?’

‘You really are a tempestuous little creature, aren’t you?’ he murmured. ‘It’s funny. I’ve always had two types of women. Can never decide which I prefer.’ He looked her up and down slowly, drawling, ‘Virginal blondes or tempestuous whores.’

She caught her breath at his insolence.

‘I always dreamed of meeting a woman who was both,’ he said softly. ‘And I did the night you walked into the casino. You’re an exciting combination of madonna and whore. I’m afraid I can’t be stopped. I must have you.’

For a long moment, she just stood there, breathless and afraid, staring up into his ruthless face. What he had said was unacceptable. She was so shocked that she couldn’t summon the anger to slap his insolent face because she simply had never been spoken to like this in her life, and the worst part was—she believed he meant every word he said.

‘Let me buy this scent for you,’ he drawled suddenly, picking up an expensive test bottle. ‘It’s my favourite. I’m sure it will suit you.’

Raising the bottle, he softly pushed a swath of her blonde hair back, his long cool fingers touching her naked throat, hearing her catch her breath as excitement shivered through her.

‘I must find your pulse, my dear,’ he murmured, and slid his long fingers down until they encountered the hot throbbing beneath her white skin. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Unmistakable—’

‘Take your hands off me,’ she whispered, rooted to the spot, almost hypnotised by him.

He just smiled, and then she felt the cool spray of scent on her throat. It felt so intimate, so erotic. ‘I’ll have to find all your pulses,’ he said under his breath, unsmiling. ‘One by one. The heat brings out the scent. Did you know that?’ His hands slid to her wrists, lifted them both. He studied the blue veins, feeling the rapid thud at his touch. He sprayed each wrist. His blue eyes flicked to meet hers compellingly. ‘When you’re my mistress,’ he said softly, ‘I shall put scent on your body every night.’ His dark head bent closer to her. ‘At your throat...your ankles—’

Lucy broke away from him in a sudden fury. ‘How dare you say such things to me? How dare you?’ She was so angry she was shaking from head to foot, her pulses throbbing wildly. ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I shall scream, and then a store detective will come over and—’

‘Let me buy you this perfume,’ he cut in, unconcerned by her threat.

‘No!’ she snapped, rage in her green eyes. ‘I loathe it! It will always remind me of you!’

‘In that case,’ he drawled, ‘I shall buy you a very large bottle of it. You must keep it in your bedroom. Put it on before you go to bed. Then you’ll always think of me as you undress.’

‘Oh!’ Anger burning her cheeks scarlet, Lucy turned on her heel and stormed away from him, unable to fight him verbally, aware that her only defence was just to walk away. She expected him to follow her.

Incredibly, he did not. As she stormed out of the department store, the scent clinging to her, she was still shaking with rage. How dared he do that to her in a public place! Touch her throat like that, spray this beastly scent on her pulses. As for telling her point-blank that he wanted her to become his mistress...!

She wished she had slapped his face. Unfortunately, her horror of public scenes was too great. Still, she thought as she shopped alone for the next hour, he had obviously got the message in the end, because he didn’t show up again, and she was glad of that.

When she got home, her father was up, drinking black coffee and relaxing in the drawing-room in an armchair, his white shirt open at the neck and his grey trousers expensive.

‘Morning, darling,’ he said lightly as she came in. ‘Have you been out shopping?’

‘We needed some food for the weekend.’ She bent to kiss his unshaven jaw, the pale stubble rough against her soft skin. ‘I got some essentials, and something special for dinner tonight.’

‘You are a sweetie.’ He smiled lovingly at her. ‘By the way—a package came for you. It’s over there, on the coffee-table.’

Lucy glanced at the antique table, frowning. ‘For me?’ She picked up the square gift-wrapped box, tensing as she saw the bold black handwriting on it.

‘A boy delivered it,’ said her father. ‘About an hour ago.’

Opening the package, she saw the gold writing embossed on white and trembled with rage as the large box of French perfume was exposed. How dared he! How dared he!

‘Something wrong?’ Her father was watching her face.

With an effort, she controlled herself. ‘No...nothing at all.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ll just go and make myself some lunch.’

Going upstairs, she stormed into her bedroom, through to the connecting bathroom, and ripped open the box, unscrewed the vast bottle of scent and poured it all down the sink.

Waves of delicious scent engulfed her. Expensive, sexy, classy, fresh...it permeated the bathroom, drifted inexorably into the bedroom, clung to the cream carpet, the floor-length beige curtains, the cream-gold bed...

For the rest of the day, her bedroom was an emporium of scent.

And Randal’s arrogant, mocking smile filled her mind every time she set foot into her room. By nightfall, the whole of the upstairs of the house reminded her of those moments this afternoon and the dreadful, wicked, shamefully exciting things he had said.