If she were asked to describe him in a single sentence, she would have failed miserably. Everything about this man was perfect. He was tall, and large. Though there wasn’t an inch of excess weight on him, he was big: pure muscle and strength. His skin was tanned — she could see it in the Vee exposed by his shirt and the backs of his hands. Large, capable hands that spoke of a viral physique.
Yes, his body was a thing of perfection, but beyond that his face was the work of a true master. From his square jaw to dimpled cheeks, to eyes that seemed to speak to her even though he said nothing, he was handsome, stunning, gorgeous and most definitely trouble with a capital T.
His eyes were perfect. Dark and light; silent but curious. Kate’s throat was dry. Her heart was poundingboom boom boominside her chest. Her fingers shook as she brushed her blonde hair from her cheek.
“Hello.” She spoke softly, her accent cultured by her upbringing and the Australian nanny who’d basically raised her.
“Kate Jones,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
She nodded, thinking how much better it suited her than the Katherine Beauchamp she’d been christened and lived as for the first nineteen years of her life.
He was to die for. Stunning. It unnerved her; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more anxious. And yet she had years of experience at feeling out of her depth. She blinked up at him, her expression giving nothing away of her inner-turmoil. “And you are?” It came out with more hauteur than she’d intended.
“Benedetto Arnaud.” He studied her face carefully, examining her for any hint of comprehension. There was none and that fact both bothered and pleased him in equal measure. She apparently knew nothing of his connection to her, which meant his plan to use her to his advantage would succeed. And yet it felt wrong that her father had ruined a perfectly good man’s life and never suffered for it.
Well, that was about to change.
“Your bid was exceptionally generous, Mr. Arnaud.” Her words were cold. She was cold. He wondered what it would take to break through that ice-like barrier and make her scream with pleasure. To send color into her cheeks and passion into those hateful eyes.
“It served its purpose,” he shrugged, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handing it to her. Kate sipped it gratefully. Her heart was pounding like a trapped bird. She needed something to soften her nerves.
“Did it? And what was that?” Her lips had left a perfect red impression on the edge of the glass. His eyes were drawn to it and he felt an answering kick of anticipation in his gut. Would she leave marks like that on his body?
“It got your attention, didn’t it?”
Her eyes, already enormous in her pretty face, flew wide at the statement.
“Oh.” She swallowed and pursed those cupid’s bow lips together in what he could presume was disapproval. It amused him. She was so proper — he ached to unsettle her. And he would. He knew it was simply a matter of time and gamesmanship before she was his. “And why would you want my attention?”
His smile was a whisper of promise. “Why do you think?”
When she frowned a tiny line formed between her brows.
“Finish your champagne.”
Her frown deepened. “Why?”
“Because I told you to.”
Her mouth dropped open at the presumptuous command. “So?”
He leaned forward, so that his mouth was almost touching her ear. His breath was a warm caress. “Finish your champagne so that we may dance.”
“Dance?” She stepped backwards, her whole body instantly electrified by his proximity.
He nodded sardonically. “You know, that thing people do at events like this?” He nodded towards the floor and, sure enough, it was filled with couples.
“Why would I dance with you?” She asked, her tone increasingly standoffish with each moment that passed.
“Because you want to,” he returned without a beat of hesitation. “And because Ihave just paid two hundred thousand pounds for the pleasure of your company and you feel a sense of obligation.”
“I …” her lips pouted in consternation. “I do,” she agreed slowly. “But I shouldn’t. You chose to bid on me. That was up to you. If you’re having second thoughts …”
“I don’t have second thoughts,” he interrupted smoothly. He reached for the champagne flute and lifted it to her lips. “And you will learn to enjoy doing as I say,” he promised darkly, tilting the champagne so that she had only two options. She could have yanked her head away, but to do so would have caused a scene. Or she could have opened her red lips and finished the rest of the fine alcohol.
She chose the latter. Kate had never enjoyed drawing attention to herself and the champagne was becoming a necessary crutch to deal with the strange feelings that were bursting through her.
It bubbled and fizzed the whole way down. Her eyes stayed on his face, and she saw satisfaction at her acquiescence written there.
