Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal

‘I don’t want any dinner.’

His green, lazy-river eyes heavy-lidded and sensual, he said, ‘Well, if you really don’t want to eat, I can think of something a great deal more exciting to do…’

Wondering frantically if he meant what she thought he meant, she stared up at him.

Softly, he went on, ‘So it will suit me fine if you decide against eating.’

He held out both hands. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

Chapter Six

HER normally low, well-modulated voice shrill, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to touch me. I couldn’t bear it.’

‘The choice is yours.’ He smiled. Seeing her expression change, he sighed. ‘I gather eating’s preferable.’

‘Anything would be preferable,’ she said primly.

‘Sassy, eh?’ Taking her chin, he tilted her face up to his.

Every nerve ending in her body jerked, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.

Watching what little colour she had drain away, he remarked silkily, ‘I’m beginning to think you’re scared of me.’

‘Well, you’re wrong,’ she retorted.

‘You mean you’re not?’

‘No, I’m not,’ she lied. ‘I just can’t bear you to touch me.’

‘So you said. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it…’

The faint hum and beep of a fax machine cut through his words.

‘If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll make sure that’s nothing important.’ He disappeared into the office.

Her legs feeling too weak to support her, she sank down in the nearest chair. As she did so her eyes lit on the phone on the nearby table. Eve had said, ‘Now, don’t forget, if you’re not happy with the situation, let me know straight away.’

If she could put Eve in the picture, it would seem like a lifeline. With a nervous glance towards the office, she hurried across and picked up the receiver.

She was just tapping in the number when a lean, tanned hand reached over her shoulder and depressed the receiver rest. As she caught her breath, he took the receiver from her hand and replaced it.

‘Dear me,’ he said mildly. ‘It seems I can’t take my eyes off you.’

Turning to face him in the confined space, she said as steadily as possible, ‘I promised to ring Eve…’

He studied her face, and she tingled under the scrutiny of those green eyes. ‘There’ll be time for that later.’

‘I’d prefer to do it now,’ she insisted.

‘Our meal will be spoiling…’ He reached out a lazy hand and stroked a fingertip down her cheek. Her body trapped between his and the table, she stood perfectly still, afraid to move.

‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about eating?’ he queried.

‘No, I haven’t changed my mind,’ she said thickly.

He sighed. ‘A pity, but still…’

One hand cupping her bare elbow, he led her to the white-walled, black-beamed dining room, where a candlelit refectory table was set for two.

Several huge logs blazed cheerfully in a Crusader grate, and over the mantel were more garlands of holly and ivy and mistletoe threaded through with gleaming scarlet ribbon.

A thick sheepskin rug lay in front of the stone hearth, and a couch was drawn up before the blaze. Waiting on the coffee-table was a tray with cups and saucers, cream and sugar.

When Madeleine was seated at the table Rafe turned to a massive sideboard, where on a hotplate a glass jug of coffee was bubbling away next to an array of silver dishes.

Removing the covers, he began to fill two plates with roast chicken and vegetables. Then, setting one of them in front of her, he sat down opposite, poured the Chablis and waited pointedly until she picked up her fork and began to eat.

His remark about her having to get used to his touch had sounded very much like a threat and, afraid to ask, she wondered nervously just what he’d meant by it.

‘Worried that you’ll end up in my bed?’ His voice was laced with intent.

Glancing up, she answered with spirit, ‘Not when you have a wife.’

‘I don’t have a wife.’

Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-you said your wife wasn’t here.’

‘Well, as I haven’t got one, she wouldn’t be, would she?’ he countered reasonably.

‘You’re not married?’ She could hardly believe it.

‘No, I’m not married,’ he said patiently.

‘But I thought…’

‘What did you think?’

For a second or two she floundered, then, gathering herself, said, ‘That with a house like this you’d be married and starting a family.’

‘It isn’t mandatory,’ he responded drily.

‘Neither is ending up in your bed.’

He saluted her spirit. ‘But you will.’

‘Is that misplaced confidence, or merely conceit?’

‘Try fate.’ He laughed.