Freedom To Love

‘Oh yes,’ her eyes glowed. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ he dismissed. ‘Your name wouldn’t happen to be Rose?’

She shook her head. ‘Katy—Katy Harris.’

‘Shame. Rose suits you so much better.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t consider it prickly just because I don’t like your taunting behaviour.’

‘Was I taunting you?’ He sounded amused again.

‘You know you were.’

‘Maybe.’ He frowned. ‘Where’s your boy-friend?’

She flushed. ‘I don’t have one,’ she told him resentfully.

‘No? So it’s just a cosy little threesome, is it?’

‘I don’t like your implication,’ Katy snapped. ‘Gemma and Gerald are engaged to be married. It was very kind of them to invite me on this holiday with them.’ She knew that kindness hadn’t entered into it, but she wasn’t about to tell this man that.

‘Gemma and Gerald!’ he taunted mockingly. ‘How nice.’

‘God, you’re sarcastic!’ She turned her back on him, hearing his throaty chuckle behind her.

What an unpleasant creature he was! But how dangerously attractive, with that wicked gleam of amusement in his blue eyes, albeit cruel amusement.

‘You lucky devil,’ Gemma told her in a fierce whisper. ‘Gerald and I have just realised who you’re sitting next to,’ she explained at Katy’s puzzled look. ‘Well, Gerald realised it first,’ she grudgingly admitted.

‘Well?’ Katy asked patiently.

‘He’s Adam Wild!’ Gemma announced triumphantly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Katy instantly dismissed the idea. ‘He would be in the first class, not back here with the rabble.’ Adam Wild was the top photographer in England, usually specialising in photographs of beautiful women, both clothed and unclothed. He was also rich enough not to have to travel in economy class.

Gemma scowled. ‘Maybe there weren’t any first class seats left. Anyway, you were talking to him for some time just now, didn’t he tell you his name?’

‘It wasn’t that sort of conversation.’

Her sister sighed. ‘Trust you to miss an opportunity like that! Well, if he talks to you again find out if we’re right.’

‘I don’t intend talking to him again. I don’t like him.’

Gemma gave her a pitying look before turning away, and Katy knew she had gone down even further in her sister’s estimation. But surely this man couldn’t be Adam Wild? He was dressed so casually, for one thing, and as she had pointed out to Gemma, he was hardly likely to be sitting here.

Minutes later the air hostess came round with their afternoon tea, and Katy gratefully accepted the refreshing cup of tea that went with the light fare. She almost dropped her cup as she heard the girl call the man at her side ‘Mr Wild’, and as it was she spilt some of the hot liquid over her denims. It was him—Adam Wild!

She looked at him with new eyes, seeing the lines of dissipation and cynicism beside his nose and mouth, the worldly air that encircled him despite his casual clothing. God, no wonder he had coldly dismissed her; she was passably attractive, but the women he photographed were beautiful and sophisticated.

‘It’s soaking into your denims,’ he turned to her to remark patiently.

‘I—I beg your pardon?’ Katy jumped nervously as he spoke.

‘Your tea—you’re spilling it all over you.’ He took her cup out of her unresisting fingers and began mopping her up with his paper napkin. ‘Couldn’t you feel it dripping down on you?’ he asked, as if she were a particularly stupid child.

‘I—er——’ She licked her lips nervously, completely overwhelmed as he touched the inside of her thigh, purely to mop up the liquid, of course. ‘Yes,’ she nodded vigorously.

He shook his head. ‘Then why the hell didn’t you stop doing it?’

‘I—I—You see, Mr Wild, I——’

‘Ah,’ he nodded understanding, ‘you know who I am.’

‘I heard the air hostess,’ she confirmed, wishing he would stop touching her like that.

‘And you would like to take your clothes off for me.’ He finally sat back, discarding the tissue paper with a certain amount of disgust.

‘Certainly not!’ Katy gasped.

He studied her critically for several minutes. ‘You’ll never make it on the face alone. The bone structure is good, but it isn’t enough on its own. The clothes would have to come off. I’m sure that under that loose shirt and denims there’s a beautiful body just waiting to show itself.’

‘And I’m sure there’s no such thing!’ she told him indignantly, the totally assessing look in his eyes making her feel like wrapping her arms protectively about herself. ‘I’m not taking my clothes off for you or any other man!’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not? Because—well, because I—I don’t even know you!’

Once again he seemed amused by her. ‘What difference does that make? I think you could be very photogenic. Are your eyes really grey or is it my imagination?’

‘They’re grey,’ she snapped confirmation.

‘A lovely smoky grey. And hair the colour of toffee.’

‘Caramel!’ Katy corrected crossly.

He shrugged. ‘Okay, caramel. And there’s a beautiful body under all those clothes, right?’

‘Mind your own business!’

‘Beautiful bodies, female ones, are my business.’ He pulled a card out of his denim shirt pocket and handed it to her. ‘When you get back to London give me a call and we’ll try some practice sesssions.’

‘Practising for what?’ she asked spitefully.

His mouth hardened, his eyes glacial. ‘I’m thirty-six years old, give me sense enough not to chase after schoolgirls!’

‘I’m not a schoolgirl. I’m eighteen.’

‘Wow!’ he taunted sarcastically, picking up the card she had put on the arm of his seat and bending forward to put the card down the open vee of her shirt, leaving it nestling between her breasts. ‘If the rest of you looks as good as they feel,’ he removed his hand, ‘then I think I may be able to put some work your way.’