Red-Hot Seduction: The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe / A Taste of Sin / Driving Her Crazy
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As she walked along the hospital corridors Mari struggled to think past the awful sense of helplessness. She couldn’t get the image of the silent reproach in her brother’s eyes out of her head and it left her with a sick sense of helplessness that was crushing.
The doctor had caught Mari before she left the ward. She had really struggled to respond positively when he’d pronounced himself cautiously optimistic about her brother’s prognosis; he’d gone on to emphasise how important a positive mental attitude was in these cases and how easy it was for patients to become depressed.
Outside she took several deep gulps of fresh air. Mark was right: she could go home but he couldn’t.
As much as she loved her twin she was perfectly aware that his impatience meant he always went for the quick fix. Their foster parents used to tell him there was no magic pill that cut out the hard work, but now he was convinced there was a magic pill. A carrot had been dangled and he couldn’t have it, but while he knew it was there he’d never settle for hard slog.
Lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the drizzle that had begun to fall as she cut across the bay reserved for ambulances, and then across a half-empty area with reserved parking spaces, people who were too important to make the long trek to the overflow parking area for the hospitals.
‘So how was your brother?’
Mari let out a shriek as the tall figure vaulted from a low-slung car that had power statement written all over it.
Had he been waiting for her? It didn’t matter—she had a chance to tell him what she thought of him.
‘Are you some sort of sadist?’
The sight of her walking out of the building had shaken loose an emotion that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Her body language had been so defeated, her slender shoulders so hunched she had looked as though it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other.
The contrast now as she stared up at him, blue eyes blazing, bosom heaving, her sensational, soft, full lips quivering with emotion as she launched into attack mode, was dramatic.
Seb was a man who valued control and moderation but she really was made for full-blown passionate excess... She was stunning, but then so was a hurricane, and he had never felt the desire to chase one or throw himself blindly into its path. Encounters with hurricanes needed to be carefully planned.
‘I like that in you—you waste no time on pleasantries. You get right to the point. I’m the same way myself,’ he drawled. ‘It saves so much time.’ He held open the door of his car, revealing the plush leather-clad interior. ‘Do you want to sit down and catch your breath?’
‘You don’t make me breathless!’ Exasperated that her response had managed to imply the exact opposite, she gritted her teeth.
‘Really?’
She stuck out her chin and stubbornly held his eyes. ‘Yes, really.’
‘I must be losing my touch.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. You seem to be on top form,’ she sneered angrily. ‘Presumably seeing my brother in a hospital bed wasn’t good or rather bad enough for you? No, you have to raise his hopes and leave me to crush them,’ she choked, fighting back a sudden sob and finishing on a shaky quiver of husky despair. ‘I’m sick of being the bad guy.’
Catching the thoughtful expression in his watchful dark eyes, she immediately regretted the bitter addition, and you couldn’t really compare this situation with all the little things like telling Mark he couldn’t ask their foster parents for the expensive trainers he wanted when they were kids.
‘Then why do you let him do it?’
Thrown off balance by the soft question, she stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Why do you let your brother play you like...? Whichever way you look at it, it isn’t healthy—a grown man letting his sister fight his battles.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s emasculating, not to mention manipulative.’
The casually voiced observation whipped angry colour into her cheeks. ‘Are you calling me manipulative?’ she asked in a low, dangerous voice.
‘No, I’m calling your brother manipulative.’
Immediately defensive, Mari lifted her chin. ‘My brother didn’t...doesn’t know about me crashing your wedding.’ She bit her lip and added with a husky question mark, ‘I’d like it to stay that way?’
This was not news to Seb, who considered himself a pretty good judge and had recognised the shallow insincerity behind Mark’s smile the moment they had met. If the brother had known he had no doubt the younger man would have immediately tried to distance himself from his sister’s actions.
‘So you’re asking a favour from me...?’
She shrugged and said in a flat little voice, ‘Stupid idea.’
Experiencing an inexplicable impulse to live down to her expectations of him, he almost asked, ‘What’s it worth?’
Instead he found himself extending his hand.
Not in the plan, Seb, said the voice in his head.
Mari drew a tense breath but didn’t step back. She couldn’t—her feet were nailed to the floor. She stood there quivering as he touched her cheek, only lightly with his forefinger, but there was an element of compulsion about the way he drew a line down the soft downy curve of her cheek, his eyes following the action—then he repeated it.
‘You think I put a price on everything?’
Hot desire pulsed through her body. Her response to the casual intimacy was frightening, exciting and humiliating all at once. It was so tiring fighting, not just him but the way he made her feel. For a split second she let herself wonder what it would be like to stop fighting.
‘Don’t you?’ she asked, her reaction as his hand fell away ambivalent at best.
‘I won’t tell your brother about your wedding-crashing exploits.’
‘Thank you.’ Her relief was heartfelt, but her worried frown lingered. He said that now, but what if he changed his mind?
‘Don’t worry, I’m considered a man of my word.’ He saw her eyes widen in alarm and gave a low chuckle. ‘You really should never ever play poker.’ Unless it was not for money and with him, he thought, warming quite literally to the idea of a slow striptease.
‘I know Mark is bound to find out sometime,’ she admitted. ‘But it would be easier later. He’s not even speaking to me right now.’
‘You know, if you’re not careful you’ll spend your life—’ He shook his head and finished abruptly. ‘No, correction, you won’t have a life of your own.’ The thought made him angry.
Confused by the strength of the disapproval she could feel coming off him in waves, she arched an interrogative brow. ‘And you care why exactly?’
A startled look chased across his lean face. ‘I don’t,’ he denied, and shrugged. ‘For all I know you enjoy it. Maybe it’s symbiotic.’ Displaying his white teeth in a smile that didn’t reach his deep-set eyes, he leaned in and flicked her cheek with his finger. This time there was nothing seductive about the gesture. ‘Slice Mari Jones and you’ll find martyr running all the way through.’
She turned her chin away, hating his sneering suggestion and the way her body was betraying her by reacting to the sensual aura he projected.
‘Slice Sebastian Rey-Defoe and you’ll find sadistic bastard all the way through?’ she countered angrily. ‘You knew when you gave Mark the details of that place that we don’t have the sort of money that it costs—you expect me to believe you did that out of the goodness of your heart?’
Was his cruelty casual or calculated? Mari couldn’t decide which was worse.
‘I’ll pay for the treatment.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HOPE FLARED BUT was immediately swallowed up by a depressing wave of realism. He was no fairy godmother. It would be hard to think of a less appropriate analogy, even if he had been oozing the milk of human kindness instead of a headache-inducing level of testosterone.
‘And afterwards,’ he continued, ‘I will fund any physical therapy and aftercare.’
When things sounded too good to be true there was often a very good reason.
‘Why?’
She was unable to stop herself—her hostile gaze slid up the impeccably tailored length of him, but she knew during the journey over dark grey suit, white shirt and narrow burgundy tie that it wasn’t hostility that made her stomach muscles tighten and quiver, which was stupid because she had never gone for the ‘groomed to within an inch of his life’ look. It always suggested a vanity that she didn’t find attractive. And he was so groomed he could have stepped right out of one of those glossy ads, the sort that suggested that if you bought the car, the fragrance, the shampoo, you, too, could look like this.
Only you wouldn’t. There might be a few pale imitations but Sebastian was definitely a one-off, and in her opinion one too many. All the same, to look at him was... She just stopped herself sighing; the light flush along the high, smooth curve of her cheekbones she could not control... He would have been easier to tolerate had there been a single thing to criticise. Physical perfection when it came with a massive sense of superiority was not attractive.
Tell that to your hormones, Mari.
The suggestion of a smile touched his expressive lips as he studied her face. ‘Don’t worry, there are no strings.’
She lifted a hand to brush away the heavy strand of dark red hair that a gust of wind had plastered across her face, the same gust that ruffled his close-cropped dark hair up into attractive spikes.
‘I wouldn’t accept charity from you if my life depended on it!’ she told him in a clear, confident voice.
His brows lifted. ‘You can pay lip service to your pride if you want, but it’s not your life we are talking about, is it?’
She flushed at the quiet reprimand. ‘We have a more than adequate health service.’
It was irrational to be irritated by her attitude considering his entire plan rested on her stubborn pride.
‘True, but it is also overstretched. Taking your brother out of that system would free up a bed and cash to allow another person to be treated.’
‘One who doesn’t have a charitable benefactor? Thanks but no, thanks.’ She shook her head and looked at him coldly. ‘We pay our way and we don’t accept charity.’
‘Then don’t call it charity, or are you willing to put your pride ahead of your brother’s well-being?’ And now who is being manipulative, Seb?
Close on her brother’s accusation his comment really stung. Mari swallowed, suddenly struggling to force the words past the aching occlusion in her throat. She wouldn’t cry, not now, not in front of this man.
‘Call it a loan.’
Mari’s hope flared and died; she had seen the figures in the glossy brochure. ‘We would never be able to pay it back.’ But could she really sit back and watch her brother struggle back to health when she could have made it so much easier?
He angled a dark brow. ‘I got the impression that your brother has an entirely more pragmatic attitude than you...towards charity? I could have been wrong...?’
He wasn’t, damn him. If she refused this offer Mark would never forgive her, and if she took it she would never be able to live with herself.
It was a lose-lose situation.
‘Why didn’t you just make this offer to him? Why did you have to bring me into it at all?’
‘I wanted to see if you are as stubborn and proud as I thought you were—you are.’
‘So this is some sort of twisted test? Presumably I failed so now you punish both of—’
His voice was gravelled with irritation as he cut across her. ‘I have no desire for revenge on your brother, and unlike you I don’t think collateral damage is legitimate.’ He allowed her guilty flush to develop before finishing softly, ‘If I want to punish you I will.’
Looking into the mirrored surface of his dark eyes, Mari had no problem believing him.
‘So you’re saying that you do want revenge on me.’ She held a tight grip on her bravado and fought off the effects of the apprehensive shiver that slid its clammy way down her spine. It would take a very dim person not to realise being the target of this man’s revenge would not be comfortable.
‘If I did I’d be stupid to warn you, wouldn’t I?’
Or very clever. All manner of convoluted double bluffs ran through her mind until she felt not just apprehensive but dizzy!
The rain had begun to fall in earnest. In moments the face turned up to him was wet, a perfect classic oval. The moisture glistening on her pale skin highlighted the freckles across the bridge of her small straight nose and the bluish smudges under her beautiful accusing eyes. She looked delicate, sexy and vulnerable.
The sharp, strong stab of something that came perilously close to tenderness was mitigated by an equally strong slug of more familiar lust that pierced him as his gaze fastened on her shirt, where the buttons were straining against her heaving breasts. The rain that was falling heavier now had drenched the fabric, and he could see the scalloped edge of her bra against her breasts.
She really did have an incredible body, he thought, aiming for objectivity as his appreciative gaze slid over her feminine silhouette. Not hourglass—although her waist was tiny, the flare of her hips was less extravagant and her firm high bottom was taut rather than full, making her long-legged frame athletic rather than overtly lush.
And very, very sexy.
His analysis fell way short of objective. He found her body as provocative as her confrontational attitude. The combination was... He struggled to find the right word. Stimulating was a reasonable approximation and one that a man who liked boundaries, who needed control, could live with.
It was ridiculous that he was allowing himself to be distracted by sex like some hormone-laden teenager, when there were much more important issues at stake. For a time over the weekend it had seemed as if the royal deal was dead in the water; it still might be if this went the wrong way.
‘We need to move on.’
‘Where?’
His expressive lips twisted in irritation. ‘Let’s consider the matter closed. I have made contact with the clinic and it is all settled. Your brother is being transferred tomorrow and there is no reason he should know who is footing the bill if that is the way you want it.’
Presented with this fait accompli, Mari shook her head in disbelief, the only response she felt capable of giving. The tension that had sprung up seemingly from nowhere hung heavy in the damp air, and breathing had become something that required conscious effort. It was, she thought guiltily, a sad commentary on her as a sister that she remained so vulnerable to the sexual charge that this man emanated. He didn’t even have to try... What would happen if he did try?
She pushed the question away, unwilling and unable to deal with the distraction or for that matter the answer it might produce.
The silence that built seemed to have a life of its own and a heartbeat that she could feel pulsing. Her fingers plucked fretfully at the knot of bright fabric at the base of her throat until she blurted with more force than she intended, ‘I don’t want you in our life!’
Well, that came from the heart, he thought, directing a slow, sardonic, mirthless smile her way. ‘You should have thought of that before you put yourself in mine.’
She shivered. It was a comment she felt in whole-hearted agreement with; she was living with the consequences of her own actions. The knowledge did not make it easier.
‘Why would you help my brother if you don’t think you’re responsible? You expect me to believe that you’re some sort of altruistic saint?’
His rebuttal was immediate. ‘My offer is not inspired by guilt.’ Not his guilt, but his tender-hearted sister was showing a tendency to beat herself up about things, and if her ex-boyfriend ended up in a wheelchair that situation would not improve. He would do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.
Mari remained suspicious of this very expensively packaged gift horse. Though in the equine world, of course, he would be a thoroughbred, sleek and muscled— With a tiny shake of her head she closed down the thought. ‘So what do I have to do? What’s the catch?’
‘There is no catch, no strings. As I said, I have already spoken to the clinic and your brother will be transferred tomorrow once the paperwork is done. My lawyer will send you the details of an account I have set up in your name for the purpose. I think the funds are adequate, but if there is not enough you simply have to let him know. As I said, it is up to you what you tell your brother. If you’d prefer he remains in ignorance from where the money is coming that is no problem.’
‘I will know!’ Mari always paid her debts—how was she going to pay this one? Submerged by a massive wave of sheer helplessness, she lifted her face to the leaden sky, letting the rain wash over her face.
Seb dragged a hand through his drenched hair and gave a grunt of irritation; the rain was now drumming on the roof of the car.
‘This is ridiculous.’ He wrenched open the car passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side, yelling over to the slim figure who had made no effort to take advantage of the shelter, ‘Personally I’ve nothing against the wet-shirt look, but...’
She glanced down and let out a horrified gasp.
A moment after he had slammed the door she slid into the passenger seat and sat there staring straight ahead, her arms folded across her chest.
A grin split the severity of his lean features. ‘Very modest, but you see a hell of a lot more on a beach.’
She lowered her hands defiantly. ‘I’m not embarrassed,’ she lied. ‘I’m cold.’
He let his eyes drop. ‘I’d noticed.’
Longing to slap the lopsided grin off his too-handsome face, she balled her hands into fists. ‘Smutty schoolboy innuendo. I’d sort of expected something a bit more...’
The grin faded and it was replaced by something far more dangerous, far more... She felt her insides quiver helplessly in response to that nameless thing.
‘Is that a request?’ he asked smokily.
On the brink of succumbing to the heat of his hypnotic stare, her blue eyes flew wide open. It was definitely time to change the subject or at least remember what it was!
‘No, not...’ Definitely not.
‘So no work today?’ he asked casually.
Suspicious of his sudden question, she shook her head. ‘No.’
‘One of those consequences you didn’t consider?’
Mari maintained a tight-lipped silence.
‘I can’t imagine that exclusive school you work for liking the idea of its employees’ sex scandals being made public.’
Bristling with suspicion, she turned in her seat. ‘How do you know what I do or where I work? Have you had my phone bugged or something?’ It was as likely as any of the other wild, nausea-inducing possibilities whirling through her head.
‘That would be illegal.’
She gave a scornful snort. ‘And you have never broken a rule.’ Rules and a thousand hearts, she thought, glad that she was not the sort of woman who had ever had a thing for bad boys.
‘I have my resources.’
Seb’s resource in this instance had been the family lawyer who had witnessed firsthand the wedding drama. It had been the one call that Seb had taken on Saturday night, assuming, wrongly as it happened, that it concerned the possible legal ramifications of the incident.
‘I had no idea you even knew Miss Jones, Sebastian. Let alone—!’
The lawyer whose services he had inherited when his grandfather died had sounded as unhappy as Seb had ever heard him, a situation brought about not by any sense of indignation for his client but the disruption to his granddaughter’s schooling.
‘You do know she’s the first teacher that has understood Gwennie? The child actually wants to go to school and you know what that place is like—they justify their ridiculous fees by claiming they provide a wholesome learning environment, and they have a very good reputation. Hypocrisy, I know, but from a business standpoint they can’t afford a sniff of anything...sexual, not with the sort of parent the place attracts. The best the poor girl can hope for is suspension after this gets out.’
Listening to the woman who had lied through her teeth, sabotaged his marriage, dragged his reputation into the gutter and in the process endangered the deal he had worked so hard to pull off being spoken of as a victim, described as poor, had been as hard for Seb to swallow as visualising the red-headed virago as an empathic teacher.
Would she be as empathic in the bedroom?
‘Your resources?’ His cryptic comment sent a shiver through her. ‘Well, that sounds suitably sinister.’
She gave a laugh, which missed ‘bring it on, I don’t care’ by several thousand miles. Nonetheless, he picked up on it.
‘But you’re not about to be intimidated.’ Seb felt a fresh stab of reluctant admiration; whatever else she was this woman was not gutless. Right or wrong—actually wrong—she had gone out on a very precarious limb to fight for her brother, and, having met the guy again, he doubted that he appreciated how lucky he was to have someone like her in his corner.
If the situation had been reversed would Mark Jones have put himself on the line for his sister? Seb doubted it. Nothing he had seen had given him any reason to alter his initial assessment of Mari’s twin.
Mari ignored the comment.
‘I have spoken to the head, and he was very understanding,’ she retorted, putting a positive slant on a situation that when she allowed herself to think about it looked very black indeed.
‘But you’re not in work today? He was not that understanding?’
She slung him a look of seething dislike. ‘All right, you were right. My life is a mess, people who I’ve never met are discussing surgery I never had and it’s my own fault.’ Which of course made it worse. ‘I achieved nothing and now I’m likely to lose my job, too.’
She closed her eyes, feeling herself falling into the relentless cycle of self-recriminating circles that she had spent the entire weekend trying to escape.
‘Self-pity doesn’t suit you.’
She opened her eyes with an outraged snap and snarled, ‘Go to hell!’ Then she closed them again.
Her moment of madness still seemed unreal; when she thought of it now it felt like some sort of out-of-body experience.
It made no sense. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been painfully aware of the dangers of reacting in the heat of the moment—two foster families had felt unable to cope with the twins after she had reacted.
It was a lesson Mari had learned well. In the short term there was immense satisfaction in making the boy who stole your brother’s lunch money cry and walloping the bully who shut a puppy in a telephone kiosk—the black eye had been so worth it—but there were consequences.
There always were, which was why she no longer reacted before she thought—she considered consequences to the point where Mark frequently complained about her lack of spontaneity. But on Saturday she’d not just been spontaneous, she’d been... She shuddered and shook her head, bringing her chin up. She’d done the crime so now it was about taking the punishment—whatever that might be...
‘I know of a job vacancy that might suit you.’
She opened her eyes and turned her head, still nestled on the leather headrest, to face him, not bothering to hide her suspicion. ‘You suddenly became Santa Claus?’
‘No, I suddenly became in need of a wife.’
She struggled to match his flippancy. ‘Is that a proposal?’
‘Yes.’
The colour flared hot and then faded pale in her cheeks as she sat bolt upright and reached for the door handle. ‘I’m assuming this is some sort of joke. Word to the wise—don’t give up your day job. Stand-up is not your thing.’