Back in the Lion's Den (6 page)

She couldn’t. Even now, hurting as she was from his brother’s
suspicions, the reason why she had been with Timothy Leicester that night stayed locked inside her, incriminating her, giving her no leeway to explain herself—just as it had then, three years ago. But at least she could try to defend herself against something.

‘I lied because I couldn’t mention Tim’s name without Niall getting unnecessarily upset,’ she supplied, admitting that much at least.

‘And you find that surprising?’ Incredulity marked features bathed bronze in the evening sun. ‘In the world I inhabit —and I think most conventional couples—the presence of an old boyfriend on the scene would spark off the same reaction in anyone who happened to be the slighted partner.’

‘He wasn’t slighted—and Tim wasn’t my boyfriend!’ she asserted in self-defence.

‘That wasn’t the general consensus of opinion amongst the people my investigative team spoke to.’

‘You had me
investigated?
’ she whispered, her nose wrinkling in disbelief. She couldn’t believe that Niall had been so unsure of her as to let his brother do something so underhand.

‘My own idea,’ Conan stated coolly, uncannily aware of what she was thinking, if not of the turmoil going on inside of her. ‘There were those who knew you and this Leicester character who swore the two of you were an item—made for each other. They were even surprised you hadn’t got married. Neighbours. Friends. Old acquaintances. It paints a somewhat less innocuous picture of the two of you, don’t you think?’ he suggested derisively.

‘Because they’d all wanted us to!’ she exhaled, angry colour touching her cheeks. ‘And you had absolutely no right to question my friends or anyone else I knew like that!’

‘I had every right when I saw what you were doing to my brother,’ he sliced back, offering no apology. ‘But don’t worry. Those in question wouldn’t even have guessed that they were being interrogated, let alone that your whiter-than-white reputation was being put under scrutiny. So what do you have
to say for yourself now, Sienna? Still think you can convince me he wasn’t an old boyfriend?’

‘Obviously not!’ she snapped, realising it was hopeless even imagining she could. The evidence against her was far too damning. ‘Think what you like,’ she sighed wearily, turning away. ‘If you don’t believe me, then that’s your problem. Not mine.’

Only it
was
her problem, she thought despairingly, because she was only just beginning to realise that for some reason beyond her comprehension what Conan Ryder thought of her mattered. It mattered a lot.

‘All you’ve done is put two and two together and come up with nothing!’ she tagged on, turning towards him again, and wishing she hadn’t when she noticed how his eyes were glittering gold beneath the sinking sun, and how the wind was ruffling his sleek black hair. ‘Which just goes to show how narrow-minded you are!’ she accused, angry with herself for noticing. ‘As well as bigoted, single-minded and mercenary!’

‘Is that all?’ Instead of the anger she’d expected her accusations to generate, a slow smile was curling his stupendous mouth. ‘Perhaps we recognise these things in each other, Sienna? Which could account for why we’re so attracted to each other.’

‘You don’t attract me.’ As an attempt at a bare-faced lie, it was so crass as to be laughable.

‘Don’t I?’ he queried silkily. ‘I’d beg to dispute that.’

You stupid, stupid fool! Of
course
a man like Conan couldn’t be held up to challenge, she thought. He thrived on challenges. Knew how to take them on and overcome them. And now because of her stupid big mouth she was going to have to face further humiliation. Because he was right. She was so attracted to him that if he so much as touched her …

She suddenly tensed as his arm snaked around the back of her seat, his long dark hand coming to rest on the contrasting paleness of the leather.

As he leaned across her she pressed herself back against
the upholstery, hardly daring to breathe, yet found that the action had brought her into contact with the stirring warmth of his sleeve. She could feel the sensuality of the silk against the nape of her neck.

‘Are you going to subdue me? Is that it?’ she challenged shakily, her breathing so laboured it was difficult to speak.

He laughed very softly, his breath warm at her temple, the action gently stirring her hair. ‘You don’t strike me as a woman who would take that sort of treatment from any man—least of all one whom you believe despises you. You’re much too liberated—too self-assured—to play the subservient little sex-slave. I want you as an equal, Sienna,’ he purred deeply, his face so close to hers that she closed her eyes to blot out those darkly alluring features, feeling his breath as a sensual caress against her lips. ‘Which is how I want you to want me. Giving as much as you take.’

He had moved his arm slightly, so that he wasn’t even touching her now, but his words and the tonal quality of his voice along with the tantalising scent of him was a turn-on such as she would never have believed.

For the first time in her life the thought of what she wanted to do to a man—and not just any man but to him—was an aphrodisiac greater than any she had ever known.

She wanted to hide how she felt, but her breasts were already betraying her. She felt their burgeoning sensitivity, gasping deeply as his warm hand brushed across one taut hard peak so fleetingly that she might have imagined it.

Tense, wanting, she tilted her face to his, crazy for the feel of his mouth on hers.

‘Oh, I’m not going to kiss you, Sienna.’

Her eyes flew open—not only at his declaration but at the amazing degree of self-control with which he had spoken.

‘That would give you the opportunity of accusing me of instigating it.’

She couldn’t believe what he was saying, or how unaffected
he seemed to be after the effortless way in which he had aroused her.

‘Why not? You did,’ she snapped, burning with humiliation.

Unperturbed, he moved back to his own side of the car, fully in command of himself—and of her—as he started the ignition.

‘At least try being honest with yourself, Sienna,’ he advised, glancing over his shoulder before pulling back onto the public highway. ‘If not with me.’

‘I didn’t want this,’ she murmured, realising that with that defeated little statement she had admitted what her body had already told him. That it was true. She did want him. And with a desperation that hurt.

‘Don’t worry,’ he rasped, looking at her tight strained features, giving the car full throttle as he took the road into the craggy hills. ‘It won’t last for ever.’

She didn’t see him the following day, or the day after that, since he’d flown back to London for a conference. She spent the leisurely hours enjoying some quality time with Daisy, playing frisbee with her and Shadow on the private shingle beach, and building a kind of fragile peace with Avril.

Trying to let bygones be bygones, she brought her up to date with her little granddaughter’s life, showing her early snapshots that she had brought with her for the woman to keep, as well as more recent photos of Daisy that were still on her cell phone.

She even encouraged Niall’s mother to take a short evening stroll with her through the villa’s spectacular grounds. She felt that Avril’s problems might be more than physical, intuitively sensing that the woman was suffering from some sort of depression. From her training and experience with the older and less able-bodied people who joined the specialised courses she ran at the gym, she knew the benefits that gentle exercise could have on a person’s well-being.

Consequently, when she went to bed that second night she drifted off to sleep feeling as though her day had been worth-while—but woke up the following morning with a pounding head and aching all over.

‘Tell Madame Ryder I’d better not come anywhere near her today,’ she instructed Claudette, having sought her out in the villa’s large modern kitchen. ‘I think I’m going down with something. And keep Daisy occupied, will you?’ she implored the little maid, who looked more than happy to be asked. ‘I wouldn’t want her to catch anything if I’m contagious.’

By lunchtime she was feeling so groggy she decided to go back to bed, annoyed at having to give in to sickness when she was never ill.

Some time during the afternoon Claudette came up with a tall and vastly expensive-looking vase of equally tall assorted flowers.

‘From
madame,
’ she informed Sienna, setting the vase carefully down on the high circular table that stood against the far wall, leaving Sienna surprised, though touched by the gesture.

Her room was above the terrace, and through the open window she could hear Avril’s muted tones overlaid by Daisy’s more eager and breathless ones. Shadow, loyal as always, was curled up asleep at the bottom of her bed. Lulled by the animal’s gentle breathing, she began to relax, willing her aching body to let her sleep.

A sudden sound opened her eyes.

The dog was awake and alert. But not as awake and alert as Conan appeared to be as he came in, dressed for business as always, though his dark jacket had been discarded and his tie was pulled loose, the top button of his shirt unfastened, allowing a glimpse of the deeply tanned skin beneath.

‘I understand you’re not feeling well?’ he said, without any preamble.

From the pillows, her hair dishevelled, her cheeks unnaturally flushed, Sienna pulled a self-deprecating face. ‘I’m
sorry.’ She hadn’t heard him knock, although she imagined he would have, and realised that she must have dropped off after all. ‘You’ve got enough on your hands without having two sick women to worry about. I’m sure I’ll be up and about again tomorrow.’

He didn’t say anything, but just came over to the bed and felt her forehead. His touch was light, though his palm was strong and cool, and even now, feeling as she did, Sienna felt her body respond to it in a way that made her blood surge—and made her ache even more.

‘You’re burning up,’ he remarked, his thick winged brows drawing together.

‘I think I’ve got some sort of bug,’ she said painfully. Why, if she had to be ill in somebody else’s house, did it have to be his?

‘Is there anything I can get you?’ He looked so disgustingly healthy that Sienna couldn’t imagine any virus or anything else ever daring to attack
him.
‘Do you need anything?’

She certainly didn’t want him running around after her. Nor did she want his sympathy, she thought, silently fending off any suggestion of it. Not that he seemed to be offering any!

‘Just for this to go.’

Fortunately Daisy came running in, scampering over to the bed and easing the inevitable tension coursing through Sienna. ‘Mummy!’ The little girl launched herself at her, her little arms going fiercely around Sienna’s neck.

‘I’m all right, darling. Mummy will be fine in a day or two.’ She patted the adoring arms. ‘You go with Uncle Conan.’ Gently she disentangled herself from the affectionate embrace. ‘We don’t want you catching anything nasty, do we?’ On her feet again, Daisy shook her head. ‘Take her with you, will you?’ she asked the man, blue eyes meeting green-gold over the little girl’s bright, bouncy curls.

From a few feet away, he gave a nod of silent assent, before Daisy darted over to him.

‘Mummy isn’t well,’ she informed him, clutching one
strong lean hand and looking trustingly up at his darkly aloof features.

‘Then we’ll just have to leave Mummy to get better, won’t we?’ he suggested, smiling indulgently down at the little girl. And the surprising warmth in the deep voice together with the sight of that little hand in his made Sienna’s throat clog with unexpected emotion.

‘If there’s anything you need …’ guiding Daisy away, he turned in the doorway ‘… let Claudette know immediately,’ he instructed.

Claudette. Not him, she thought wretchedly as he went out with Daisy skipping beside him. Then suddenly Shadow took it on himself to desert her too, and shot out through the gap in the closing door.

Surely she hadn’t wanted Conan to stay? How
could
she have wanted him to stay? she railed at herself, realising that she had. She could only justify the feeling by putting it down to the virus, which was obviously making her think irrationally, had her taking it to heart because he hadn’t.

But how could a man as cold and heartless as Conan Ryder—except with Daisy of course—possibly sympathise with anyone who was ill? Especially someone he believed was as money-grubbing and deceitful as he thought she was.

A fact confirmed when he didn’t return for the rest of the day—or the evening.

Claudette came up with Daisy for the little girl to give Sienna a goodnight kiss before going to bed, Shadow following at her heels. Even Avril sent up some of her best cranberry juice and a get-well wish through another servant, but there was no further sign of Conan.

Telling herself she didn’t care one way or the other, Sienna tried to settle down. But her aches were getting worse, and despite the warm night she couldn’t stop shivering—which meant she couldn’t sleep, which in turn meant that she couldn’t get Conan’s cold indifference to her out of her mind.

It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that he wouldn’t hesitate
to take her to bed if the opportunity arose, which just confirmed what a hard and unfeeling louse he was.

But she’d known that already. So why was she feeling so disappointed in him? she berated herself, screwing up her face with the aches that seemed to be gnawing at her body. She wasn’t, she told herself belligerently, through her restless, groaning fever. Unable to bear feeling so grotty any longer, she broke her rule never to resort to medication and took two paracetamol—which someone had left on the bedside cabinet with Avril’s cranberry juice—after which her bone-deep aches began to subside.

She awoke while it was still dark, drenched to the skin, her nightdress sticking to her like a wet sheet.

It
was
the sheet, she realised, dismayed, trying to kick it off her legs, where it clung, unpleasantly clammy and cold.

Obviously taking the painkillers had reduced her temperature, she thought, which meant having to suffer this side-effect instead.