Baby for the Billionaire(118)

“You’re insane.” She resisted the urge to retort that he was fooling himself—he was desperate for a woman. For her.

“You’re saying you didn’t come out for exactly that? Conspiring with your friend, hoping to catch me on the rebound?”

“You are such a jerk.” She swung her back on him, determined to leave him out here alone.

He grabbed her and yanked her back. “Not nice.”

This time when his lips descended she knew what was coming—and tensed.

But it was different.

Soft, seductive. His tongue stroked the corners of her mouth until she parted her lips, granting him access. This time he kissed her with a dark desire that stirred wants that had never been woken. Dark, traitorous desires. And when his hands swept up over her arms, down her back, she edged closer, craving more—wishing he’d sweep her off to someplace private where they could spend hours together exploring naked skin and sweet sensations.

By the time he ended the kiss she was ready to do whatever he asked.

Connor North set her away from him with shaking hands. “Now, tell me that wasn’t what you wanted.”

She lifted a hand to her mouth, the fullness of her lips tingling. Damn Connor North. He must surely be aware of his effect on her. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she said, “Don’t try it again or I’ll slap you so hard it’ll leave marks on your face.”

He laughed. “Here—” he thrust a pristine, folded white handkerchief at her “—use this for that other dramatic gesture B-grade girls love. Wipe it across your mouth and make the necessary sounds of disgust.” His eyes glittered wildly in the half light.

Ignoring the shaky feeling inside, Victoria quirked one expressive, dark eyebrow. “Girls do that to you often?”

“No … but then the women I know don’t threaten to slap me, either.” His not-so-subtle emphasis of the word women caused color to flame in her face.

She balled the handkerchief in a fist, and he flinched as she raised it to his mouth.

“Stand still.” Her voice was tight. “Better I wipe my lipstick off your mouth.”

The curves of his mouth felt full and sensual under the fabric. “There, I’m done.”

Connor stared down at the red stain on the white cloth and his lips twisted. “You should have left your mark on my mouth.”

He raised his head and Victoria felt the force of his reckless attraction hit her like a surge of current. “Why would I want to do that?” She injected scorn into her voice.

He shrugged carelessly. “It would have given all the gossips something to talk about other than my scurrilous split from Dana.”

“I don’t want to be linked to you.” Victoria was appalled at the idea. “So we’re going to go back to the table and smile like crazy—for Suzy and Michael’s sake. But after today I intend to take great pains to keep as far away from you as possible.”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re hardly my type …” he paused, then added tauntingly “… Elizabeth.”

Victoria spun away and stalked inside and quite spoilt the moment by failing to remind him that her name was Victoria.





Three




August, present day, two years later

Late on Monday afternoon, Connor walked out of the morgue in the small Northland town where the bodies had been taken and gulped in a lungful of crisp, fresh air. Michael. The face he’d known so well in life had been unrecognizable in death. And all the dazzling laughter had left Suzy forever. Connor craved the deep, cleansing peace of tears.

But grown men didn’t cry.

Nor did he have time to grieve. Picking up his pace, he jogged across the car park to where the Maserati waited.

But once inside, he sat motionless, staring blindly through the windshield.

He should call Victoria. The thought came from nowhere. He sighed. What the hell was the purpose? Except to upset her further.

Pulling out of the car park, he headed for the highway. Not far from the exit to the town he saw again the sickening skid marks, and the white symbols the police had painted on the tarmac.

Driven by a nameless, senseless urge Connor pulled over and got out.

The grass verge was peppered with glass, and he stepped over the deep furrows Michael’s tires had gouged out of the turf. A light country breeze blew across his face and cars whizzed past. There was none of the sense that Michael’s spirit still lingered—as Connor realized he’d hoped for when he’d pulled over.