Part 4 (1/2)

He was speaking again, taking another considered mouthful of wine. 'That's rare, these days, even for the British,' he observed.

Kat shrugged.

'You never went abroad on holiday as a child, with your parents?'

'No.' She'd never been on holiday, period. As for her parents-a junkie, prost.i.tute mother and an unknown, could-be-anyone father didn't really cut the mustard when it came to taking their darling daughter off on foreign jaunts ...

Anger spiked through her suddenly. Anger at what this man was digging out of her. She turned it towards him to get rid of it-the quickest way she could. 'Look, what is this?' she demanded belligerently. 'What's it to you whether I've ever been abroad or not? I haven't-OK? Is that some kind of crime in your book?'

The hard features hardened abruptly. 'I told you I don't tolerate att.i.tude,' he bit out at her. 'Do you really have no idea how to conduct yourself? Because, if so, perhaps I should reconsider my decision.'

He watched with satisfaction as emotion jabbed in her eyes, then subsided.

He nodded. 'Yes, that's better.'

He resumed eating. Was the girl really worth the trouble, after all? Yet even as he questioned himself his eyes were going back to her. Taking in those high cheekbones, the luminous skin, the extraordinary eyes focused once more on picking at her salad, the jagged blonde hair edging the sculpted line of her chin. Raw, rough, resistant-yet she drew the eye. And not just his.

He could see it in the other diners. Females were glancing at her, and not just because she was dining with him. He could see she was making them feel as if they themselves were overdressed, fussy, with too much make-up, too elaborate a hairstyle. As for the men-they were looking at her because she was completely, supremely, not paying them attention.

And that quality-that ability to draw eyes-was all that mattered about her. Not her rudeness, her insolence, her thinness, her ignorance.

She'd started to eat finally, forking the green salad mechanically. How the h.e.l.l she lived on such a diet he couldn't imagine. But presumably she did it because she had to-compet.i.tion amongst models was ferocious, and she was right: the camera did add weight. Did she really not do drugs? he mused. His eyes glanced at her arms, but they were unblemished-though that was hardly proof positive. She'd seemed adamant, however, and anyway drug usage was an instant termination of contract clause for models.

As she ate, she made no attempt to talk to him-didn't even look at him, or anywhere else. Illogically a flicker of annoyance went through him. The last thing he wanted was the girl getting any ideas, yet at the same time being so totally blanked by her made his mouth tighten. He reached for his wine again, taking another contemplative mouthful as his eyes rested on her. For a moment he found himself wondering whether, by some remote chance, the girl had any hidden depths to her. It was extremely unlikely, of course. Nevertheless, having insisted on her presence, he should interrogate her for the purpose he'd stated.

'So,' he began, 'what do you know of Monte Carlo, even if you've never been there?'

Her eyes snapped up. 'It's full of rich people,' she said.

'Anything else?' The voice was silky again, as if he was holding on to his patience.

Kat shrugged one shoulder, not replying.

'Are you in the slightest bit interested in knowing anything more?' The silk was wrapping a blade now. She could hear it, and her resentment mounted. Why should he care whether she knew anything about the place?

'What for?' she retorted.

There was a flicker across the dark eyes, and for a moment she felt she'd pushed back too much.

'To demonstrate to me, perhaps-' now the blade was cutting through the silk '-that despite being ignorant, which is probably no fault of your own, you possess sufficient native intelligence to want to know more about the world than your educationally limited and culturally deprived background has afforded you?'

Heat flushed through her, then cold.

Angelos took a mouthful of wine, then set down his gla.s.s with a click on the table.

'To be ignorant is one thing-to want to remain so is another,' he said.

Kat felt her blood sting. Patronising b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Smug, conceited, patronising b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

G.o.d, she wanted out of here! Out of this place where she felt like some kind of dirt under the sole of a pair of handmade shoes! Where Mr Big sat lording it over her, sneering at her and patronising her, and above all holding in his hands the power to give her this job or s.n.a.t.c.h it from her when she'd come so close to getting it!

And, worst of all, making her feel not just like some lowlife but that horrible hot and cold at the same time-as if there was ice in her veins and a hot stone in her stomach, and as if her nerves had itching powder in them. She'd never felt that before and never, never wanted to feel it again ...

She wanted to get to her feet and go-just go! But she gritted her teeth, swallowing it down. She could do this-she could! It would be worth it. It would get her the job and that was all she cared about! He wanted her to know about Monaco? So she'd find out-if that was what he wanted!

'I'll find a guidebook about the place,' she said.

Her voice was tight, and she was obviously speaking under duress, but the recalcitrance had gone-or at least was being suppressed.

'Do that,' he said, and went on with his meal.

He kept her under surveillance as he ate. Could he really be thinking of considering her in any light other than a professional one? Considering silencing her provocative, insolent mouth in a way that he found was suddenly vivid in his imagination ...?

He was still undecided. It irritated him that he should be so. He made decisions fast in his life-the demands of running a multinational corporation necessitated swift, accurate, unhesitating decisions. So why was this girl making him think twice? Why was he even thinking about her at all? Considering her for his bed?

Round the question went in his mind again, and again it found no answer.

Nor had it still when, the last leaf of rocket disposed of, Kat Jones looked up and said bluntly to him, 'Can I go home now?'

Angelos pushed aside his own empty plate and reached for his winegla.s.s again. His eyebrows rose questioningly.

'Can I go home now?' Kat said again. She was as tense as a board, he could see. Maybe his reprimand for her rudeness had unnerved her-brought home to her how ... unwise ... such behaviour was.

And maybe it was as well if she went now. Rus.h.i.+ng her into bed on an impulse he still couldn't fathom himself, would also be ... unwise. Although it was also tempting.

Did he really want to let her go? His eyes went to her again, a.s.sessingly. Deliberately he let himself take in every aspect of what she had on offer ...

Across the table Kat froze, unable to breathe. A hole, a gaping slash, had opened up inside her. And she was falling-falling right down into it.

Oh, G.o.d, no-no!

She could only stare helplessly, appalled, as Angelos Petrakos looked her over.

It was like it had been before, as if she couldn't breathe, and yet her heart was pounding, making her feel that impossible mix of s.h.i.+vering cold and burning hot. Her veins felt as if they were melting ... as if he was melting them ... because of the way those dark, steel-hard eyes were working over her, reaching a place that no one had ever reached before ...

She tried to fight it. Tried with a desperation she hadn't known she would ever need.

No! You are not going to let yourself ... let yourself ...

She clawed back sanity. She didn't do s.e.x. She fielded it, ignored it. It didn't exist. Just didn't exist. She didn't let it exist.

But now, in a single glance, she knew how totally, completely wrong she had been ...

He snapped off the gaze. And like a rag doll, limp and bereft of breath, Kat could only sit there-powerless, appalled.

Oh, G.o.d, what had just happened? Why? Why this man?

She had to go. Right now. The imperative of it overwhelmed her. The need for flight. Flight from something she could not cope with-just could not cope with.

'I really have to go.' She heard herself say the words. Heard them fall like stones. Tight, abrupt. Would he think she was lipping him again? She didn't care? Couldn't afford to care-just had to go, get out.