Wildcat Wife Page 4

  Diana shrugged and walked away.

  'And we'll go to the study, Saffron.'

  'Will we?' she replied, studying his tall figure and noting that he was still dressed as he had been earlier in the day, then smiling coolly up at him.

  'Perhaps I should first remind you that I'm not your sister or your father and I don't take kindly to being ordered around.'

  'And perhaps I should bring it to your notice, Saffron, that you can either accompany me willingly or be picked up and carried there.'

  'You wouldn't!' Her eyes were suddenly very green and distinctly stormy.

  'I would,' he murmured, his dark gaze entirely mocking.

  She glanced around, but Delia and Bernard Ross were out of sight, and so was Diana.

  'I could scream!' she declared with a toss of her plait.

  'That would certainly add a whole lot of undignified drama to the occasion,'

  he drawled. 'Don't you think you've been outrageous enough tonight as it is? Come.'

  'You...I...I'm speechless,' she said furiously, but started to walk beside him as he put a hand on her elbow and directed her towards a doorway. 'You were the one who started all this. You're the one who thinks he can resort to the most despicable kind of blackmail and...and...'

  'Ah, but whatever I've done, Saffron, has been done in private. I haven't embarrassed others—don't you think that's a little despicable?'

  'No,' she said baldly as they walked down a passage and through another doorway. 'I happen to believe all's fair in love and war and I'm sure you do too so don't give me that!'

  A door closed behind them and she realised they were in a study that looked over a tiled, lit courtyard with pretty statues, tubs of lovely flowering shrubs and trees, espaliered creepers and a delicate little fountain. 'By the way...'

  She swung round to face Fraser Ross with a question trembling on her lips that she didn't get the chance to ask.

  Because he said, 'Love? I don't know about that but I've got the feeling there's only one way to shut you up, Saffron Shaw, and this is it.'

  Saffron froze and her eyes widened as he walked towards her and took her in his arms.

  'What do you think you're doing?' she demanded indignantly.

  'What you hoped you might provoke me into doing when you put on this amazing outfit?' he suggested, glancing downwards with a slightly sardonic twist to his lips.

  'I don't know what you're talking about—this is my brother's flying suit!'

  'Is that a fact? And it didn't occur to you that if you were sensational last night, rather like an exquisite ivory figurine in a dress that was an invitation to undo, this—' he plucked the thick khaki twill with his long fingers '—is even more of an invitation?'

  Her lips parted incredulously.

  'I think the contrast would be rather stunning,' he murmured. 'The rough against the smooth. That silken skin, those delicious curves and satiny hollows, that—' he paused to glance down her body again then suddenly up into her eyes '—"do your damnedest" expression when you aren't wondering exactly what I'm wondering.'

  'I...I...'

  'Wondering in the case of last night, for example,' he continued with soft mockery, 'what it would be like if we were alone and the dress did come undone and start to slide down your beautiful body, Saffron. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think you were wearing a bra so my first view would have been of high little breasts—probably pink-tipped and delicious—to taste and to touch.' He raised a dark eyebrow at her. 'Do you like to be—tasted?'

  'Stop it; you're quite wrong!' She licked her lips. 'I wore this for the opposite reason. Well, because of what you said but also to discourage you completely if you must know.'

  'Ah, but you left it too late, Saffron. The—damage had already been done, I'm afraid. I shall probably now always think of what was so nearly in view, what promised so much, whatever you wear.'

  She took an incredulous breath. 'You really have to be the limit! And I refuse to participate in this kind of thing any longer—'

  'See? I was right. About the only way to shut you up.' And he bent his head to kiss her.

  Five minutes later, he looked down at her stunned expression and said wryly, 'You were about to ask me something, Saffron?'

  CHAPTER THREE

  'Wh-who decorated this house?'

  He laughed softly. 'As a regrouping of one's defences that's pretty good—I've no idea.'

  Regrouping! Saffron thought a little wildly, and was not to know her face was pale, her eyes dark, her lips soft and pink. But she did know that during that kiss he'd sat down on the corner of the desk, and was still sitting on it with his hands linked about her waist, and that their eyes were level. She was also on a level with everything about Fraser Ross that was so tormenting, for want of a better word. That hint, she suddenly thought, of swashbuckling piracy beneath the civilised exterior that seemed to go with his dark good looks and easy strength and made you imagine silly things. Such as being caught up, run off with and kept somewhere against your will by an amused, dangerously attractive captor.

  She swallowed and blinked vigorously. 'How can you live in a house and not know that?' It was the first thing that came to mind to say and she licked her lips then said with more dignity, ' Would you mind letting me—?'

  'I don't live here. I stay here from time to time, that's all,' he interrupted quizzically.

  'How come? Where do you live?'

  'In Brisbane, although I spend a lot of time here, there and everywhere.' He shrugged. 'This is my father's house,' he said with a fleeting grin, and removed his hands from her waist, but only to refold one of the sleeves of her flying suit that had rolled down over her hand. 'There.' He put his hands back around her waist.

  'Look—'

  'And he bought it as a "spec" home so it was already done. I take it you approve? Professionally?'

  'Very much.' She considered. 'What I've seen, which hasn't been a lot, but—'

  'Would you like a guided tour, Saffron? The bedrooms are beautiful.'

  'You have an incredible nerve,' Saffron said in a low, taut voice at the same time as she tried to remove herself from his grasp.

  A wicked little smile lit his eyes. 'And you have to admit there are times when we're not entirely unmoved by each other.'

  'This is only the second time—' She stopped abruptly.

  'We've been in each other's arms?'

  'Yes. Will you let go?'

  'Not yet,' he said easily. 'I'm afraid you're liable to claw me like an outraged kitten.'

  'I wish you would stop calling me that!' she said exasperatedly. 'It makes me feel entirely ineffectual.'

  His lips twisted. 'You weren't exactly ineffectual last night. Nor have you been a model of silence and discretion tonight. Although—' he raised an eyebrow at her '—I can't help admiring such spirit.'

  'Can I tell you what I think?'

  'I don't imagine there's much I can do to stop you and I'm probably better off hearing it in private—be my guest.'

  'I think you need a wife.'

  He laughed, kissed her lightly on the lips, released her and stood up. 'You could be right. But until she comes along what's so wrong about you and I getting to know each other better?'

  'This,' Saffron said through her teeth. 'I don't want to get to know you better, and if you mean going to bed with you why don't you come out and say it?'

  She gazed at him with magnificent scorn.

  'All right. Why not?' He folded his arms and gazed back gravely.

  'I'll tell you—I've sworn right off men, that's why.'

  'That's strange,' he drawled. 'You didn't kiss me like someone who is sworn off men.'

  'I didn't have much choice.'

  'Now, Saffron,' he advised dryly, 'at least be honest.'

  'Why should I be?' She frowned at the admission and felt her cheeks grow warm, but soldiered on. 'I haven't made any of the running, so to speak. Are you honest enough to admit that?'

  'Perhaps,'
he conceded although as if it slightly amused him. 'Tell me why you're sworn off men, then.'

  'Oh, the old, sad story,' she said airily. 'Got my heart broken, don't trust the species any further than I can throw them—you know.'

  He sat back on the corner of the desk and studied her. 'You seemed to be enjoying dancing with several of the species last night before I came along.'

  'They weren't men, they were only grown-up boys.'

  His lips twitched. 'Really?'

  'Yes. You see,' she confided, 'I can pick them a mile off—the ones I can handle. They generally turn out to be quite fun, good for a bit of escorting when the need arises, good to dance with, but that's about it.'

  'What was his name?'

  Her eyes darkened. 'None of your business.'

  'I see.'

  'What do you see?' She tilted her chin at him.

  He stood up again, rolled her other sleeve up, patted the collar of her flying suit into place and restored a stray tendril of hair to its rightful place beside her ear.

  'Would you mind not handling me without my permission?' she said crossly because he had somehow reduced her to feeling about fifteen, amongst other things. ' What do you see?' she added with a fighting little glint in her eyes.

  'I thought for a moment you were having me on, Saffron. I see now that you weren't. But it's not only childish to invest the whole tribe of men with the sins of one of us, it's probably not good for you either. In other words, you might not be such a termagant if you—'

  As slaps in the face went, it wasn't terribly successful. Her sleeve unravelled again and got in the way. What it earned her in return was a considerable loss of dignity.

  He took both her wrists in one hand, and laughed down at her. He also said,

  'Don't you think you should find someone your own size before you attempt physical violence, Miss Shaw?'

  'If you mean am I afraid you'll retaliate,' she spat, 'no, I'm not!'

  He raised his eyebrows. 'You really shouldn't be so sure of that, Saffron. You may be quite safe with me, but others...' He shook his head wryly. 'And there are different ways and means of retaliation, you know,' he added softly, his dark eyes scanning the way the front of her flying suit was moving in tune with her accelerated breathing.

  Quite sure she was about to be kissed again, Saffron drew her resources together and said with a not entirely assumed little air of world-weariness,

  'Oh, not that, Mr Ross. If you mean the kind of retaliation I think you mean—getting yourself kissed for a slap in other words—how boringly banal!'

  'Perhaps I was right earlier—would you rather I tore your clothes off and made love to you on the floor?' he suggested evenly.

  A sudden imp of mischief lit her green eyes as she thought, Aha! Not quite so amused any longer, are we, Fraser A. Ross?

  'You suggested it, not me,' she murmured, and the imp got out of control and she had to laugh.

  What he would have done was destined not to be known because a knock came on the study door, and the disapproving personage who had let Saffron and Delia in put her grey head around it to say, 'Dinner is served, Mr Ross.'

  'Ah, Flora.' Fraser Ross released Saffron's wrists. 'Sorry, I didn't introduce you earlier, but Flora is responsible for my correspondence when I'm here—

  Saffron Shaw, Flora MacTavish.'

  'Oh, so you...' Saffron bit her tongue and advanced to offer her hand instead. Flora MacTavish put her head to one side, looked severely at Saffron, then, amazingly, said, 'I like the cut of your jib, young lady. Come and have dinner. Cook has been known to throw the odd tantrum when he's been kept waiting.'

  Dinner was delicious—a delicate, pale green soup with cream twirled artistically through it, an entree of smoked salmon, a main dish of chicken Maryland and a sinfully sumptuous chocolate and ice cream dessert. The dining room—the small dining room, Diana had made a point of telling them—had a terracotta tiled floor, green walls, white cane furniture, pottery tubs of yellow chrysanthemums and several paintings on the walls that Saffron would have sold her soul to own.

  Indeed, Saffron enjoyed not only her surroundings but also every bit of her dinner, to the surprise of some.

  'You have an amazingly large appetite for a small person,' Diana said.

  'There's nothing wrong with that,' Flora, who obviously enjoyed almost familial status, countered with a tinge of aggression. 'There's more to life than worrying about one's figure.'

  Saffron, in the act of spooning up the last of her ice cream, put down her spoon. But Delia spoke for her.

  'Saffron burns up an enormous amount of energy,' she said. There are times when I find it hard to keep up. Besides, she often forgets to eat.'

  'I've noticed that,' Fraser Ross murmured. 'The excess of energy, I mean.'

  'Would you mind not discussing me as if I was some sort of enfant terrible?' Saffron said irritably as her dessert plate was removed and a coffee cup was put in its place.

  Bernard Ross chuckled. 'An unusually attractive one if that's the case, may I say, Saffron? And I find your outfit entirely original.'

  'Do you?' Diana queried with a raised eyebrow. 'I was wondering whether it came from a second-hand shop.'

  'Saffron,' Delia put in hastily, 'why don't you show us the sketches you made this afternoon, and tell us about some of your ideas. They're rather wonderful, I think.'

  Saffron paused in the act of shooting Diana an old-fashioned look and patted her pockets. One of which yielded a small sketch book that she studied for a moment, then her expression cleared and she tore the top sketch off and handed it to Bernard Ross. 'I have this vision...' she began.

  'So that's how it's done,' Fraser Ross murmured to Delia several minutes later as they watched Saffron and Bernard deep in conversation as Saffron delivered her ideas.

  'Never fails,' Delia replied softly. 'She's fallen in love with your holiday house, by the way. I just hope you approve of a Javanese influence because that's what you're going to get.'

  He raised a wry eyebrow.

  'Saffron?'

  Saffron roused herself as Delia drove them home. 'Mmm?'

  'Despite your worst efforts that didn't go off too badly, did it?'

  My worst efforts? Saffron thought. 'No.'

  'And you do have to see the place, don't you?'

  'Yes.'

  'I know tomorrow morning isn't that far away but I can hold the fort for a few days, I promise. Are you—worried about not having the right clothes for flying off to the Whitsundays at such short notice?' Delia asked patiently.

  Saffron glanced at her witheringly.

  'Thought not. So what is it? They liked your ideas. He's paying all your expenses including first-class air fares and first-class accommodation on Hamilton Island—'

  'All right, I'll tell you, Delia,' Saffron said frustratedly. 'The man...reminds me of a pirate!'

  'A...?' Delia turned into Saffron's driveway.

  'A swashbuckling, devil-may-care buccaneer. I can quite easily picture him carting me off on his galleon or whatever pirates use and—having his way with me!'

  Delia switched the motor off and stared at her. 'Saffron, I know you have a wonderful imagination, but isn't that a little—far-fetched? I would say he's very civilised, very adult and so on.'

  'He's never kissed you, Delia,' Saffron replied frostily.

  'Kissed...? When did he do this?'

  'Never mind, Delia.' Saffron straightened and tilted her chin. 'Would you do me a favour? Would you drive me to the shop? If I'm going to do this there's a lot I need to do beforehand. I'll walk home when I'm finished.'

  'But—'

  'Please?'

  Saffron didn't get home until two o'clock in the morning, and remembered she still had to pack. But she had a shower first, donned a dark green towelling robe and made herself a cup of herbal tea. She took the tea into her bedroom, pulled down a travel bag, then sat on the end of the bed with a sigh. To think darkly of how she had been literally press-ganged
, although so, so civilly, into this trip up to the Whitsundays the next day— today, she amended.

  The fact that the next few days were the only few days that Fraser Ross could see his way clear to be flying up to his holiday home in the near future had been mentioned first. The fact that it would not be possible to get to his island unless she was unusually handy with motor boats had been made known to herwhen she'd suggested that she didn't need him, only his house. Whereupon she'd had to admit that, although she loved sailing, she'd never driven a motor boat in her life. Then it had been brought home to her politely, but with an underlying glint of mockery in those dark eyes, that she was the one who had stipulated a time limit...

  That was when she'd stiffened her spine, flashed him a look that had told him to go to hell, and announced to all and sundry that he needn't think she would renege on her business obligations so, if there was nothing else for it, she would go.

  She pulled some pins out of her hair, unplaited it, lay back flat on the bed and closed her eyes. But that didn't stop Fraser Ross's image from swimming behind her eyelids. Nor did it banish the memory of the way he'd kissed her. And the way she'd so far forgotten herself as to respond. What is it about him? she wondered desolately. He couldn't be physically more different from Simon, whom I loved with every fibre of my being, I thought. So it's not that I'm reminded... He's also the last kind of man I would dream of getting involved with. Powerful and prepared to use that power to get his own way. Apparently looking for a wife, but prepared to dally along the way—there's obviously no chance of me being considered wife material for the Ross family.

  She sat up abruptly and wondered if she was going mad to even be thinking along those lines. But none of it changed the fact that...it was exciting to be in his arms. It curiously and treacherously interfered with her better judgement and brought out an answering chord of sensuality. She touched her lips involuntarily and recalled all too well the smooth, powerful feel of him, the way they'd looked into each other's eyes—she with hostility, he with cool irony—and how it had further charged the air between them to produce a passionate little encounter that had been rather stunning in its intensity.