'Luke may not be a Stapely in name, but he has the family trait of feeling secure in his right to use lesser mortals to further his ambitions.' She gave her best unblinking, sweetly simple smile which left enough doubt to make the company unsure of whether she intended to be quite as insulting as she sounded.
The brooding contemplation flared into smouldering anger, and Emily tilted her chin with a defiance she was far from feeling. She tightened her grip on Gavin's arm.
'Our tune, Emily.' She barely had time to blink in shock and rejection before Luke had extricated her from her escort and swung her into the middle of the other couples moving slowly to a nostalgic tune.
'How dare you?' she spat furiously, refusing to look up from his shirt-front. 'We don't have a tune,' she added irrelevantly. It was so hard to think clearly with her body plastered against him, the scent of him awakening sharp memories that made her slither and slide into a sensual morass of endless craving.
The hand in the small of her back performed an intricate arabesque along her spine before pulling her impossibly closer, the lower half of his body making no secret of the effect she was having on him. 'A technical detail, sweetheart. We would have, if you hadn't run out.'
She raised her chin, her eyes glittering in protest. What right had he to sound bitter? 'My memory of the events obviously differs from yours,' she said, too hurt to recall caution. 'I simply didn't care for your ideal of a ménage à trois,' she asserted, swirling lights of gold filtering into her wide eyes.
'That's a very provocative little dress,' Luke said, his expression derisory as she made this accusation. 'Does Gavin approve? You really are a creature of habit, aren't you, Emily? Is the wedding back on? You should be an interior decorator for a neat life; you're a natural.'
'You'll be the last to know if it is.' A faint groan escaped her lips as his hand moved over the curve of her behind slowly, sensuously.
'You're generating enough heat to light a small town,' he said, bending his head to rest his chin on the top of hers. She felt the movement of his lips through her hair. 'Does Gavin mind that we were lovers, that I can make you beg for my touch?' The only solid thing at that moment was the seductive whispered words in her ear and the riot of aching, raw sensations. 'Your skin has a special texture, Emmy, satin, translucent skin. I like to touch you. Can you feel how much I want to touch you?'
She raised her eyes slowly; they felt incredibly heavy, and her heart beat in time to the music's throbbing tempo as their bodies moved in sweet synchronicity to the rhythm. 'Stop it, Luke,' she pleaded hoarsely. She could hear the thunderous thud in his chest, and beneath her fingers the ridge of scar tissue across his ribs stood out. Pleasure at the memory of tracing the old wound with loving lips was mingled with an angry helplessness at the old pain it signified.
He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. With slow deliberation he let the tip of her forefinger move between his lips, tasting. On the surface, the gesture was almost courtly, but he had transformed it into something incredibly erotic. She felt dizzy with the violent response to him and her knees almost buckled as she slumped against him.
'I don't want to stop this… I'm the hedonist, if you recall; self-denial is anathema to me. In a perfect world a man gets what he patiently bides his time for; but this world, infant, is far from perfect.'
"Then it should suit you,' she said, making her voice hard. This self-preservation could be a painful process, she thought miserably. Beth was watching them, she reminded herself, seeking to escape from the voluptuous need for surrender he had evoked with his mastery of her senses.
The deep streak of possessiveness in her nature made her mentally, if not physically, free herself from him. Beth. She was the one Luke really cared for; he had told her as much. He was angry because she had taken the incentive from him and walked out. The profound experience of the communion of their essence was tarnished for her by his perception of the same event. Luke had never lied to her; she knew this. But still the sense of betrayal went deep.
'I'm here with Gavin and you're here with Beth. I see no reason to change that arrangement. Why haven't you told Dad?'
'About what?' he asked, his enigmatic eyes watching her with an unnerving gleam.
'The lies…'
'You have the nerve to talk about lies when you've run back to the tedious safety of pretty boy?'
'Will you stop calling him that?' she bit back. 'He has a name.'
'I doubt if you've been very honest with him, or doesn't he mind being a substitute because you haven't the guts to sustain an adult relationship. If it's a luxurious nest you hanker after, I'm sure I could match anything pretty boy has to offer.'
'The idea of being any man's mistress holds little appeal, but the idea of being yours is absurd. I realise I'm the focus for your ideas of retribution, Luke, but that's absurd. I know Beth's besotted with you, but even she…' A spasm of disgust contorted her face and he relinquished his hold on her as the music stopped, a fact which neither appeared aware of. 'I've only just managed to get my freedom from my father…all of you.'