What irked Celeste as well was that Byron's sex appeal was not dimmed by his possessing the sort of chauvinistic attitude to women that sent feminists into a right flap. Yet, for some weird and wonderful reason, most women responded to his strongly male stance very positively. They became coy in his presence. Coy and fluttering and feminine. She herself had been guilty of such a reaction in the old days, as had dear sweet Irene. Oh, yes, Irene had been putty in his hands, quite the reverse of the hard-edged sarcastic bitch everyone else had known her to be.
Thinking about the way she herself had blindly responded to Byron in the past hardened Celeste's heart towards him in the present. Unfortunately, her emotional toughness did not seem to spill over into other areas. Her
mind and body were running their own races, recalling things she would rather not recall.
Byron, kissing her in his office when she'd been only seventeen. Byron, making love to her. Once again in his office. Byron, making love to her yet again. Not in his office. On the billiard-table. At Belleview. Two years later ...
For a few tormenting moments she could almost feel how it had felt when he made love to her. God, she would have done anything he wanted. She had done anything he wanted!
Celeste squeezed her eyes tightly shut, detesting herself for the wave of heat flooding her body. But when her nipples actually hardened, her eyes flung open wide in shock.
Furious with herself for her lack of control, Celeste swept back into her luxurious bedroom, dumping her clothes on the huge round bed before heading for her equally luxurious bathroom. Arousal quickly gave way to other more satisfying emotions, a vengeful smile curving her generous mouth as she slipped the silky robe from her shoulders and snapped on the shower taps. God, but she was going to enjoy making that bastard's loins itch today. It was the least she could do in the face of her own damnable desires.
Celeste's bitter resolve lasted right up till the moment her taxi pulled up in front of the court-house and she saw Byron walking down the street towards her. Her immediate flutter of nerves mocked her determination to be ruthlessly seductive in his presence, her instantly churning stomach bringing with it both irritation and dismay.
What in God's name was the matter with her? This was Byron Whitmore here, the man who'd almost destroyed her. No mercy, Celeste. No mercy!
Damn, but he did look good in that black suit.
Distinguished and handsome, yet incredibly sexy.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. The driver curtly announcing the fare snapped Celeste out of her emotional confusion. She handed him over a
note, told him brusquely to keep the change, then began to alight from the back seat, just as Byron drew alongside. Their eyes met as she swung the door wide and presented her long legs to the spring sunshine.
Byron halted mid-stride to glare at her, his blue eyes soothingly derisive as they raked over her, taking in everything she'd wanted him to take in. This was familiar ground to Celeste and she indulged in a smug smile. With her self-confidence restored, she uncurled her tall athletic body with the sensuous grace of a Siamese cat, swinging the door shut behind her before turning to face her foe.
'Good morning, Byron,' she said huskily, that confidently sensual smile firmly in place. Byron seemed to stiffen under its impact, which only made her sense of satisfaction increase. She reveled in the way his eyes followed her every movement as she soothed the tight skirt down over her hips, then adjusted the brim of her wide straw hat.
'For God's sake, Celeste,' he snapped at last, blue eyes glittering. 'You're going to a trial, not the races.'
So! He had seen those photos of her in the paper. Good.
'Looking at you,' she returned silkily while she idly played with the gold rope necklace hanging between her breasts, 'one might have thought we were off to a funeral. Truly, Byron, you should never wear black. Grey's your color. And you shouldn't scowl like that. It's bad for your health. Gives you high blood-pressure. A man your age has to worry about such things.'
The muscles in Byron's jaw convulsed as though he was clenching and unclenching his teeth. He seemed to be doing the same with his hands. His eyes, however, kept flicking back to her chest where she could feel her braless nipples growing more erect by the moment. Far from being disconcerted by this as she had been earlier on, Celeste found that her own arousal fuelled her to be even more outrageous.