‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Why would you have thought any differently?’ Just like that, his dark eyes had turned cool and assessing, reminding her that the so-called rules of this particular game were different for both of them, despite what she might say to the contrary. Reminding her, too, that his red-hot passion had changed nothing of what he fundamentally felt towards her.
‘Look around you and tell me what you see.’
‘We’re in your kitchen.’ Chase frowned, confused and flustered by the softly spoken question that seemed to have sprung from nowhere. ‘I can just about make out the little garden at the back, and I can see where the pool is... Look, why are you asking me this?’
‘What you see all around you is evidence of my wealth,’ Alessandro inserted smoothly. He killed dead the passing twinge of hesitation at the thought that he might offend her. He reminded himself that no matter how good the sex was, and how much he might occasionally enjoy her rapier-sharp mind, she was still a woman whom he had met going by the name of Lyla; who had strung him along and lied to him; who had dumped him unceremoniously and who, certainly, he would never have clapped eyes on again had fate not decided to deliver her to his premises. At the end of the day, whether he offended her or not was immaterial.
‘But,’ he continued as she stared at him, perplexed, ‘I guess you were aware of the extent of my bank balance the minute you walked into my London place.’
‘I don’t see what your bank balance has to do with anything,’ Chase said tautly.
‘No? Let’s just say that I wouldn’t want you to start getting any misplaced ideas.’
‘Misplaced ideas about what?’ But she knew what he was talking about now. Well, it didn’t take a genius to join the dots, did it? She should be enraged, but instead she was deeply hurt, cut to the quick.
‘This is all about the sex—and it’s great sex, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second that I’ve somehow forgotten the person you really are. I think this is a good point at which to remind you that you’re a visitor in my life. You won’t be getting your hands on any of this...’ He gestured broadly to encompass the visible proof of his vast wealth.
He couldn’t have thought of a more pointed way of humiliating her but she pinned a stiff smile to her face. She hoped she looked suitably amused and unimpressed. She hoped that whatever expression she was wearing revealed nothing of what she was actually feeling.
‘Do you think I would actually want to be anything other than a...what did you call it, Alessandro?... visitor in your life?’ Her heart contracted, squeezed tight with pain. ‘You might have all...’ she mimicked his gesture ‘...this. You might have the fabulous house on a fabulous coastline in a fabulously beautiful country, and you might have a house in London big enough to fit ten of mine, but I’ve never pursued money and I certainly would never, ever, set my sights on getting hold of someone else’s by...’
‘Fair means or foul?’ He took his time standing up, flexing his muscles while watching her. Then he leant across to place his hands flat on the arms of her chair. ‘I felt it a good idea to make sure we were both still singing off the same song sheet.’
‘I could never be serious about someone as arrogant as you, Alessandro.’
‘And yet you gave such a misleading impression eight years ago.’
‘Will you ever forget that?’
‘It’s been imprinted on my mind with the force and clarity of a branding iron.’
So much for thinking that he was becoming indifferent, Chase was forced to concede. So much for thinking that revenge was a dish in which he might no longer be interested. ‘You weren’t arrogant then.’ She met his stare levelly. She wasn’t prepared for the feel of his mouth against hers as he crushed her lips in a driving, savage kiss that propelled her back into the chair.
Her hands automatically rose to push him away. How the hell could he think that she might be interested in having him touch her when he had just insulted her in the worst way possible? And yet her body responded, went up in flames like dry tinder waiting for the burning match. Reluctant hands softened to cup the nape of his neck.
In one easy movement, he scooped her off the chair and into his arms.
‘Alessandro!’
He was heading up the stairs, towards the bedroom with its shuttered windows and thin, cream voile curtains, pale wood and wicker furniture.
‘We’ve talked enough.’
‘You called me a gold-digger! Do you...?’ She was breathless as he kicked open the bedroom door. ‘Do you honestly think that I...I get turned on being insulted?’