Passionate Retribution

'I never thought you were a fool, until today.' Charles Stapely's expression was tight with contempt as he watched her lean into Luke's body as if the strength of his tall frame was all that prevented her from sliding to the ground. 'If you're that stupid, he's welcome to you. But if you suppose he's going to marry you, think again---'

'Actually, Father,' she interrupted, flushing slightly, 'we really haven't thought things out that far.' She acknowledged the troubled doubts that were stirring just on the edges of her consciousness, forced to wonder at the way she'd accepted Luke's ridiculous fait accompli with scant thought to the consequences of her actions.

'Thought!' Charles Stapely's fists bunched as he looked at Luke, who was eyeing the interchange from beneath half closed eyelids, very much at ease and not hiding his amusement at the proceedings. 'I doubt if you've thought at all; and just because you're in his bed, don't imagine you've got exclusive rights. He's just like his mother—not very discriminating… If it's breathing, bed it!'

Emily would have retreated if she could from the congealed loathing in her parent's voice. She was aware of the sudden tension in Luke's body. He was still standing directly behind her, an immovable barrier to her retreat.

'You're a pretentious, pompous fool,' Luke said almost casually. Emily, looking at his profile, could see a nerve throbbing erratically in his cheek. 'And if you ever so much as mention my mother again…' The threat was uttered in a pleasant voice that made it all the more sinister somehow. She saw her father recoil and fight to stand his ground when he looked into Luke's eyes.

'I've lived to regret ever taking you under my roof, you ingrate. And if you---' he pointed an accusing finger at Emily '—if you go with him, you're no daughter of mine,' he told her in a voice shaking with rage. His parting, 'Wait till your mother hears about this,' was so petty after the grand gesture of disowning her that Emily found a gurgle of laughter escaping her throat.

She wiped her eyes, wondering whether her mascara was smeared across her face like warpaint. Looking at Luke, she was aware that for once she had surprised him.

'You don't sound too disturbed at being cast off,' he said, handing her a clean handkerchief.

'Just a touch of hysteria, that's all; besides, are my feelings actually of any interest to you? You or my father?' she asked, handing him back his handkerchief and giving him a straight look, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. They were both the same, she decided, each happy to use her to score points off the other. Manipulate whoever happened to be at hand.

'Keep it,' Luke advised. 'You might need it again before the night's over. Are you going to tell me precisely what that little scene was all about?'

'No.' She wasn't about to display her naive credulity for his contempt. Besides, knowing Luke, he'd probably managed to get more than the bare bones of the incident. She waved away the handkerchief. 'Nowhere to put it,' she responded prosaically, then wished she hadn't because it drew Luke's glittering regard to her outfit. His eyes made her feel claustrophobic as they travelled at a leisurely pace over her slender but femininely curved—too curved for her own taste— body in the dress which covered too little of some of those curves.

'Quite true,' he agreed. His glance, returning to her face, held curiosity and something else she didn't care to analyse, although it made the pit of her stomach dissolve. 'I'll keep it for you.'

'I don't need anything of yours, and that goes for any smart moves like the one you pulled in there,' she ground out from between clenched teeth. If he thought he could divert her by doling out a dose of his particular brand of mesmeric sex appeal, he could think again. 'I can't believe you did it.' She shook her head. 'You just can't resist stirring, can you?' she accused hoarsely. The unmitigated nerve of the man, the undiluted arrogance, astonished her.

'I simply provided your inspiration. You were going to run away.'

'Sneer if you like, but running away is less painful at times. Besides, head-on collision doesn't always solve the problem.'

'Neither does running away; it just postpones the inevitable.'

'Thank you for that little gem,' she snapped. The accusation in his tone made her want to launch a frontal attack. 'At least my father was bright enough to disguise the fact that he was manipulating me. The only difference with you is I know it. Still, it's over with now.' She could retreat and let the wounds heal, sort out what she wanted from life.

'Oh, there are a lot more possibilities in this situation yet.'

Emily threw back her head, shaking her hair from around her shoulders. 'Forget it, Luke, I'm sick of the lot of you. I'm going to spend some time alone,' she told him, a flare of anger igniting dancing golden lights in her eyes. 'And I'm not available for any more theatricals, even if my stomach could stand up to being mauled about by you.'