Nope. Definitely not a dream.
He didn’t believe me at all, I could tell that much. Angry waves still emanated off his imposing form while I stood babbling about mistaken identity and praying I was indeed sleep-walking.
“That was one helluva tour, Miss Hargreave. In fact, I’d say you’re a real pro at giving them. But wait,” he paused, pointing one long finger upward and tilting his head, “our tour was interrupted just when it started to get good for me. Now that I reflect on it, I say you owe me the rest of your special…tour. I did pay after all. I should get value for my money, don’t you think?”
He leaned in very close and brought the same pointed finger to just under my chin where he tipped it toward his lips. With just a few inches between us, I could feel the warmth of his body heat radiating between us, and see sparks blazing in his eyes. The tension penetrated, and I knew he’d moved well past taunting sarcasm with me. Mr. Everley was dead serious.
And just as devastatingly handsome as I remembered, which annoyed me greatly.
“Despite your rather rude intrusion into my private home, I find I’d still very much like to fuck you, Miss Hargreave.”
He was also propositioning me for sex. He was propositioning me for sex?
I swallowed and felt myself go weak in the knees, realizing I was in a potentially dangerous situation if he decided to force the issue. I had to get the hell out of here.
“Will I get the rest of my tour now?” he whispered darkly, with the conceited suggestion of an arrogant male who thought he might be getting lucky in a few. “Shall we do up a porno for everybody as well? Share it with the media? Does it gain you a bigger fee, Maria?”
I yanked my chin back from the press of his index finger. “That’s not my name! And let me enlighten you, Mr. Ivanhoe, about precisely what’s not going to be happening here with us tonight…or ever.” I gestured my hand back and forth between us. “No sex.”
His eyes widened and his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Not in the mood just yet after your ordeal?” He lowered his tone seductively. “I can help you get in the mood. Maybe you’d like to see some of my paintings first if art really is something that interests you.” His smirk turned into a wicked grin that was all about lewd acts and dirty deeds. I could see exactly where he was going in his mind.
“Oh my God, you’re so disgusting. You hired a prostitute to have sex with you at the Mallerton Gala and you thought I was her?” I shook my head slowly back and forth and touched my chest with my fist. “So. Not. Her.”
He cocked an aristocratic eyebrow at me. “You weren’t complaining when I had my fingers buried in your cunt, or when you were coming all over my han—”
I slapped him as hard as I could across the face.
ONE thought filled my head and it was to get away from him.
I ran for the massive carved door and yanked it open. Streams of rain still poured in sheets from the portico. There was nowhere for me to get away to. No sanctuary for me to hide in. It was storming outside and nearing midnight in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t even say where I was, let alone tell anyone to come for me. I was as trapped here as if I was marooned on a desert island.
I shut the door against the elements and turned back around to see him standing there with his arms folded, a wide stance, and all traces of cockiness now absent from the face I’d just slapped. In its place was a cold calmness that left me with absolutely no idea of what he was going to do. Order me to leave? Send me back out into that storming hell? Ravish me anyway?
He spoke low and precisely, his meaning very clear, and brooking absolutely no argument.
“It appears you’re staying here in this house whether you want it or not.”
A sob escaped from my throat unwillingly.
“No need to worry, Miss Hargreave, you won’t be bothered again tonight.”
And then he just left me there and walked away. I heard his footsteps retreating, and watched him disappear as he moved off into another part of his house. The darkness swallowed him up…until I was alone in an unfamiliar old stone mansion with a storm raging outside its walls.
Rocky Horror Picture Show, anyone?
Eventually the sound of his steps faded until all I could hear was the pounding rain hitting the windows and the eerie brush of leaves scraping against the stone walls and glass windows from the wind whipping the trees around.
I wanted to be brave. I tried so hard not to cry, but I couldn’t stop those bastard tears from leaking out. It was all just too much. Everything. The ordeal of getting lost would have been enough, but the revelation of meeting him again sent me right over the edge. How was it even possible? I took little comfort in the fact that his crude and obnoxious behavior cancelled out my shame and embarrassment, and then some. A prostitute? Really!?
I glanced around at my surroundings and drew in a deep shaky breath, hugging my arms tightly for strength. I could get through this one night, I told myself. I had shelter from the storm, and dry clothes in my suitcase. I had my phone and my wallet. And in the morning, I would figure out a way to get back to my rental car and down to the airport at Belfast.
I was going to be just fine.
There was some relief at knowing my immediate safety was secure—but it also gave me an excuse to indulge in a little self-pity.
I sat down on the old wooden bench in Mr. Everley’s mudroom and wept like a baby.
THE sound of a throat clearing roused me from my desperation a