Sleeping Partners

She swept past him, only to find herself swung round by hard male fingers on her wrist and then she was in his arms before she realised what was happening.

‘Let go of—’ The rest of her words were smothered by his mouth on hers and for a heart-stopping second she was too surprised and bewildered to react. And then she struggled fiercely, fighting him with all her strength. It had about as much impact as a moth fluttering against a brick wall.

It was a challenging kiss, severe almost, a kiss that dared her to relax and enjoy it, and it was a kiss by an expert. That much registered on Robyn’s spinning senses. He felt hard and sure against her softness and the smell of him spun intoxicatingly in her head, bringing her skin alive from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

His name was whispering deep inside her and that frightened her as much as the sensations he was drawing forth so effortlessly. Clay was the last person in the world she should want to make love to her and shockingly—humiliatingly—that was exactly what she did want. Which made her…what? The answer to that gave her the strength to jerk away with a suddenness that took him by surprise.

‘I hate you.’ It was raw and low and she was trembling.

‘Do you?’ He looked back at her, his silver eyes glittering slightly. ‘Why such a strong emotion, Robyn?’ he asked tauntingly.

She blinked a little. He was tying her up in knots and she was letting him; this was completely the wrong way to handle a man like Clay Lincoln. She knew that; she dealt with all types in her work including hard-bitten journalists who would sell their own mother for a story, so why had her normal cool, distant façade got blown to smithereens? What was it about this man?

‘I don’t appreciate being mauled about for a start,’ she bit out tightly, praying the trembling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t communicate itself through her voice.

‘Mauled?’ He gave a soft, mocking laugh as he stepped back a pace, the crystal eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘I don’t think so, Robyn.’

His impossibly light eyes reflected his contempt of the statement and his aggressive handsomeness, his utter surety in himself, was galling. For a moment Robyn had the insane impulse to throw a paddy and shout and scream, anything, to get under that tanned skin, but the knowledge that she would be acting like the spoilt brat he’d accused her of being was restraint enough.

‘You may not think so but that is what I call it when a man forces himself on a woman,’ she said icily. ‘I neither asked for or wanted you to kiss me.’

‘True.’ And he had the absolute affront to smile. ‘But you enjoyed it when I did. I’ve kissed enough women in my time to know that. I had wondered all night what you’d taste like and now I know.’

She didn’t believe this man! She glared at him, bristling with fury, her fingers itching to hit him again. What an incredibly colossal ego. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of losing her temper again. She drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches and stared straight into the silver-blue orbs, her voice dripping with scorn as she said, ‘You need to think I enjoyed it; that’s quite a different thing. If it makes you happy, dream on, Mr Lincoln.’

Her tone of voice did not amuse him, that much was obvious, but before he could respond the door to the kitchen opened again and Cassie breezed in, her voice bright as she said, ‘You two still in here? I told you you’d have plenty in common, didn’t I? You wouldn’t carry the ice bucket through for me, would you, Clay?’ she added as she opened the freezer door and extracted a bag of ice cubes to refill the huge silver ice bucket she had brought in with her from the lounge.

‘Sure thing.’ It was cool and relaxed, insultingly so.

Sure thing. Robyn stood for a moment more after the other two had walked through to the lounge. And did he think she was a sure thing too? Like all the women who flocked to his dark aura? Thought he only had to click his fingers, no doubt.

Think again, Clay Lincoln. She drew her lips together, her brown eyes narrowing. This was one man she wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. And she was out of here, right now.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO HOW was the dinner party last night? Cassie serve up salmonella along with the main course, or is there another reason why you look like you ought to be in bed this morning?’ Drew’s voice was light but her baby-blue eyes were anxious as she surveyed Robin’s white face.

‘I’m fine, Drew.’ Robyn had just opened the door to her assistant and now she stood aside, waving Drew in as she said, ‘The coffee pot’s on.’

‘Robyn, you look awful.’ Never one to beat about the bush Drew turned to face her after Robyn had shut the door. ‘Go back to bed, I can manage here.’

That was ridiculous and they both knew it. They had a product launch for a cosmetic company the next day and Robyn had fought off some powerful competition to acquire it. Everything had to be faultless and flawless; she had promised a polished launch with maximum flair and that meant working until late evening as it was, and then a six o’clock start on Monday morning.

‘I’m all right, really.’ Robyn managed a fairly normal smile in spite of the fact she hadn’t slept a wink all night and had been downstairs at her desk by five. ‘I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all,’ she added with a fair attempt at nonchalance.

‘Have you eaten breakfast?’ And at Robyn’s shake of the head Drew scolded, ‘And I bet you were up at the crack of dawn too! Honestly, Robyn, sometimes I think you haven’t got the sense you were born with. You can’t work like you do and skip meals. I’ll make some toast and you’ll sit and eat it before you do anything else.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ But Robyn was laughing now. This was the other side of Drew that few people saw—the fussy, motherly side—and it was a complete antithesis to the dizzy, frivolous image the attractive blonde normally projected. But then, who knew what anyone else was really like? Robyn thought soberly as Drew bustled off upstairs. Certainly Clay didn’t have the faintest idea what or who she was.

And then she caught herself angrily. No more thinking about Clay Lincoln! She’d wasted all the night hours fretting and walking the floor, and who cared what he thought about her anyway. He’d labelled

her an empty-headed, amorous little flirt at sixteen who’d been ready and willing to jump into bed with any male, and now she’d risen to a sour, ruthless-minded business woman who wasn’t averse to using her body to get what she wanted.

She ground her teeth, furious with herself because it still rankled. Because it shouldn’t matter. He was nothing. Nothing.

She had left Cass’s immediately after the episode in the kitchen, pleading a headache, and she hadn’t looked at Clay once, not even when she had said goodbye. Even then she had kept her gaze somewhere behind his left ear.

But somehow—and this was the worst thing of all—she couldn’t get the memory of what that kiss had done to her out of her head and her senses. She touched her lips unconsciously, her eyes wide and unseeing. How could she have responded like that to a man she loathed and detested? He was dangerous. He was so, so dangerous. And unprincipled. And base. And—