She threw back her head at a haughty angle and pursued a bored expression with variable success. The face was easy to arrange but she couldn't wipe the fearful shadow from the cloudy golden depths. 'If it means so much to you, I'll go along with the pretence that I'm a slave to your masculine charms. I admit you're beautiful.' Some of the sarcasm evaporated from her voice at the wrong moment and she sounded so fervent that she hurried on, almost falling over her words to cover the emotions that had slipped through her guard. 'But, between ourselves, life would be a lot simpler if you stopped belabouring the point. I mean, the only reason you want me is to torture Dad—and he already believes this fantasy, or he will do once you've had a few minutes to enlighten him. So why bother? I mean, why contaminate yourself with my bloodline, not to mention all my neurotic inadequacies?'
'You could have a point there,' he said unsmilingly.
The reply deflated her, but she knew when to take advantage of a situation. She muttered a defiant, 'Fine,' and turned to go. She had barely taken two steps before a hand grabbed her arm and spun her around, almost jerking her off her feet as he catapulted her into his body.
'I'll tell you when to go,' he said thickly, and the tension in him communicated itself to her immediately. She stopped struggling and froze, sensing danger, excited by it despite the heart-thudding fear that flooded through her. He caught her chin in one hand and she couldn't prevent him forcing her face up to his.
'What do you think you're doing?' she asked shakily. His eyes scanning her face were incandescent, alight with a blatant hunger that was intensely shocking.
'Perhaps I'm prepared to risk contamination; it might just vindicate all the bloody aggravation of putting up with your continual whining, constant dissimulation!'
Had she ever thought him bland, urbane? He looked capable of just about anything right now. He was in the grip of some violent emotion which obviously was temporarily overriding his habitual control. She'd seen Luke maintain his legendary cool under severe provocation from her father, even under bullet fire. Yet she had pushed him right to the edge. 'I've told you before, I won't be a pawn to be sacrificed,' she said tremulously. 'I thought I had to beg the great Luke Hunt,' she reminded him.
His teeth grated audibly and the pallor around his lips deepened. 'You persist in acting as though you're just an interested observer. It would take me seconds to make you beg, less to make you admit you want me as badly as I want you.' Her stomach lurched at his violent admission, and she swayed as though struck by a strong wind. 'If it weren't for the fact of who I am, you'd still be in bed now…with me. Next you'll be telling me you've taken some vow of chastity,' he sneered, and his eyes darkened at the small bubble of hysterical laughter that overflowed from her constricted throat. 'Gavin can hardly have been the first to sample your sweet temptations—' His voice slurred slightly, and he broke off, sweat beading his forehead.
The image his words conjured up made her skin grow hot. She pressed damp palms flat against his chest and tried to push free. Her head snapped from side to side until the grip of his fingers tightened, holding her immobile. His thumb pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek. 'I don't meet the social criteria for a Stapely, do I, Emily? That's the problem. That's why you'll always choose some guy like Gavin who won't mess your hair in public or ruin Daddy's efforts to work his way to the top of the honours list. You're a hypocrite, born and bred,' he continued. 'Have you given many men the hungry, come-get-me look and then run away? The odds were that someone, sometime, would call your bluff, infant, and give you what you're drooling for. I should have known better. Away from the bloody tribe I thought you might…' If she'd looked up at that moment she might have glimpsed a bleak emptiness, an anguish that went deep.
She did raise her tear-filled eyes when his grip relaxed as he shook his head, regarding her with an expression that seemed to border on loathing. She took advantage of the moment and turned to flee once more, his scathing comments echoing in her ears. She ignored the sound of her name as he yelled after her, and ran. Actually, floundered would have been more accurate; the ground was pebbly and uneven, shelving sharply where it fell to the waterline, and her bare feet objected to such rough treatment. It was by luck rather than good management that her impetuous flight took her a hundred metres or so before the ground shifted beneath her feet and she slithered and fell.
The cold water took her breath away and she found herself sliding beneath the waist-deep, softly lapping waves. She surfaced and sank once more before she was able to get her footing.
He was standing there on the shore, watching her attempts to brush sea-water-sodden strands of hair from her eyes. His face was impassive.