‘You could be a quick thinker for all I know,’ he countered. ‘And there are women who take the most amazing liberties and—opportunities.’
She studied the harsh lines of his face. She thought of the pent-up dynamism she’d sensed in him. She had to acknowledge that he would be extremely attractive to most women and when you added his wealth to his looks and his aura, you had also to acknowledge there could be some women, gold-diggers, fortune-hunters, who would take what opportunities they could.
‘You forget,’ she said quietly, ‘I probably have as much money in my own right as you do.’
He said, with a flash of irritation, as if he was suddenly heartily sick of her, ‘I don’t really give a damn for your motivation. I’d much rather you worked out how to get us out of here. I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours.’
Maggie looked around helplessly, then upwards. ‘Maybe—maybe we can go through the roof?’
He swore comprehensively and pointed out just how high the roof was and that there was no ceiling. There was also no sign of so much as a set of steps, let alone a decent ladder, or…
Maggie finally stemmed the tide. She planted her hands on her hips again. ‘You’re a man, aren’t you? Surely you can think of something?’
He folded his arms and looked sardonic. ‘Even wealthy, powerful men have their uses? Isn’t that a double standard?’
Maggie opened and closed her mouth a couple of times.
‘Cat got your tongue, Miss Trent?’ he drawled. ‘Never mind, here’s what I suggest. Since you got us into this—you get us out.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘THAT’S… that’s ridiculous,’ Maggie stammered.
‘Why?’
‘I thought you had a plane to catch.’
‘I get the feeling even my best efforts won’t catch me that plane.’
She gazed around in serious alarm. ‘That doesn’t entitle you to twiddle your thumbs!’
He looked her over sardonically, but she was entirely unprepared for what he said next.
‘Let’s try and clear the decks here. If you’re not trying to make some stupid statement about the kind of housing estates I develop, what are you after, Maggie Trent? My body?’
She went scarlet, instantly and—it felt—all over, and could have killed herself. ‘In your dreams, mister,’ she said through her teeth.
‘Why so hot, then?’ he taunted and ran his gaze up and down her. ‘We might suit rather well. In bed.’
Her tongue seemed to tie itself in knots as all her mental sensors seemed to attune themselves to this proposition in the form of a picture in her mind’s eye of just that—Jack McKinnon running his hands over her naked body.
What was particularly surprising about it was the fact that she didn’t often fantasize about men. In fact she’d sometimes wondered if there was something wrong with her. The other surprise she got was the realization that this man had got under her skin from the very beginning in this very way, and succeeded in unsettling her even when she’d been telling herself she hoped never to lay eyes on him again.
Perhaps, but that didn’t mean she had to like it, or him, she thought.
‘Look—’ she ignored his assessing gaze; she ignored her burning cheeks ‘—don’t push me any further with this kind of—cheap rubbish!’
He smiled slightly as he took in the imperious tilt of her chin. ‘Ever tried a real man, Maggie, as opposed to a good-mannered, docile boy like Tim Mitchell?’
Her lips parted.
‘You might find your stance on men somewhat changed if you did,’ he drawled, and went on before she could draw breath. ‘And if you’re not making a statement on housing estates, what’s left?’
‘You tell me,’ she suggested dangerously.
This time he smiled quite charmingly, although it didn’t take the sting out of what he said. ‘A flighty, spoilt little rich bitch who hates not getting her own way?’ he mused. ‘A right chip off the old block,’ he added with that lethal smile disappearing to be replaced by a cold, hard glance of contempt. Then he turned away.
‘Hang on! What’s that supposed to mean? Do you… do you know my father?’ she demanded.