Edge of Paradise (2 page)

His eyes left hers to make a prolonged tour of her body; this, coupled with the feeling that had flashed across the room between them, left her in no doubt whatsoever as to the nature of his speculation.

She had received that sort of look from men before, and had perfected her own way of dealing with it. With ice, or ridicule, depending on which treatment she judged would be most effective. This time her brain seemed incapable of doing its normal thing. Instead of thinking, You should be so lucky! she sank low enough to wonder how she was shaping up.

Nature had blessed her with slim legs and a narrow waist, with nicely proportioned curves above and below, really quite modest in comparison with the voluptuous contours of his two companions, the blonde and the redhead, who were still fighting tenaciously for his escaping attention.

Natural poise came with the knowledge of having a good figure, but now, when she needed it more urgently than ever, Catherine's seemed to have deserted her. She wished she'd chosen a dress that didn't fit quite so neatly.

Having finished their inspection, his eyes lifted once more. They were a remarkable jade green in color, fringed with lashes that would have added an extra dimension of beauty to a woman's face, long, back-curling with golden tips, which still went perfectly with his
indisputably
male features. And they were signaling to her that he wanted to make love to her.

Inexperienced she might be, but she wasn't so juvenile that she couldn't recognize so clear a message. She had never felt so out of her depth, so divided in thought or so jangled in her entire life. The fact that she had always steered clear of the sort of danger he represented meant that she had nothing to draw guidance from to help her now.

Tapping some latent inner strength, she managed to compose herself sufficiently to give him the sort of quelling look that would have devastated most men. This one, after a moment of grave consideration, answered it with a smile, a smile that did precisely what it was intended to do: mock her feeble attempt to put him in his place and, as if that weren't bad enough, stir her interest.

In consequence her chin was the one to duck—in sick acknowledgment of the fact that she was not as immune to him as she would have wished. Had his smile flashed out on friendly impulse it would have been a different matter altogether. However, it was much too calculated to be sincere and the feeling she got was that if he hadn't been bored with his present company he wouldn't have exerted himself to look in her direction, and she wouldn't have been thrown into this state of contradiction.

Her
dislike of his type had not wavered by the slightest degree, and yet over and over again she felt her eyes being compulsively drawn to his. She had never seen such compelling eyes in anyone, man or woman, ever before. They held her glance until the hot color flooded her cheeks, the cue for the sparkle of droll laughter to appear in their jade depths at this telltale sign of her inner confusion.

She was beginning to wish she had never come to the party, never subjected herself to this torment. He was playing with her emotions and even if he did condescend to give her some typing to do, he would be impossible to work for. Perhaps she should forget it and get out while she could.

But even as this thought crossed her mind he was firmly and not very gently disentangling himself from his female companions. Why? Did he mean to join her? She didn't wait to find out. She knew she had to escape and did so with all haste, to the bathroom, which was the one place he couldn't follow her. She asked herself if she weren't being just a little bit ridiculous, panicking at nothing.

She combed her hair, to little effect, as it did its own thing anyway. Dark copper in color, it was shiny and bouncy, held in some kind of check by its own weight, and reached below her shoulder blades. She retouched her makeup, scolded herself for not being better
equipped
to deal with the situation and felt, if not better, then certainly a little calmer.

She emerged from her hideout and returned to the overcrowded, overheated, intolerably noisy room. The party had livened up considerably during her absence. Someone had put on a record and couples were dancing. An arm snaked 'round her waist and she became engaged in a strenuous dance-cum-wrestling match with a man not much taller than herself. His one advantage was that he didn't block her view; as they circled the room her eyes could do likewise without being obvious. Where was he? She couldn't see him anywhere. Had he left?

Her partner swung her 'round and she came to a dizzy halt and fell, literally, into other arms. Finding the owner's face was merely a matter of raising the angle of her chin—and meeting the onslaught of mocking jade green eyes.

‘Oh, you!' she said foolishly.

His hand on her back touched her nerves with sensuous sweetness and she broke free of his dangerous hold. His jade eyes flicked over her, one brow lifting in amused awareness of the effect he had on her.

He said, ‘Do I take you home now? Or are you going to make me endure more of this exceedingly tedious party while we go through the formalities of getting to know one another first?'

‘You're
very sure of yourself,' she began indignantly. Then, before she could put him in his place, an alabaster-white hand ending in long scarlet talons fixed predatorily on his shoulder.

A petulant voice said, ‘Darling, you've been an age. I thought you were getting me a drink.'

‘Of course, Ivy, my sweet. Come along and I'll drown you in it.'

‘My name is Poppy, not Ivy,' the redhead cooed chastisingly, her red lips forming a beautiful pout.

His eyes rested on her clinging fingers. ‘I know. Ivy seemed more appropriate.' Redirecting his gaze he said autocratically to Catherine, ‘This won't take long to deal with. Wait here.'

As poor Poppy was dragged unceremoniously away to be dealt with, Catherine could find nothing to smile about in the ludicrous contrast between his indifference to Poppy and the taunting sweetness he was turning on her.

If he hadn't commanded her to wait in a tone that was heavy with meaning, it wouldn't have occurred to her to do otherwise. As it was, perversity made her move away. She circulated, and eventually came face to face with her hostess.

‘Wonderful party, Lois.'

‘Glad you think so, darling. How lovely you look.'

‘So
do you.' Catherine came back on cue—and meant it. ‘In fact, you look ravishing.'

The praise brought a gratified smile to her hostess's lips as she asked with genuine interest, ‘How is the venture going? What is that absurd name you and Alison call yourselves? Ah, now I remember! Allycats!'

Catherine admitted, ‘We're not exactly living on cream. That's why . . .'

‘I know, dear. I've had a word about you with my author friend,' Lois said, inclining her head in his direction.

He had obviously dealt with Poppy and was now in conversation with the pale-faced man wearing spectacles. His features were strained with boredom. This was egomania in its most rampant form and her hackles rose in defense of that poor man.

‘Like that, is it?' asked Lois, who was watching her face.

‘Like what?'

‘Snap judgment. You don't like him.'

‘No, I don't,' Catherine declared vehemently. ‘He's too full of his own importance.'

‘Be fair, Catherine. He has achieved something to feel pretty special about.'

‘I know,' she admitted with due remorse. ‘I feel awful talking about him like this when I'm hoping to get some work out of him. I'm not usually such a hypocrite.'

‘No-o, I'll go along with that. Neither are
you
usually such a bad judge of character, because take it from me, dear, he's quite charming. Perhaps you're in awe of him because he's acquired such fame. It affects some people that way. Anyway, to put you in the picture, I told him about Allycats and asked him if he could send some typing your way. I gave him your business address and he promised to get in touch. Now, must do my duty round. Have you all got drinks?' she said brightly, moving on to the nearest group of people.

Catherine realized that she'd forgotten to ask Lois his real name. No matter. She expected to encounter him again, and she did, by the simple expedient of turning 'round.

‘Looking for me?' he inquired arrogantly.

So what if he knew she had been looking for him? He'd know why, because Lois had prepared the ground for her by mentioning the typing agency and informing him that she hoped he would give her some work to do. So she clasped her hands tightly, took a deep breath and said without preamble, ‘What do I call you? Lucky?'

His eyebrows lifted. ‘I hope so. You tell me.'

Unsure of how to handle his blatant teasing, she tried again. ‘What's your name?'

‘Paul Hebden,' he replied after a slight pause, as if he thought she should have known it.

‘I'm Catherine Mason. The Cat in Allycats.
My
partner Alison Butler is the Ally part.'

He studied her face for a moment, the total absorption in his jade eyes replacing the cold boredom so recently contained there.

For the second time that evening she recognized the danger and knew she must not allow herself to feel flattered, no matter how novel it was to have the most interesting man in the room, the most interesting man she had ever met, come to that, looking at her as if she had suddenly changed from her average self into a creature of divine fascination.

‘Mm,' he said, in a way that made her wonder if he thought Cat was an appropriate name for her. She had been told more than once that her pointed face and sapphire blue eyes had a slightly feline look.

‘Is this a new kind of party talk?' he said unexpectedly.

He was obviously telling her that he wasn't in the mood to talk business. She sighed in resignation, and shivered despite the heat of the room. What he was in the mood for had been apparent all along.

He said, ‘Have you a coat to collect?'

She had hoped that her stay in the overheated smoky atmosphere wouldn't be too prolonged, but now she didn't want to leave its safety.

‘If we go so soon, Lois will think her party is a flop.'

‘Don't be naive. It's doubtful that Lois will
take
note of our leaving in this scrum. But if she does, that's not what she will think at all.'

She swallowed. She and Ally needed the work, but did they need it this badly? The simple answer was yes. So yes, she had a coat to fetch. And yes, he could take her home.

She hoped she knew what she was doing. On the way home, sitting beside him in his car, a very expensive model with long racy lines, her thoughts were chaotic to say the least. Obviously he was dallying her along with the intention of eventually giving her some work to do. The million dollar question was, if he did, would she be able to cope? Bosses had long been noted for making passes. Even Charles, who had been almost perfect in every way—until the end—had tried it on at first. He'd accepted the fact that she didn't want to play office hanky-panky and had gone back into line. Charles had respected her, going as far as to take her out on several occasions after his unsuccessful try-on, and every time his behavior had been that of a perfect gentleman.

But Paul wasn't Charles, as she was soon to find out. When she said, ‘That's where I live,' he drove straight past, beyond the illuminating glow of the street lamp, and didn't stop until he found a place of deep shadows.

Even though she expected it, it still came as a shock to be crushed so forcefully against his chest as he imprisoned her mouth in a kiss that blotted out everything but the most intense
spurt
of pleasure she had ever known. Every other kiss she had ever received faded into insignificance before the impact of this new experience, one which showed the others up for what they were: icing sugar kisses, sweet but impotent, leaving her senses untouched.

Just as her mouth had softened under the skillful persuasion of his, so did her body soften to his touch as his fingers brushed against her in delicate introduction as he reached for the lever that lowered her seat. The maneuver was effected so smoothly that she didn't realize what was happening until the vulnerability of her reclining position struck her.

‘No!' she gasped, struggling to sit up, a fresh wave of knowledge sweeping over her to increase her sense of panic.

Charles had been easy to repulse because she had wanted to repulse him. The recoiling of her flesh had been a blow to his pride and he had backed away from that as much as from her frosty, affronted protest.

But what man would listen when her body was giving out a different kind of message? He would take his cue from the exhilarated wildness of her pulse, the vibrating tingle of flesh that felt as though it must surely melt under the heat of its own response.

She had always prided herself on having a high sense of self-preservation and had guarded against the obvious harmful
addictions
such as cigarettes and alcohol, not realizing that it was easy to refrain from smoking when you found the taste of tobacco unpleasant. She quite enjoyed the occasional glass of wine, but hard liquor had little appeal for her.

Paul Hebden, though, could easily get into her blood. If she were foolish enough to let this happen, she would run the risk of never getting him out of her system again. He spelled danger for her. Resisting him would be the hardest test of stamina she had ever faced or was likely to come up against in her entire life. Despite all the confusion he wrought in her, her mind was surprisingly clear on that point.

Her next piece of action was a masterful cover-up of the battle she was fighting. ‘I'm getting out of this car, Paul, and don't try to stop me.'

‘I never need to exert physical strength over a woman,' he said, his tone implying that it was naive of her to think he ever needed to resort to such measures. Women would always be readily available to him.