contemptuously.
'Please lean back and try to relax. It will not be more than a few more
minutes. Quite frankly, melodramatic scenes do not appeal to me.'
Tears of sheer rage filled Sara's eyes and she was glad of the darkness
that prevented him from noticing. Why, oh why, did she always bawl when she was
furious? But she wasn't going to — no, she'd rather die under torture than give
him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her.
Speechless now and stiff as a board, she leaned back in her seat; trying
to pretend to herself that he did not exist. Deep breathing, Sara! she told
herself. It was what she did before a tennis match, when she knew she was up
against a formidable opponent, and it helped now.
From the corner of her eye Sara caught his sideways glance at her, while
she stubbornly continued her silent disregard of his presence. He was not only
insufferably arrogant, this Duca di Cavalieri, but in spite of his title and
his wealth he was also the rudest and most obnoxious man it had ever been her
bad fortune to meet! Why had he been so anxious to meet her when he so
obviously thought her cheap and easy? And now that she had let him know she
wasn't, would he give up?
'Are you warm enough?' he said abruptly, cutting into her thoughts as if
he had been able to read them; and Sara realised that she had given an involuntary
shudder as a slight frisson of apprehension had coursed down her spine.
'I'm quite comfortable, thank you,' she said stiffly, wishing that he
would hurry. Surely they were taking an unconscionable time to get back to her
apartment?
'Good.' He pushed a couple of buttons and soft music from superb
speakers filled the silence between them. Beethoven's Pastorale, with every
note as clear as a bell. Spellbinding music, mood music. But dangerous in
conjunction with the dark, dangerous masculinity of this man beside her. Sara
shifted uncomfortably on the heels of that thought, and catching her slight
movement he said rather sardonically: 'This music does not appeal to you?
"Whould you care to hear something else?'
Her lips parting to contradict him, Sara remembered again that she was
supposed to be Delight, and she forced an indifferent shrug.
'It doesn't matter. We're almost there, aren't we?'
He was persistent, his voice grating against her ears. 'Tell me,
Delight, what kind of music do you like?'
This tims she forced herself to look at him, catching the arrogant
planes of his face and the slight twist of his lips in the light from a passing
car.
'Well - anything with a beat to it. You know, some jazz.'
'I see. And your other likes and dislikes?'
She was beginning to feel trapped. Why was he practically interrogating
her suddenly?
'Why would you want to know? I mean it's been quite obvious from the
beginning of the evening that you don't exactly Approve of me, hasn't it? Sorry
if I've been a disappointment - but a blind date is a blind date, even in
Hollywood!'
He stopped the car so abruptly that Sara gave a little cry as she was
flung forward, only to be held back by the steely Strength of his arm. When she
would have pushed it away he continued to hold her pinned in place — a
terrifying sensation, especially when his dark, angry face was far too close to
hers.
"Tell me then, Signorina Delight, why you go out on these... blind
dates, as you call them? You are an attractive young woman, but you don't have
a husband or a lover. Is it because you prefer variety?'
Fighting back panic and the impulse to tear at him with her nails until
he set her free, Sara forced herself to be still, staring back, at him
defiantly.
'You have no right to question me - or to expect answers! And you are
not only rude, you , . . you're the most. . .'
'Ah — but whatever you say and whatever I am, there is still an
attraction between us, is there not?' He gave a short laugh that sent ripples
of fear along Sara's nerves.
'You're crazy! I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing
with me, but I'm
'Please lean back and try to relax. It will not be more than a few more
minutes. Quite frankly, melodramatic scenes do not appeal to me.'
Tears of sheer rage filled Sara's eyes and she was glad of the darkness
that prevented him from noticing. Why, oh why, did she always bawl when she was
furious? But she wasn't going to — no, she'd rather die under torture than give
him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her.
Speechless now and stiff as a board, she leaned back in her seat; trying
to pretend to herself that he did not exist. Deep breathing, Sara! she told
herself. It was what she did before a tennis match, when she knew she was up
against a formidable opponent, and it helped now.
From the corner of her eye Sara caught his sideways glance at her, while
she stubbornly continued her silent disregard of his presence. He was not only
insufferably arrogant, this Duca di Cavalieri, but in spite of his title and
his wealth he was also the rudest and most obnoxious man it had ever been her
bad fortune to meet! Why had he been so anxious to meet her when he so
obviously thought her cheap and easy? And now that she had let him know she
wasn't, would he give up?
'Are you warm enough?' he said abruptly, cutting into her thoughts as if
he had been able to read them; and Sara realised that she had given an involuntary
shudder as a slight frisson of apprehension had coursed down her spine.
'I'm quite comfortable, thank you,' she said stiffly, wishing that he
would hurry. Surely they were taking an unconscionable time to get back to her
apartment?
'Good.' He pushed a couple of buttons and soft music from superb
speakers filled the silence between them. Beethoven's Pastorale, with every
note as clear as a bell. Spellbinding music, mood music. But dangerous in
conjunction with the dark, dangerous masculinity of this man beside her. Sara
shifted uncomfortably on the heels of that thought, and catching her slight
movement he said rather sardonically: 'This music does not appeal to you?
"Whould you care to hear something else?'
Her lips parting to contradict him, Sara remembered again that she was
supposed to be Delight, and she forced an indifferent shrug.
'It doesn't matter. We're almost there, aren't we?'
He was persistent, his voice grating against her ears. 'Tell me,
Delight, what kind of music do you like?'
This tims she forced herself to look at him, catching the arrogant
planes of his face and the slight twist of his lips in the light from a passing
car.
'Well - anything with a beat to it. You know, some jazz.'
'I see. And your other likes and dislikes?'
She was beginning to feel trapped. Why was he practically interrogating
her suddenly?
'Why would you want to know? I mean it's been quite obvious from the
beginning of the evening that you don't exactly Approve of me, hasn't it? Sorry
if I've been a disappointment - but a blind date is a blind date, even in
Hollywood!'
He stopped the car so abruptly that Sara gave a little cry as she was
flung forward, only to be held back by the steely Strength of his arm. When she
would have pushed it away he continued to hold her pinned in place — a
terrifying sensation, especially when his dark, angry face was far too close to
hers.
"Tell me then, Signorina Delight, why you go out on these... blind
dates, as you call them? You are an attractive young woman, but you don't have
a husband or a lover. Is it because you prefer variety?'
Fighting back panic and the impulse to tear at him with her nails until
he set her free, Sara forced herself to be still, staring back, at him
defiantly.
'You have no right to question me - or to expect answers! And you are
not only rude, you , . . you're the most. . .'
'Ah — but whatever you say and whatever I am, there is still an
attraction between us, is there not?' He gave a short laugh that sent ripples
of fear along Sara's nerves.
'You're crazy! I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing
with me, but I'm
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