Read Online To Deceive Is To Love (Romantic suspense) by Lynne King - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynne King
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me,” the woman pouted. “The weather in Brussels was lousy, can you believe that? But at least the contract was signed and my client was happy.” Her well-spoken, clipped voice continued as if she was acting a part in a play. “I had a couple of days free since I returned earlier than planned and you were nowhere to be found. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” She returned her attention to Chantelle, pushing her sunglasses back over her forehead, her blue eyes cold and suspicious.
“Chantelle Duvall, this is Catherine Cavendish.” David began to look even more uncomfortable when Catherine linked her arm with his as if he was her possession.
Chantelle’s smile tightened, but she tried to sound lighthearted. “Catherine, David’s told me so much about you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better get this little Rolls Royce home before she’s towed away as an eyesore.”
“Chantelle Duvall. Sounds French, but you don’t have an accent.” There was suspicion in Catherine’s tone and in her gaze as she looked back and forth between Chantelle and David.
Already settled behind the wheel of her car, Chantelle called out before slamming the door shut, “Au revoir.”
****
David couldn’t help staring after the Renault as it left the airport. Then, he turned to Catherine.
Arms folded against her chest, she was leaning against her car, sunglasses again shielding her eyes. “Perhaps I should show up unannounced more often. I must admit, she’s not your usual type. A bit -- what’s the word? Ordinary.”
His eyes hardened as he stood there and looked at her, admitting now what he had always known: Catherine was a stuck-up bitch. He didn’t know why he felt so damn angry, but he did and he wanted to rid himself of what had caused it.
“Finally, your friend has made herself scarce.” She looked at him, a triumphant smile forming. Feeling in her jacket pocket, she produced a key and waved it at him. “And darling, stop on route and pick up a couple of bottles of chilled Chablis.”
Despite stopping for the wine, David still managed to pull up outside the flat at the same time as Catherine. The flat was in the fashionable, expensive Knightsbridge area of London and it was owned by a “friend” of Catherine’s. The friend was pretty accommodating; David had not once set eyes on the owner. The décor and furniture suggested whoever owned it had expensive and masculine tastes, but David never bothered to question Catherine about it.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, David pulled Catherine into his arms. His hands roughly hitched up her skirt as he pushed her up against the wall. The action didn’t surprise her. She responded with the same amount of aggression, her painted nails tearing their way to his skin and then finally undoing his trousers. Her mouth locked on his in a frenzied assault.
But as suddenly as it started, it stopped. David gripped her wrists as she went to pull his trousers down. He held her at arm’s length, and her blue eyes turned icy.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
For a second, he said nothing, but whatever was written on his face caused her to shrink back as if she thought he was about to strike her. Quickly, he released her wrists and stepped toward the door, doing his trousers up at the same time.
“I’m sorry, Catherine, it’s over. From now on, you have to make do with your husband or whoever else takes your fancy.” His voice was cruel and full of disgust, but for her or himself, he wasn’t sure.
“Why, you bastard.” She rushed forward and blocked his way to the door. “I deserve some sort of explanation, like what the hell is going on here. What gives you the right to act so damn self-righteous? My marital status has never given you pause before. It’s that phony French slut. Trying to clean your act up for her, are you?”
If she thought her words would change his mind, she was wrong. David stood there and felt nothing
“Chantelle Duvall, this is Catherine Cavendish.” David began to look even more uncomfortable when Catherine linked her arm with his as if he was her possession.
Chantelle’s smile tightened, but she tried to sound lighthearted. “Catherine, David’s told me so much about you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d better get this little Rolls Royce home before she’s towed away as an eyesore.”
“Chantelle Duvall. Sounds French, but you don’t have an accent.” There was suspicion in Catherine’s tone and in her gaze as she looked back and forth between Chantelle and David.
Already settled behind the wheel of her car, Chantelle called out before slamming the door shut, “Au revoir.”
****
David couldn’t help staring after the Renault as it left the airport. Then, he turned to Catherine.
Arms folded against her chest, she was leaning against her car, sunglasses again shielding her eyes. “Perhaps I should show up unannounced more often. I must admit, she’s not your usual type. A bit -- what’s the word? Ordinary.”
His eyes hardened as he stood there and looked at her, admitting now what he had always known: Catherine was a stuck-up bitch. He didn’t know why he felt so damn angry, but he did and he wanted to rid himself of what had caused it.
“Finally, your friend has made herself scarce.” She looked at him, a triumphant smile forming. Feeling in her jacket pocket, she produced a key and waved it at him. “And darling, stop on route and pick up a couple of bottles of chilled Chablis.”
Despite stopping for the wine, David still managed to pull up outside the flat at the same time as Catherine. The flat was in the fashionable, expensive Knightsbridge area of London and it was owned by a “friend” of Catherine’s. The friend was pretty accommodating; David had not once set eyes on the owner. The décor and furniture suggested whoever owned it had expensive and masculine tastes, but David never bothered to question Catherine about it.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, David pulled Catherine into his arms. His hands roughly hitched up her skirt as he pushed her up against the wall. The action didn’t surprise her. She responded with the same amount of aggression, her painted nails tearing their way to his skin and then finally undoing his trousers. Her mouth locked on his in a frenzied assault.
But as suddenly as it started, it stopped. David gripped her wrists as she went to pull his trousers down. He held her at arm’s length, and her blue eyes turned icy.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
For a second, he said nothing, but whatever was written on his face caused her to shrink back as if she thought he was about to strike her. Quickly, he released her wrists and stepped toward the door, doing his trousers up at the same time.
“I’m sorry, Catherine, it’s over. From now on, you have to make do with your husband or whoever else takes your fancy.” His voice was cruel and full of disgust, but for her or himself, he wasn’t sure.
“Why, you bastard.” She rushed forward and blocked his way to the door. “I deserve some sort of explanation, like what the hell is going on here. What gives you the right to act so damn self-righteous? My marital status has never given you pause before. It’s that phony French slut. Trying to clean your act up for her, are you?”
If she thought her words would change his mind, she was wrong. David stood there and felt nothing
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