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tempted to experiment with any of the men she had met. The married ones she froze with a few biting words; the others more gently but just as decisively. Anna had no room for love in her scheme for living; perhaps if she had tried the occasional fling she might not have been so completely dazed by what Laird was doing to her.
    Her inexperienced mouth trembled as his lips finally released it, but Laird didn't move away. He raised his head and stared down at her, and Anna opened her eyes to look at him in confusion, very flushed. She found she was seeing very hazily; his hard-boned face just above her seemed much further away, veiled in mist, yet even so she glimpsed the arrogant satisfaction in his eyes and the curl of his mouth, and a wave of rage swept to her head.
    'Don't think . . . ' she began, and Laird put a hand over her mouth, stifling the words.
    'Neither of us is going to do any thinking,' he promised ominously, and before she had a chance to bite him she felt his mouth moving along the side of her throat and the pleasure she felt drowned all her protests. His hands slid under her sweater and she moaned as they cupped her breasts silkily, the warmth of his flesh burning into her own. Her stupid eyes had closed again, her body quiescent as he caressed it.
    'Put her down, your supper's ready,' grated Parsons from the door, and Anna turned dark red in embarrassment as Laird sat up, one hand impatiently pushing back his ruffled black hair.
    'Don't you ever knock before you come into rooms?'
    'I did. You was too busy to hear me,' Parsons retorted. 'Now come and eat that caviare while the toast's hot.'
    'I should have left you in the gutter where I found you,' Laird muttered, getting off the couch.
    'That's nice, after I've spent an hour slaving away over a hot stove,' grunted Parsons, stumping out of the room.
    Laird looked down at Anna who was straightening her clothes with shaky hands, her eyes averted.
    'There's no need to look like that,' he said flatly. 'Parsons is very discreet.'
    She slid off the couch, hot-cheeked and icily angry with herself, with him. 'I'm sure he is—he'd need to be if you're always bringing your women up here! Can I have my coat, please? I'm leaving right now.'
    'You're going to taste a little caviare, first,' Laird said, taking her arm in an unbreakable lock, and she 'struggled uselessly as he pushed her across the room to the door.
    'I've already eaten, thanks! I couldn't eat anything else.' Anna was scared; she had told Patti that she would be out of her league with Laird Montgomery, but it was as true for her. While he was kissing her just now she had realised that she was way out of her depth. Her senses still hadn't recovered from his onslaught on them; she had to get away from him before he had an equally disastrous effect on her feelings. He was the first man she had ever felt might do that; she had never had to guard her heart before, it hadn't been in any danger. Now she knew it very well might be—and she wanted to run as fast and as far as she could to get away from him.
    He pushed her into the hallway and into another room on the far side, effortlessly controlling her in spite of her angry attempts to free herself.
    'Parsons would never forgive you,' he informed her drily, pushing her down on a chair at the polished walnut dining-table.
    It was laid for two, there were red candles burning on it, their soft light glimmering on silver cutlery and crystal glasses. A bowl of white roses made a centrepiece; Anna stared at them incredulously, remembering the wintry weather outside in the London streets. She put a trembling hand out and touched the smooth, cool petals; one broke off and fell slowly on to the wood, reflected in the gleaming patina.
    'Just have a spoonful of this,' said Laird. 'Do you like caviare?'
    'I've never tasted it,' Anna confessed honestly, looking down at the glistening black pearls on the plate between the small piles of chopped onion and the yellow and white