White Lies Read Online Free PDF Page B

brutally reminding her how wonderful married love could be. And she hungered for something she could no longer have, because she'd never fall in love again and sex without love—without marriage—was unthinkable.
    She missed being hugged by her beloved husband. She missed the joy of sex. And the bliss afterwards.
    Slowly her limpid gaze came back to focus on his. 'Spoken like a true chauvinist,' she said resentfully. Yet the memories had roughened her voice and she sounded horribly husky and inviting.
    'You need men... and I need women. There's something terrible about the sex urge, isn't there, Mandy?'
    Taking advantage of her astonished silence, he slowly displayed his masculine approval by openly studying her body. Mandy squirmed uncomfortably, aware that her sweat was holding her thin dress against her damp skin and that he must be learning more about her figure than he should.
    'Don't!' she husked, reeling from his intense sexuality. It was making her body throb... It was such a long time since a man had been so bold and poured desire from the depths of his eyes! Her mouth trembled and pouted. 'Don't!'
    'Invitation and rebuke. Little-girl sweetness, womanly sensuality. Demure and innocent, yet offering the promise of curves that will fire an old man's loins. What a joy you must be to lustful old satyrs,' mused Pascal with breathtaking insolence.
    'What?' she gasped.
    'Easy arousal is vitally important when you're dealing with lowered libido,' he drawled.
    'Is that an observation from personal experience?' she snapped waspishly.
    He smiled with the confidence of a man who knew he couldn't ever give the impression that he might be less than one hundred per cent pure male. 'I have a very high libido. It's a problem sometimes,' he murmured. 'Particularly when faced with temptation.'
    Her chin jerked down, following the direction of his fascinated and mocking gaze. The freshening breeze— or something —had teased each dark centre of her breasts into a firm peak which thrust at the cloth assertively in an unspoken invitation. No wonder Pascal's mouth was looking sultrier by the minute! Hastily, she covered their come-and-get-me appeal with defensively folded arms.
    'Don't flatter yourself that that's anything to do with you!' she snapped. 'Get your libido back in line. I'm not interested in you—'
    'What about money?' he suggested.
    'All I'm interested in at present is your father—'
    'They amount to the same thing. He represents money for you.'
    'He represents my dreams,' she corrected.
    'You're determined to stay on, aren't you?' he murmured. 'So.. .we'll have to get along together after all.' His mouth twisted at her wide-eyed hope. 'Would you like to spend an hour or two on my boat?' he suggested casually. Although he was smiling at her innocently, she couldn't mistake the sinfully arched eyebrow and the undercurrent of male desire in his deep blue eyes.
    'No. I wouldn't. And I know what you're suggesting and you're no gentleman—'
    'True,' he admitted. 'I'm the local rogue.' And he flashed his dazzling, tigerish grin.
    She was beginning to get his measure. A playboy. Rolling in his father's hard-earned wealth.
    Perhaps, she thought, elaborating on the theme, the antipathy between father and son came from Monsieur St Honore's resentment at having built up a thriving legal practice only to have his son lounge about on beaches, chat up women and spend his money.
    'You've made that perfectly clear by your clumsy invitation,' she said coldly, deciding to scramble over the rocks to the next bay and escape his unwanted attentions.
    'Good. Because I don't want you to think I'd ever play fair,' he told her silkily, and she paused, wondering what he meant. Her hesitation gave him the opportunity to capture her wrists in his vice-like hands. 'You and your kind are like parasites. And, for your information, I invited you to my boat on the off chance that I could keep you there till you promised to get the hell off the island,'