She looked at him to make sure he wasn't pulling her leg. No, he seemed serious. “Why do you say that?”
“Tall, slender, lovely pert figure, long straight blond hair, emerald green eyes any man would die for, and a lovely smile—perfect attributes for a career in modeling.” Now she decided she would marry him as soon as he asked. “Why did you think I was a bank robber?”
“Well, you're tall.”
“Is that the only qualification?”
“I can't describe it. You look tough, as though you don't take any BS from anybody. The scar on your cheek helps.” He ran his index finger over it. She wanted to know how he'd gotten it but was afraid it would prove to be a more mundane reason than she wanted to believe.
“What are you going to do in London?” he asked.
“I've recently graduated in journalism. I thought it would do me good to work abroad for a while.”
“Do you have a job lined up?”
“No. I was going to see what I could find when I got there.”
He sipped his coffee and looked at her. He was sad she'd closed her blouse. “Very enterprising. I bet you're a good journalist.”
“I don't really know. I did great at college, but that's not the real world. Maybe I’ll suck at it; I have no idea.”
“I don't think you’ll suck at it. I can see you've got what it takes.”
Just then an announcement interrupted their conversation. “Oh, what?” Olivia moaned in response to it. The airline had finally announced that the plane wouldn't be leaving that day because of a technical fault. “I can't go home; I live miles away. Do you know any good hotels in Boston?” she asked.
*****
“Is this your house?” Olivia asked
“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because it's huge.” She paused. “And you live here alone?”
“Do you know, we haven't introduced ourselves. We've been talking all afternoon and I don't even know you name,” he said, ignoring her question.
“Olivia Halfpenny.”
“Really?”
“Please don't laugh. I've had years of teasing about it. It's an English name, my great grandfather's fault. He could have changed it when he came to the States.”
“Daniel Raleigh.”
“Oh, that's a nice name. It sounds very noble,” Olivia said.
She wondered what she was doing at his house. She had been going to get a hotel, but when he'd offered to put her up, she'd heard herself say yes before she'd really thought it through. Sitting in his car on the way from the airport, she'd wondered what on earth she was doing. For all she knew, he could be a killer. The real reason, she later admitted to herself, was that she wanted to sleep with him.
Olivia was speechless. The house was like something she'd seen in the movies, a huge palatial residence built, she guessed, somewhere around the nineteen thirties. It had an enormous yard in the front and rear, with a pool and a few tennis courts. The house itself was white with timber inlay. It had a terrace running across the front elevation and a lovely antique conservatory to the side.
“You have to tell me what you do for a living. You can't buy this kind of place by robbing banks,” she joked.
“There's time for that. Come in and have a drink.”
The interior took her breath away. It was straight from a design magazine. It was just how she would have decorated it, lots of white colonial furniture with palms and marble floor tiles.
“It's a lovely house,” she said. He handed her a glass of red wine, and she took a sip.
“I'm glad you like it,” he said.
“Why did you ask me here?” she said.
“Because I took pity on you. It's not nice trying to find a hotel on your own.”
She looked at his expression and instantly knew he was lying. Her father had run a building business, and many of the guys who had worked for him had looked at her like Daniel was.
“Actually, I'm fibbing,” he said as he took her wine glass from her. “As soon as I saw you I wanted to have you. All that small talk was just a smoke screen. I usually get what I want.”
“So you persuaded me to come here so you could...”
He took her in his arms and kissed her.
“I didn't persuade you. You couldn't wait to say yes,” he said once their lips parted.
“Admit it. You want me just as much as I want you. I can sense it.” Had she been that obvious? She really hadn't shown him her bra on purpose. That had been a genuine mistake. “You looked at me like a bitch on heat,” he added.
He pulled her tighter to him and kissed her again. When his lips finally left hers, he spun her around and pushed her face-first against the wall. “Tell me you want me.” When she was silent, he put his weight on her. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“Yes,” she moaned as his erection pushed against her buttocks.
“You came here because you want me to fuck you. You will do exactly as I say. Understood?”
This was what she loved, craved even: a man who told her what he wanted. A man who demanded things of her and made her feel things.