Captive but Forbidden (8 page)

He stopped moving. “Am I hurting you?”

She realized she was gripping both his biceps in her hands, her nails digging into him. Tears pressed at the back of her lids and she swallowed them down.

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “It’s, um, more difficult than I’d thought it would be.”

He swore softly. Started to withdraw.

“No,” she cried out, tightening her legs around him. “I need you, Raj. I need you.”

His breath sucked in, as if he were in pain, too. Which, she thought, he probably was, though it was a far different pain from what she was experiencing.

“We’ll take it slowly,” he said, and her heart swelled with feeling.

He put his hand between them, found her. Sweet, singing need began to hum in her body again as he stroked her. Softly, sweetly, as if he had all the time in the world. As if there was no dawn and no sunset, no appointments, no pressures. As if she was the world and he her servant within it.

It took longer to hit the peak this time, but she did, her body opening to him as he took the opportunity to slide farther inside her.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He did, his mouth so warm and giving that she lost herself in the kiss once more. She could feel him moving again, and though her body tightened a bit at the intrusion, the pain was far less than it had been.

She didn’t know how long they lay entangled like that, but finally Veronica tilted her hips up and took him the rest of the way inside. She could feel him throbbing deep in her body, could feel the tight control he wielded over his needs as he held himself so still.

“Poor Raj,” she whispered. “What a project I’ve turned into for you.”

“You aren’t a project,” he said fiercely. Protectively.

She loved the conviction in his tone, loved how honorable he truly was. The feelings swirling in her heart and soul were beginning to confuse her. Frighten her. Deliberately, she shoved them away.

“Make love to me,” she said.

He began to move so slowly once more, until she was a mass of tight nerve endings and shuddering tension. Until she was begging him to take her faster. He took his time obliging her, but when she didn’t shrink from him, when she didn’t cry out or flinch in pain, he turned up the intensity.

Again and again, he took her higher, their bodies straining together, sweating, skin sliding on skin. Exquisite. Torturous.

The pain was still there, but so slight she hardly noticed. The pleasure was far, far stronger.

And then it crested until she cried out, her entire body shuddering beneath him, wanting still more but unable to last a moment longer. His control was so exquisite, so perfect, that she knew when he gave himself permission to follow her into the abyss. He lifted her to
him, his body pumping into hers one last time before he was still.

He propped himself up, careful not to crush her. In the darkness, she could still make out his features. Could see the troubled expression he couldn’t mask.

“Thank you,” she said, because it was all she could think to say.

“Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

Physically, that was true. Emotionally was another story. So many emotions crashing in on her. She’d made love with him, and though she didn’t regret it at all, the weight of the feelings she’d been carrying for so many months—wondering if she were damaged somehow, if she would ever feel as if she were whole again, if she would ever be able to be with a man without dissembling—was immense.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said. And then he rolled over and took her with him until she sprawled half on his body and half off.

“It’s a bit overwhelming,” she admitted.

“I get that a lot,” he said smugly, and she knew he was trying to make her laugh.

It worked, damn him. “Arrogant bastard.”

His fingers stroked along her spine. “Seriously,” he said after a few moments. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said on a sigh. “I am.”

It was not his finest moment. Raj lay awake long after Veronica had dozed off and contemplated the mess he’d made. What the hell had he done?

He’d never, ever slept with someone he was guarding. It had been wrong to do so, and yet he’d been powerless to resist her request.

Hell, he hadn’t wanted to resist. Since the moment he’d seen her from the bar of the hotel, he’d wanted this woman with the kind of craving that abhorred him. The kind of craving that drug addicts used to justify their excesses.

That thought did not cheer him in the least.

But she’d been all gorgeous, sexy femininity, with an alluring laugh and a come-hither look that fooled every man she bestowed it upon. He’d known better than to fall for it, yet he had.

Beneath the facade, she was amazing. Serious, smart, funny and sad. Sadder than any woman he’d ever known, with the exception of his mother. He hated that sadness, wanted to take it away from her forever.

He pressed a hand to his chest. There was a dull ache there, the kind of ache he’d gotten whenever he’d come home from school to find his mother high again.

Whenever he’d been able to go to school, that is. He’d missed most of his middle school years with all the moving they’d done. How he’d ever gotten into—and graduated from—high school was as much a mystery to him as anyone.

That he was even thinking of those days right now was not a good sign.

He considered slipping from the bed and returning to the living area, where he’d been on the computer when she’d opened the window and triggered the silent alarm he’d set, but the bed was warm and she was soft and sleeping. Her head lay on his chest, her silky platinum hair a shiny tangle that he itched to shove his fingers into.

He would not move, would not risk waking her when she was sleeping so soundly—especially when she’d told him she didn’t usually sleep very well.

Eventually, he fell into a light doze, his mind filled with thoughts of her—of the soft cries she’d made as he’d taken her, of the way her body opened to him, moved with him, the way she’d found her pleasure and cried out his name.

Beneath the surface, he was troubled. Troubled because she’d trusted him. She’d flat-out told him earlier that she wanted someone who would love her, who would give her a family, and though he knew he wasn’t that man—couldn’t ever be that man—he’d accepted her trust and taken her body because he was too weak to say no.

Because she’d gutted him with her trust and her need and he’d been powerless.

A few hours later, in the dim light of dawn, he felt her stir. Her hand slipped along his chest, her fingers spreading wide, as if she were learning him by touch. Her mouth pressed against his skin, and his body hardened instantly.

He should have gone back to his bed on the couch, but it was too late. He knew, even as her fingers found him, wrapped around him, that he was not pushing her away.

He should, he definitely should—but he couldn’t. Instead, he lay there, let her stroke him, purr against his skin. He groaned her name when she climbed on top of him and took him inside her inch by slow inch.

She was so warm, so wet, and he closed his eyes, let himself feel the pleasure of her fingers splayed against his chest as she rode him slowly, so slowly he thought he would die of anticipation.

“Raj,” she said. “Oh, Raj.”

Once more, she broke his control. He threaded his fingers in her hair, pulled her down to him, kissed her
thoroughly, his tongue sliding against hers, his lips molding hers as she began to make little noises in her throat that drove him insane.

He flipped her over, slid so deeply into her body that they both groaned with the pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” she said, as if sensing that he was at war with himself. “Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Not for a very long time.

V
ERONICA
woke alone. Martine stood by the bed as usual, a maid and a breakfast tray close by. Veronica pushed herself upright, disappointment hollowing her stomach as she blinked in the bright morning light.

She ran her hand over Raj’s side of the bed, came away cold. He’d been gone for a long time.

Ridiculously, she thought of their fiction—which was no longer fiction, and yet her lover had left her. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen with her after all.

The thought made her head throb.

Instead, she ate her breakfast, listened to Martine detail her morning appointments and took a shower. She dressed carefully in a bright pink cashmere sweater dress, deciding at the last minute to be a little naughty and pulling on tall, suede boots to complement it.

Then she brushed her hair into a thick ponytail and went to face the day.

She drew up short when she entered the living area to find Brady.

And Raj, she realized. He stood by the window, looking all dark and broody and distant.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, her heart beginning to throb as Raj turned toward her. She couldn’t
tell what he was thinking. His expression was hooded, his feelings a mystery to her.

Part of her cried out in protest. How could he have made love to her the way he had and be so distant now? How could he not look at her with heat simmering in his eyes? She felt as if her feelings must be written all over her face, and yet he was as unreadable as stone.

She shot a glance at Brady. He was oblivious to the undercurrents, thank God. He walked over and gave her a hug, then took her by the hand and led her to the couch.

“You need to sit down, Veronica,” he said.

The first prickles of alarm dotted her skin.

“What’s going on?” Her gaze slewed from Brady to Raj.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Raj said, his sexy voice so impartial and cool. Not at all the voice of the man who’d whispered in her ear last night. Who’d told her she was beautiful and amazing as he’d thrust deep inside her.

Her heart squeezed tight at the memory. She wanted that man back, the one who was tender and loving and worshipped her body so beautifully that he’d given her back something of herself. He’d made her feel as if she deserved to be treated special. As if, for a short while, she wasn’t a horrible woman who’d lost her child because she’d been careless.

He’d made her feel whole.

“There’s been a coup in Aliz,” he continued. “The chief of police has seized all the government buildings in the capital. He’s calling for your ouster and the restoration of the former president.”

“He can’t do that,” she said numbly. But he could.
He had. She rose, her limbs shaking with sudden fury. “I won’t let him.”

“Sweetie,” Brady said, but she held her hand up to silence him.

Raj, however, did not remain silent.

“I know what you’re thinking. But it’s too dangerous for you to return. You need to remain here.”

“And do what?” she demanded, fury swirling inside. “Do nothing?” She shook her head. “I can’t sit by and let them get away with this. I won’t.”

Raj’s eyes flashed. “They won’t get away with it,” he said. “But it’ll take time to sort it out. In the meantime, you’re in danger, especially if you try to return to Aliz.”

But he didn’t know her country, didn’t know her responsibility. She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t abandoning the people who had elected her. She couldn’t.

“I’m returning to Aliz,” she said. “With or without you.”

“Very well,” he said. So cool, so casual. Even when he lost the battle, he appeared to be in complete control. It irritated her.

“Just like that?” she said. “No arguing? No attempts to persuade me otherwise?”

He inclined his head. “Just like that.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.

Her chest ached at the thought he was leaving her after what they’d been through together. So easily, as if it meant nothing.

Which it probably hadn’t. He’d told her he couldn’t give her anything else. It was her fault if she wanted to believe more was possible.

“You aren’t just going to leave her, are you?” Brady called out angrily.

Raj stopped and turned back to them, hand on the door. “No. I’m going to pack.”

Three hours later, they were airborne. Veronica sat in a plush leather seat and gazed out at the snowy English landscape below. She knew she owed the speed of their departure to Raj.

Without him, she’d still be waiting on a chartered plane since Aliz did not maintain a government fleet. Instead, Raj had let her use one of VSI’s company jets. She and her staff were on their way home, thanks to him.

He sat across the aisle from her, engrossed in whatever was on his computer screen at the moment. He’d barely said a word to her in the three hours since he’d come into her suite and told her of the situation in Aliz.

She’d been mortified to have to hear it from him when she should have known before he did.

Yet another sign that Raj was powerful and connected.

His fingers tapped something on the keys, and a current of heat swirled in her belly. Those fingers had touched her so expertly, had drawn such need and passion from her that thinking of it now made her wet. She wanted him again, in spite of everything.

He must have sensed something, because he looked up at that moment, his gaze turning swiftly to capture hers. She didn’t bother to pretend she hadn’t been staring. Her heart skipped a beat. Her nipples began to tighten against the cashmere of her sweater dress.

His gaze slid down, then back up again, his eyes glittering with heat and need that mirrored her own. A thrill shot through her. He still wanted her. Maybe one night hadn’t been enough.

It was impossible, though. There was a bed on this plane, but there was no way they could retreat to it. Between her staff, his team and the flight crew, there was no hope of privacy.

And once they reached Aliz, who knew what would happen?

He snapped his computer closed and pushed up from his seat. Then he was sinking into the seat beside hers, and her skin was prickling with his nearness. Her blood was singing with heat and need.

She picked up the vodka cocktail the flight attendant had brought to her—she’d hoped it would calm her nerves—and took a small sip. The vodka wasn’t strong, but it kicked back nevertheless, burning her throat in a good way.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’ve already thanked me at least fifty times,” he replied, his voice low and containing an edge she didn’t quite recognize. “I couldn’t let you go alone. They would devour you in a matter of minutes.”

She met his gaze, her heart turning over at the intense look in those golden eyes. “Maybe I was thanking you for last night.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Just when I think you can’t get to me,” he said, shaking his head.

“I get to you?” For some reason, that made her stomach leap.

“In the worst way,” he replied seriously.

Veronica frowned. “I’m not sure that’s very flattering.”

He picked up her hand where it rested on her lap, threaded his fingers through hers. Her pulse shot into overdrive. Her core throbbed with need for him, her body tightening painfully. When he lifted her fingers
to his lips and kissed them, a shiver rocketed through her.

“Raj …”

“I want to spread you out on silken sheets, Veronica,” he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “I want to lick you everywhere, kiss you, thrust into your body.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t take this. Don’t talk to me like this.”

“I want to take you hard, soft, slow, fast. I want to take you often. And I want you to wear those damn thigh-high boots you’ve got on while I do it.”

Veronica was drowning in need and frustration. “Stop,” she choked out. A few rows away, Martine looked up at Veronica’s cry, met her gaze. Just as quickly she turned away again, a red flush spreading across her cheeks.

Veronica wanted to tell Martine it was okay, but she couldn’t speak. Because at the moment Raj drew one of her fingers into his mouth, sucked it in and out so slowly as fingers of fire raced along her nerve endings. She bit her lip to stop a moan. He kissed her palm, then leaned forward and took her mouth in a hard, sensual kiss.

She didn’t care who saw them. She cupped his jaw, kissed him back with all the passion and fire he aroused in her. If they were alone, she’d have him undressed and inside her before the next few moments passed.

“Now what do you think?” he whispered in her ear. “Flattered or not?”

“Yes,” she breathed, heart racing. Martine was engrossed in a magazine now, and Veronica took another sip of her cocktail while Raj leaned back on the seat and shot her the most sexy grin imaginable.

“I’m hard for you,” he said. “Another minute of that
and I’d be lifting that Barbie-doll-pink dress and to hell with everyone else.”

“Another minute of that and I’d let you,” she replied. And then she laughed. “Barbie-doll pink? How do you know that, Raj?”

“How else? Barbie was my favorite doll,” he said—and then he winked as she gaped at him.

“You say things like that just to make me laugh.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.” Then he picked up her hand again, threaded their fingers together. “My mom moved us around a lot when I was growing up. One of the things I remember, when I was about eight I think, was this little girl in my class. She was blonde, like you, and she had these enormous pigtails. She was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, and she carried a pink backpack with a Barbie face on it.”

“You must have liked her.”

“I did.”

She thought of him as a love-struck little boy and smiled. “So what happened? Did you write one of those notes to her where you asked her to circle ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” she teased.

“No. But she did invite me to her birthday party. I remember the invitation was pink, with Barbie dolls on it.”

“Was the party pink-themed, too?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I never got to go. We moved again.”

She imagined the disappointment he must have felt when he couldn’t go to the party. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to go.”

“I probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway. There’d have been a pink cake, no doubt, and pink balloons everywhere.

And what if I’d been the only boy invited?” He gave a mock shudder.

“The horrors,” she agreed. And then she sighed. “At least you got to go places. I never did.”

She thought of her vast bedroom with the purple walls, the piles of toys and the utter loneliness that had so often assailed her. She’d had a nanny, but even Mrs. Petit couldn’t completely fill the emptiness created by the vacuum her father had placed her in. A vacuum made all the worse by the fact they’d had a normal life until her mother had died in the accident.

Veronica had spent the past several years of her life trying to fill that emptiness; it’d gotten her nothing but heartbreak.

“One thing I’ve learned in this life,” he said, “is that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence—though it usually isn’t.”

“Maybe so,” she said. “But sometimes it just might be.”

“It does no good to think like that, Veronica. It only leads to regrets. And they might be false regrets.”

She turned to look out the window. They were over water now, winging their way toward the island of Aliz in the Mediterranean. “I have enough regrets to last me a lifetime.”

She could feel the weight of his stare on her, but she didn’t turn. Tears were suddenly pressing against the backs of her eyes. Stupid, stupid tears. If she looked at him, she wasn’t sure she could stop them from falling.

But why? What was it about him that made her want to unburden her soul to him every damn time?

She sucked in a breath, nibbled on her thumbnail. So quickly, she’d grown to trust him. So quickly, she’d
grown to care about him. And she still knew next to nothing about him.

“You can cry if you need to,” he said, so softly that she almost didn’t hear.

How did he know? She turned to face him again, resolutely burying the tears and forcing herself to smile.

“Not at all,” she replied. “I was just thinking.”

He didn’t look convinced. “It’s a long trip, Veronica,” he finally said. “Why don’t you rest?”

“Nonsense. It’s only a couple more hours. And we really should discuss what happens when we arrive.” She had to concentrate on that, on the moment the plane landed and she set foot on her home soil again. She’d only been gone two weeks, and she’d set in motion much that would be ruined if she didn’t quickly get this situation under control.

Giancarlo Zarella would never agree to build a resort in Aliz if they couldn’t maintain the rule of law.

Raj’s eyes sparked. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

Veronica blinked. “You’ll handle it? Handle what? I think we should at least discuss the possibilities.”

“No,” he said, his voice harder than it had been only moments ago.

A current of anger swirled in her belly. “No? I’m not a child, Raj. I have a right to know what your plans are.”

He got to his feet, every inch the imperious lord and master. Then he shoved a hand through his hair—and she realized that he looked as if he hadn’t slept much lately.

Her fault, no doubt.

“We’ll discuss it before we arrive,” he said.

Veronica bit down on the spike of temper. Perhaps he was still finalizing his plans and didn’t want to share
them yet. Or maybe he had no idea what to expect when they arrived. She could wait another hour. She’d trusted him this far, and he hadn’t failed her yet. “Fine. But I expect a full report quite soon.” His mouth was a hard line. “You’ll get it, believe me.”

Veronica awoke with a start, confusion crashing through her. Then she remembered that she was on a plane, flying back to Aliz. After Raj had walked away, she’d closed her eyes for a few minutes. She hadn’t expected to fall so soundly asleep.

Or maybe she had, considering how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. A flight attendant materialized at that moment. “Madam President, would you like something to eat?”

She started to refuse, then realized her stomach was growling. But they would be in Aliz soon, and she could wait. She sent the man away with a request for water instead and turned to raise the window covering that someone had lowered.