Taken by the Pirate Tycoon (11 page)

He said very softly, “Don’t lie to me. I might be wrong about a lot of things, but not about this. Nothing else matters. Whatever Rachel saw, I don’t give a damn. Whoever else you’ve slept with in the past, you want
me
now. It’s in your eyes. And—” his hand swept down the curve of her throat, over her breast, his own eyes blazing with dangerous fire “—this doesn’t lie.”

He didn’t love her and he hadn’t said anything about believing in her, only that he wanted to have sex with her—even if he did call it making love. He wasn’t even pretending he had more in mind than one night. She should be grateful for his honesty.

While her body was screaming at her to take what he offered while she had the chance, the tiny rational part of her mind that was left whispered,
Save yourself.

With a valiant effort, she said, “We can’t…I
won’t
go to bed with you because of an inconvenient biological reaction.”

For a moment he didn’t move at all, just stared into her defiant eyes while a couple of lines gradually appeared between his.

Then to her chagrined amazement his mouth widened into an unholy grin, and he began to laugh.

Samantha stood up uncertainly, seething. She said, “I’m glad I amuse you so much.”

He sobered. “I’m not laughing at you, Samantha. Well, I suppose I am. It’s just that ‘an inconvenient biological reaction’ is ludicrously inadequate for the way I feel about you.”

He was trying to look sorry, although laughter still lurked in his eyes. Not derisive or cynical laughter. But inclusive, almost affectionate—inviting her to see the funny side too.

She felt her own lips reluctantly curve in response. “I suppose,” she said, “it sounded rather pompous.”

“It sounded like you,” he said. He cocked his head to one side, examining her as if she were one of his computer problems that needed solving. “Pulling up the drawbridge and retreating to the castle keep, locking yourself away from the enemy at the gate.”

She felt the tug of his attraction as though it were a physical thing, drawing her to him. “Are you my enemy?” she half-whispered, acutely aware they were standing within touching distance, that one step would bring them together. One irrevocable step.

And aware too of the danger he represented. To her integrity, her self-control, her tightly guarded heart.

But already he’d breached the walls, sent her defences tumbling—captured that heart, which she’d tried so hard to keep inviolable. It was his to treasure or trample.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

An easy promise to make. Maybe he even believed it—believed she could give her body without engaging her emotions. If he still thought she was an ice princess it was her own fault—she’d tried her best to hide her inner self from him.

She said, “You don’t trust me.”

“Do you trust me?”

She’d wondered if he had some Machiavellian plan to make her want him in order to save his sister’s marriage. Yet everything she knew of him said he wasn’t capable of duplicity. His methods were direct, his style a full-scale charge with a battering ram rather than a secretive tunnelling under the castle wall.

True to form, he hadn’t tried to deceive her, had not denied that he still mistrusted her. That hurt like a poisoned dart. The initial sting, she knew, would be followed by a slowly spread
ing pain. But right now all other feeling was drowned out by the insistent clamour of the aching need that consumed her. If she trusted him with her body, would he come to trust her integrity in return?

Impatient with her hesitation, Jase said, “What does it matter? I don’t give a damn any more about Bryn and Rachel and what she might have seen or not, the whole damned mess. Right now all that matters is this.”

He reached out and took her hand, drawing her towards him, and she didn’t resist. His arms went around her and her body said,
Yes!
Just this once she would allow instinct to take over, regardless of the consequences.

She saw the flare of triumph in his eyes, saw his beautiful male mouth lift at the corners before it parted to crush down on hers, just before she closed her eyes, and the doubts and fears and warning signals retreated to some distant corner of her mind and huddled there, ignored.

S
AMANTHA
had never been kissed quite like this before, with passion and persuasion and frank enjoyment, yet with a faint edge of something approaching anger. And she had never kissed as she did now, eager and open and revelling in the taste of Jase, the texture of his lips, the brush of his unshaven cheek against her skin.

She thrust her fingers into his hair, loving the silky thickness of it, and when he touched her breast again she arched her back, asking for more even as his mouth opened hers wider, his tongue a welcome invasion. She felt him fumble with the small buttons on her prim cotton blouse, then give up and rip it apart, and his hand was on her bare flesh, shoving aside the lacy edge of her bra to caress and tease.

She moved her own hands across his shoulders, down his chest, and then under his shirt, sliding them over the skin of his back, feeling the firm muscle and bone beneath. Her fingers danced up the groove of his spine, and their kisses became deeper and wilder, until she thought she knew every millimetre of his mouth, and he of hers.

She felt him surge against her groin, and his hands pressed her to him, then he wrenched his mouth from hers, kissed her
cheek, her jawbone, her throat, and muttered, “We need to find a bed.”

Desperately,
her mind agreed. “I know where there is one,” she told him, her voice low and throaty.

He grinned, a flash of teeth reminding her she’d once thought he looked like a pirate. His eyes were brilliant with desire, and she knew hers were glazed with it too. “Show me,” he said in a guttural growl. But as if he couldn’t resist her mouth he kissed her again, accompanied by a slow movement of his pelvis that made her gasp into his mouth.

She pulled away from the kiss. “This way. Don’t let me go.”

He moved so he was behind her, his arms about her, both hands on her breasts, his mouth dropping kisses on her neck, and they inched towards the bedroom, stopping for more kisses.

On the way she lost her blouse, and once she turned in his arms to shove up his shirt, pulling it off when he raised his arms for her, then he wound them tightly about her and bent her backward to nuzzle at her breasts, the stubble on his cheeks and chin adding an erotic edge she’d never experienced before.

They finally reached her bedroom. As she bent to fold back the cream satin cover he undid the clasp of her bra and the flimsy garment slithered away down her arms.

Still holding her with one arm, he hauled back the bedclothes with the other and they fell onto the sheet, limbs entwined, mouths and hands searching for each other, shedding their remaining clothing, kissing, touching, exploring. Jase grabbed a packet from his denims and ripped it open, came back to her and looked into her eyes, his own feverish.

“Yes,” she said, her body already writhing in anticipation. “Jase…”

He gave her his piratical, feral smile, and poised himself
over her, then plunged deeply, and she opened her mouth in a silent cry of abandon, wound her arms about him, clung, moved beneath him, felt him move in answer, his breath on her cheek, one hand cupped about her breast, his body hers.

He rolled over, bringing her on top of him, sending her into ecstasy such as she’d never known was possible—out of her mind, out of her body, flying weightless into some other cataclysmic dimension.

He bucked beneath her, giving a hoarse cry of satisfaction, and she felt her own pleasure build again and explode dazzlingly, before fading into aftershocks until they both lay still and quiet.

Jase roused himself first, turned over and withdrew, before returning to her and kissing her on the lips, then on her breasts, each one in turn, her belly-button, her thighs.

His hand stroked from her thigh over her hip, rested on her breast, and he kissed her again—softly, sweetly. He retrieved the sheet and settled beside her, his body warm and strong against her. She turned her head to look at him. The room was dim, only a glow from the lamp in the living room allowing them to see each other.

She thought her heart was going to burst right out of her chest, she loved him so much. For the first time in her life she had held nothing back, given him every part of her to do with as he willed. Let her emotions lead her mind.

Did he know that? Had he reciprocated in kind? Or did he always make love like that, wholly absorbed in his partner, knowing intuitively what she wanted from him, leading her to unthought-of heights, giving so generously of himself?

He looked back at her, his eyes shining, even in the near-darkness. “All right, princess?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”
I love you.
She couldn’t say it aloud. It would put him under an obligation. He didn’t love her and probably never would. It would be stupid to think love had anything to do with this, on his part. Stupid and futile.

She closed her eyes, hoping he didn’t see the incipient tears, despising them. She’d gone into this knowingly, prepared for once to take a risk such as she usually only dared take in business. No one had forced her, certainly not Jase. Now she had to live with whatever consequences ensued.

“I knew,” he said quietly. “Deep down I always knew. You can’t hide from me any more.”

His lips touched her temple, then her eyelids one by one. “Sleep, princess,” he said, and gathered her closer in his arms.

And, strangely comforted by that, after a few minutes she did.

She woke to sunlight and the sound of the shower in her bathroom. The bedclothes were rumpled, the pillow next to her dented in the middle, and for a few moments she didn’t know why she felt so…replete and rested, or why the shower was running.

Then she remembered, and sat bolt upright, grabbing at the sheet as she realised she was naked.

What had she done?

The shower stopped, and she fought the tangled sheet to get out of the bed and find a short satin robe, belting it round her middle. She picked up a brush from the dressing table and swiped it over her hair, the mirror showing flushed cheeks and wild eyes.
Calm down
, she told herself, dropping the brush when she heard the bathroom doorknob turn.

She took a deep breath and slowly turned in time to see Jase appear in the doorway, heartbreakingly, magnificently sexy
in only his jeans, zipped but not fastened, the leather belt hanging loose.

“Hi,” he said, looking almost as wary as she felt. “Did I wake you? Sorry, but I have to work today.”

“So do I.” She watched him walk toward her, with the easy, confident and very masculine stride she’d come to love. In fact she loved everything about him.

“You look…different this morning,” he said, tipping her face up with his long fingers and regarding her curiously.

“No makeup,” she said. It had disappeared during their lovemaking, or else through the night. He’d see how plain she really was.

A smile touched his lips. “It’s more than that, beautiful.” The word was an endearment, like sweetheart or darling, and her heart turned over. He kissed her lightly, then lingered, his lips tracing the shape of hers. “I have to go,” he said gruffly, finally stepping back. “Will you be here if I come back tonight?” His eyes searched hers, as if he might not be sure of the answer.

“Yes.” She’d already taken the first, fatal step into the unknown. Too late to go back now.

“We need to talk,” he said.

A sliver of fear entered her chest. “Last night you said only one thing mattered.”

“Last night—” he gave her a crooked grin “—I was overcome by lust.”

Samantha blinked. To Jase a digging implement would always be a spade. She knew that. The only surprise should have been that the words he’d used the previous night to tell her what he wanted to do with her hadn’t begun with F.

Come to think of it, she’d never heard him really swear. In
so many ways he had the manners of a true gentleman—the difference between an outward show of etiquette and real consideration and courtesy born of respect.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her smile was a little bleak. “I was just thinking of a
Bible
story about the son who said he’d go to the vineyard when his father asked, but didn’t, and the one who refused but went anyway.” Deeds spoke louder than words. Surely he couldn’t have made love to her with such passion and such gentleness, such care for her pleasure, and appreciation of her pleasuring him, if he still despised and mistrusted her. Could he?

He gave her an extremely quizzical, taken-aback look, obviously not understanding the allusion. “Tell me tonight.” Then he touched her cheek and walked to the door.

Samantha bought a bouquet of roses, baby’s breath and violets from the florist near her office before entering the building, and got Judy to find a vase and place them on her desk, where they scented her day. Several times she caught herself staring at them and thinking of Jase, and checking her watch as the hours crawled by.

Sex, she warned herself, didn’t mean Jase would suddenly see her as a maligned innocent. It hadn’t solved the problem; more likely it had compounded it.

That didn’t stop her longing to see him that night, although uncertain as to what might come of it. When she got home she showered, and ensured her skin all over was smooth and soft before putting one dab of expensive perfume at the hollow of her throat.

She riffled through her wardrobe and chose a simple flowered silk dress she’d hardly worn, having dubbed it a
mistake because it was too feminine for business and too casual for formal functions. The lined crossover bodice dipped low in the front—too low for a bra, hence the lining—and the skirt flared at the hem.

After reapplying a discreet amount of makeup, she slid her feet into slipper-style flat shoes, then busied herself opening a bottle of a very good red wine to let it breathe, wondering what time Jase was likely to arrive. She supposed he must be still in Auckland, rather than driving back to Hamilton this morning, though he hadn’t said where he had to be and she hadn’t thought to ask.

After watching the six o’clock news and an hour of current affairs she made herself a snack and poured a glass of wine that she drank slowly, with a CD of classical favourites playing in the background, and the day’s newspaper spread across the kitchen table. She’d read the business section and almost all the news and comment when the doorbell rang. She stood up, smoothed her hair and her dress, and waited for half a minute before walking to the door. The bell rang again before she got there.

Jase was wearing a white self-striped business shirt with dark trousers, but no jacket, and his collar was undone. In one hand he had a fat, long-necked bottle with a gold foil top.

He walked in and surveyed her from top to toe and back again. “I like the dress,” he said. “Though I like what’s in it even better.”

She closed the door behind him, saying dryly, “Do come in!” as he headed for the living room.

He sent her a grin over his shoulder and stepped back to let her go first. Holding out the bottle, he said, “I got this on the way. It’s already chilled.”

As she took the bottle from him he studied her and said, “And maybe that’s not all that’s chilled. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

But as she made to turn from him he caught her wrist and commanded, “Come on, tell me.”

Not wanting to start an argument, she looked away.

“What?” he insisted. “You had a bad day? I should have sent flowers? I’m too early?” He looked her over again, and some penny seemed to drop. “Or too late?” Something must have shown in her face because he paused, and then said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to take anything for granted—like you giving me dinner. So I figured you’d need time to eat first.”

“I did,” she said. A few bits of cheese and leftover dip with crackers. “We didn’t arrange a time. It’s quite all right.”

She made to pull away from him, but his grip on her wrist tightened. “Hey,” he said, “it’s not all right. I’m the guy you slept with last night, and that I hope you’re going to sleep with tonight. If you’re wild with me, say so. Don’t go all gracious lady on me.” He tipped his head with a quizzical smile. “
Should
I have brought flowers?”

“I don’t think you’re the flowers type.”

“Uh-huh,” he said noncommittally. “What type am I?” His hand slipped from her wrist to close about her fingers.

Not a type at all.
He was uniquely Jase, quite unlike any other man she’d known, and certainly not one she’d ever thought she’d fall for, so heavily, so irrevocably. She shook her head. “Indescribable.”

“Uh-huh,” he said again, his eyes wary and much too inquisitive. “I’m hoping that’s a compliment.”

She didn’t enlighten him, and he dragged her closer,
dropped a kiss on her mouth and said, “If it’s any help, I’ve spent all day counting the minutes.”

She didn’t say
Me too.
Pulling away from him, she asked, “Do you want to open this?” and led the way across the lounge to the kitchen.

He dealt with the bottle efficiently, but must have noticed the open bottle of red on the counter top. “Would you rather have that?”

“Not now.” She set two flutes in front of him. “Are we celebrating?”

“I am.” He cocked an inquiring brow at her.

Samantha didn’t respond, and he picked up the filled glasses, handed one to her and touched his against it. “To last night,” he said. “And many more to come.” It didn’t sound like a question but she knew it was.

He waited until she’d taken a sip, feeling the bubbles explode in her mouth and tasting the cool crispness of the wine, before he lifted his own glass to his lips. It was the only sign she gave that she had accepted his toast, accepted that they were lovers.

They took the drinks and the bottle into the living room, and he pulled her down beside him onto one of the couches, drawing her close with an arm about her shoulders. Gradually she felt herself relax against him, enjoying the warmth and male muscularity of his body, the slight rise and fall of his breathing, the subtle masculine scent of skin and cotton and a hint of leather.

For a while they sat in silence. The CD she’d put on earlier had automatically restarted, and was playing “None But the Lonely Heart.” Years ago in a fit of teenage melancholy she’d decided it was her very own theme song, and even though she’d
grown out of feeling sorry for herself the tune still had the power to stir her emotions. She sighed, and Jase said, “What?”