Читать книгу The Dare Collection April 2019 - Christy McKellen, Nicola Marsh - Страница 14

I SAT BACK in my chair on the big stone terrace that looked out over the sea, nursing an espresso. The sun was warm on my face, the ocean busy throwing itself against the rocks below the house I’d claimed after Dad had gone to jail.

Last night I’d shown Imogen to the bedroom I’d set aside for her and she’d gone quietly, without peppering me with any more questions.

Satisfied she was secure for the night, I’d then sent texts to my two brothers, telling them that I wouldn’t be around for a week or so and that they were to handle any emergencies that might crop up.

Luckily their personal lives had settled down recently with two lovely women keeping them on the straight and narrow. God knows it was about time someone other than me stayed on top of things, and I was appreciative.

It certainly helped me now when I had to concentrate all my attention on a lovely woman of my own.

A strangely fascinating young woman, who was not in any way what I’d anticipated.

The virgin part, yes. The questions and the excitement and the sheer vibrating energy of her, not so much.

I hoped that wouldn’t become a problem.

But that was an issue for later. First I had to contact White, let him know I had Imogen, and deliver my ultimatum.

I picked up my phone and pressed a button, waiting until the contact I’d been given answered the call.

‘Yeah, who is this?’ It was one of White’s thugs.

‘Ajax King,’ I said curtly. ‘Tell your boss I have his daughter. If he wants to see her safe and sound, get him to call me at this number.’

I didn’t wait for a response, cutting the call then putting the phone back down on the table and ignoring it as it began to ring almost immediately.

I wasn’t going to answer him right away. He could stew for a couple of hours.

Glancing down at my watch, I checked the time.

Nine-thirty in the morning.

Jesus Christ, just how long was Imogen going to sleep?

Kidnapped women were not supposed to have long lie-ins when their captors were waiting to inform them of the rules of their captivity.

In spite of my satisfaction with how easily my plan had come together, a thread of annoyance wound through me.

I couldn’t believe how unafraid of me she’d been in the van last night, even when I’d deliberately been explicit, thinking that would scare the shit out of her.

But the bloody woman only seemed to find that even more exciting. And then she’d touched me, laid those delicate little fingers on my chest, pressing lightly, feeling me.

As if she had no idea about the chemistry flaring between us.

As if I was no fucking threat to her at all.

That touch shouldn’t have affected me in the slightest.

But it had.

Given that, I shouldn’t have kissed her and Christ knew why I had. Perhaps it was simply the way she’d looked at me, as if she’d never seen anything so fascinating in all her life, and then the assumption that I didn’t want her, like she’d be disappointed if I didn’t...

Nice justifications. You just wanted her.

But since when had what I wanted ever mattered?

Except her lips had been as soft as I’d known they would be, and she’d smelled of something sweet, something that had made my heart twist inside my chest. Roses. My mother’s favourite flower.

Ah, fuck, what was wrong with me? It was just a kiss from a wide-eyed virgin. Nothing to get wound up about.

Whatever my own feelings on the subject, though, one thing was clear: her virginity was the only leverage I had and so it had to remain intact.

I had to stay focused on my end game, because that was all that mattered.

Even if some other things get broken?

Yes, even then. Years ago, I’d had to stand by while my middle brother, Leon, had been kidnapped and tortured at the hands of my father’s enemies, and let my youngest brother, Xander, be used as some kind of evil financial genius to grow Dad’s empire.

That was my fault, my responsibility.

But my goal had always been to take Dad down, to save my city, and that outweighed everything. Even if it meant pretending I was on board with everything Dad did, no matter how it had sickened me.

The end justified any means.

And even now that end had been accomplished, the story wasn’t done. We still had enemies. And I would keep protecting my brothers.

I’d do the hard things so that no one else had to.

I sipped my coffee, gazing out at the sea, white-capped and with a few boats sailing here and there. It was a peaceful view and one I’d always loved when I was a kid, imagining I could just get in one of those boats and sail the fuck away, escape my father and his legacy for good.

A dream.

Despite the small yacht I kept in the boathouse at the foot of the cliffs, I’d never escaped and I was never going to.

Dad might be in jail, but he wasn’t the only one with a life sentence. That was fine, though. It was something I’d accepted long ago.

I glanced down to check the time again.

Quarter to ten.

Time for my prisoner to get the hell up.

I put my coffee down on the table and went back into the house, making my way into the wing that had once housed my stepsister and Dad’s second wife, and which I’d had renovated as guest quarters.

There was room enough to house an entire football team, though right now there was only the one occupant.

The unexpected little virgin I’d kidnapped the night before.

I strode down the hall that ran the length of the wing, the polished floorboards shining in the sunlight coming through the windows.

Arriving at Imogen’s door, I stopped outside it and knocked lightly.

There was no response.

Jesus, she’d better still be in there. Not that she’d be able to escape even if she wanted to, not given the security I’d surrounded the house with. The place was a fortress. Nothing got in or out. Including her.

Still, it was better to be safe than sorry so I didn’t wait, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The room faced the ocean, one wall just glass to enhance the view. A king-sized bed had been pushed up against the wall at right angles to the glass, and in the centre of the bed, all curled up like a sleepy cat, was Imogen.

Sunlight fell over the bed, her long, silky pale hair tangled across the white linen of the pillowcases, a sheet wrapping around her middle, leaving the rest of her uncovered. She hadn’t even bothered to undress, and was still wearing her white dress.

Her hands were tucked under her chin, her pale lashes lying motionless on her cheeks, deeply asleep. A smile curved that pretty mouth I’d kissed the night before, as if she was tucked up in her own bed and having a lovely dream, not a prisoner of Sydney’s most infamous King.

Lust flickered to life inside me, dark and dirty. I wanted to go over to the bed, pull away her dress, uncover her satiny, strokeable skin and ravage her carnal mouth. Find out whether she’d be as wild and electric with my dick inside her as I thought she’d be. Whether she’d shock those long dead parts of me back into life with a touch...

Ignoring the lust, I leaned against the doorframe instead, taking a moment to study her uninterrupted.

Last night she’d been happy that I’d kidnapped her and even though her lack of fear of me had been annoying, it did tell me one thing: being captured by me was preferable to being her father’s prisoner.

I wondered why. Her father had his own fledgling crime syndicate going on, extortion and violence the means he used to keep his followers loyal, and being related to someone like that wasn’t exactly going to be a picnic. Hell, I should know. I was related to a prick like that myself.

But why was being my prisoner preferable to being his? I didn’t use violence, not these days, but I was going to use her the way he had—for my own ends. The only thing that distinguished me from him was that my goal was ultimately to protect people.

Pushing myself away from the doorframe, I moved over to the side of the bed. She slept on, completely unaware that her kidnapper was standing beside her, staring at her.

Hell. The woman had no sense of danger whatsoever.

You like that. You like that a lot.

Imogen shifted, making a sexy noise and snuggling into the pillow. The top of her strapless dress had pulled down, her rounded breasts pushing against it.

My cock, the predictable fuck, hardened at the view. I ignored it.

‘Wake up, little one.’ I couldn’t keep the growl out of my voice. ‘I’m getting tired of waiting for you.’

She made another of those noises, then her lashes fluttered and she sighed, a sliver of green appearing as she opened her eyes.

Automatically, I searched her face for any signs of fear but there were none. Apparently, waking up to find me standing beside her bed wasn’t frightening or even all that surprising.

In fact, as her gaze found mine, that delicious velvety mouth turned up in a slow and sleepy smile.

She’s delectable.

The heat I’d been fighting tightened its grip.

‘Oh,’ she said, the word exhaled on a long, relieved-sounding breath. ‘Thank God. I was afraid you were a dream.’

‘I’m not a dream,’ I said flatly. ‘I’m a nightmare.’

She grinned then threw her arms above her head, stretching unselfconsciously in the sunlight like a sleepy cat. ‘No, you’re not. And it was definitely not a nightmare.’

The top of her dress dipped even lower, revealing lots of pale silky skin, and, despite myself, I couldn’t stop staring. My hands itched to tug that fabric down, to see what colour her nipples were and what they might taste like if I sucked on them.

‘Are you sure?’ I finally dragged my gaze from her chest, but looking into her eyes wasn’t any better. They were wide, the colour of new grass, and I caught a hint of her scent—roses and heat...

Delicious.

‘Oh, I’m sure.’ She blinked at me, apparently unaware of how close to the knife-edge I was. ‘I can even tell you about it if you want.’

‘I do not want.’ I kept my voice cold, trying to force away the ache in my groin. ‘What I would like is for you to listen. I have some things I need to say to you.’

‘Really?’ Her tongue crept out, small and pink, touching her top lip. The move wasn’t flirtatious but I was riveted anyway. ‘What things?’

I knew I should turn away, look at something other than that small pink tongue and soft mouth; that tiny mole near her upper lip; the pulse at the base of her pale throat.

But that would be to admit I wasn’t in control of this situation, that somehow she had the power here, and there was no way in hell I was doing that.

So I continued to stare at her. ‘Your father. I’ve told him I have you.’

Her gold-tipped lashes swept down, veiling her gaze. ‘Oh. I see.’ Slowly she pushed herself up so she was sitting on the bed, tugging up the top of her dress as she did so, which was probably a good thing considering the state of my damn cock. ‘And what did he say?’

‘I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. Once he’s got the message he’ll call me.’

She sat with her head bent, looking down at her hands twisted in her lap. Her pale hair lay over her shoulders and streamed down her back, gleaming in the sun like new minted gold.

There was a stillness to her now, that vibrating energy muted. ‘So what’s going to happen now then?’

‘What do you mean, what’s going to happen now?’ I frowned. ‘Nothing’s going to happen now. You’re my prisoner and you stay here. End of story.’

‘I don’t care about that.’ She lifted her head. ‘What I want to know is when you’re going to ruin me. I mean, that’s what you said you were going to do.’ Something that looked a lot like disappointment glittered in her eyes. ‘Or did you not mean it?’