Читать книгу Wild Enough For Willa - Ann Major - Страница 13

“Oops.” The yellow-haired whore shot him an irreverent grin.

His heart paused for a beat or two.

Cute. Childlike. Sassy.

All woman.

Those were Luke’s first thoughts when she tiptoed out of the hotel bathroom in a blue terry cloth robe, nearly tripping on the hem of the voluminous thick folds that swallowed her.

“I’m sorry. Do you need to go—” She blushed slyly at this mention of bathroom activities, and scooted against the wall. She ran her fingers through golden, damp curls. “How long was I?”

Not that she looked like she cared in the least.

“An hour. More than an hour,” he grumbled, not because he was angry, but because he’d been too aware of her in there and she was too damn pretty with all that honey-gold, flyaway hair cascading in rippling spirals all over her slim shoulders.

“Sorry,” she whispered without the least bit of sincerity. Fingertips fluttered quickly to her lips.

She didn’t look like a whore anymore. Then she stared at him suspiciously, and he almost wished she did. He had the strangest feeling he didn’t have her figured at all. But that was absurd.

She was tall, five eight if she was an inch. Yet she seemed smaller. She was too thin for his usual taste, but her delicately boned frame and her natural grace made her easy on his eye. And those soft, ample breasts and long, shapely legs made him forget how skinny she was in other places. Not that he could see much of her lush curves with so much blue terry cloth swaddling them, hem puddling at the slim ankles, thick, long sleeves dangling over her nervous fingertips.

Without her makeup, with her cheeks flushed from the long bath, without the tight polka-dot dress to cheapen her beauty, she looked sweet and young—as delectably innocent as a high school virgin, as classy as the priciest cover model, but a bit bratty, too.

The deep blue intensified the brilliant color of her eyes. It was those eyes, the way they sparkled with such mischief, that made her look…What? Sort of spontaneous and unpredictable.

She was so alive, incandescent, mesmerizing, sexier than hell. She drew him. Indeed, she had some gut-clenching power over him no woman had ever had. Or maybe, it was just that he felt so damned lonely and vulnerable after Marcie.

The girl’s golden hair shone, and he wanted to slide his fingers through its lustrous thickness. Who was he kidding? He wanted to do way more than that. Sex appeal—she had it in spades. At least for him. Which put him on dangerous ground.

With looks like hers, she could make a fortune. She was wasting herself on the border.

Maybe he should hire this lively girl on a permanent basis—to service him. Him alone. He wouldn’t share.

He could hire somebody to teach her how to talk and act at his parties. In the right clothes, she’d prance about palaces like a thoroughbred. Just like he did. Nobody would ever know they were a pair of fakes from the gutter.

She’d be more suited to him than the highbred socialites he dated. She knew what women were really for. He wouldn’t let her near those self-help books and women’s magazines that had made Marcie so dissatisfied. No expensive shrink like Marcie’s for this girl.

This girl turned him on. He needed a simple, basic relationship with a woman. Sex. A woman like her wouldn’t demand what he wasn’t capable of giving.

“Long bath,” he said, attempting to consider her as coldly as he would any commodity he was interested in buying.

But she wouldn’t have it. She glared back at him with an impish ferocity that stunned him.

No. Don’t even think about it. This girl spelled trouble. Besides, a woman of any sort was the last thing he needed as a permanent fixture. Especially when he was still so raw from Marcie…

“I always take long baths,” the girl retorted. “Not that my habits are any of your business, mind you.” She softened this bit of rudeness with the most enchanting blush; she squirmed, too, toes curling into the carpet. Sensing danger, but not about to run from him, her long-lashed, blue eyes flashed. Her mixture of boldness, reticence and obvious discomfiture around him caused a tightness in his chest.

He remembered their fight. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t totally unreasonable of her to distrust him. He’d forced her to walk and drink coffee until she’d collapsed in angry tears and called him a bully. When her mind had cleared, she’d thrown everything he’d told her about Mexico right back at him.

“Why, you raped—”

“I saved your cute little ass,” he’d thundered. “You were tied to bedposts…half-naked…alone…like some damsel in distress in a porn comic book.”

“And what do men in those comic books do to such women?”

“The point is I got you out of Mexico.”

“You’re determined to paint yourself as a hero and me as a—” She’d blushed then. “You don’t know anything.”

He’d learned quickly she blushed at nearly everything. Then she’d looked stricken and profoundly ashamed. Naturally, she’d launched an attack. “You almost raped me—”

“Almost being the operative word. You teased me, kissed me. You wouldn’t even know about it if I hadn’t told you.”

“Ha! I’m surprised you did,” she’d huffed. “I’m sure the only reason you did was to put me down. You just love telling me how low and awful you think I am. You called me a—”

Whore? He’d restrained himself and hadn’t said the word out loud again. “Your career of choice was all too obvious.”

She’d blushed again, bitten her lips. “Ha! And are you always right about everything?”

He’d laughed. “Don’t act so coy. You came on to me like a pro. You put your hands on me, remember? You unzipped me, fondled me, begged me for it.”

“Because I—” She went stock-still. Her blush was no longer becoming. Her face had deepened to angry purple.

Were those tears glistening behind her eyelids, too? Tears of outrage? She had a misplaced temper, this girl.

“If I did those things…” Her lip quivered. “Not that I’m at all sure I should believe you…I—I must have thought you were somebody else…somebody decent…although how I could have thought such a thing about you—even drugged—I’m sure I can’t imagine.”

The indignation and despair in her soft voice jarred him. Still, he defended himself with a burst of temper equal to hers.

“That same decent somebody who drugged you and tied you to those bedposts and left you there for anybody to find?” he shouted. He never shouted. Not at underlings. “Lucky for you I came along and not somebody else.”

“Lucky? You’re judging me…when you don’t know anything about me. You said yourself you nearly raped me.…”

“Don’t be inane,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “I stopped when you said no.”

“Then why did you feel guilty enough to confess?” Her voice was equally controlled. But she stuck her pretty little nose in the air and faced him with a startling amount of belligerent spirit. “You say I fainted. You say you’re my hero. How do I know what you really did?”

“I stopped.” He ground his words like meat through a grinder.

“You don’t look like a man who would stop once he got started.”

Her perverse compliment maddened him. The gall of this girl!

“I got you the hell out of Mexico. It cost me five hundred dollars cash to bribe the border guard.”

“You bribed a border guard?” Her eyes widened. “I wish they’d thrown you in jail. I would have liked seeing you behind bars—caged.”

“Well, they didn’t, because like everybody else in this world, especially you, they’re for sale, sweetheart.”

“You must have a limited and unlikable bunch of acquaintances.”

“Carrying unconscious young females across international borders is a highly suspicious activity. I had to pay them. They were strangers, not acquaintances.”

“I don’t much like you—even if you are as handsome as Mr. Darcy.”

Handsome? She thought him handsome. “Who the hell is Mr. Darcy? A client?”

“Do you read? Never mind. An almost rape?” She eyed him skeptically. “Bribing a government official? You are a man who’s capable of highly suspicious activities.”

“Then we’re a matched pair.”

“No, we aren’t.”

Huffiness. Morality. From the likes of her?

“I found you tied to bedposts,” he thundered.

“You keep saying that! If that’s so, you’ve made the most of it ever since!”

“You were drugged.”

She glared at him. “I don’t take drugs and I don’t like being insulted.”

“Do you like being alive and in one piece on this side of the border?”

“I do,” she admitted. “Thank you. But I don’t much like sharing a…a cage with a beast like you.”

“I’m not a beast.”

Her lack of gratitude, her refusal to admit her own shortcomings, her ability to see the worst in him—everything about her maddened him. But what really set him on edge was her standing there in the bathroom doorway in that robe, looking sexy as hell as she stared daggers through him.

“Come out for God’s sakes. I won’t bite.”

Shyly, she took a trembling step. “I have to go home.”

“Not till I’m sure you’re okay…safe.”

“You don’t care about my safety,” she said in that soft, knowing tone. “I know why you won’t let me go. What sort of games do you play, Mr. McKade, with your women?”

His pulse accelerated. “I worked my ass off to sober you up. I fed you supper…breakfast.…”

“You made me eat eggs. I don’t like eggs.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“I told you.”

“For God’s sakes, I’m not running a short-order grill. I ordered eggs. I ate them myself.”

“But you like eggs.”

“You have the most illogical mind.”

“Don’t say that.”

As if she were remembering the other battles they’d fought, she stared past him, to the closet, to the skeleton key in the closet door. “You deliberately scared me.”

“Relax. Forget that,” he growled, ashamed of that little episode.

“You threatened to lock me in there.”

“You ran out.”

“Because you’re a big bully.”

“Only sometimes…when pushed.”

“All the time, I bet.”

“I couldn’t let you run off drugged—”

“Quit saying I was drugged.”

“When you quit calling me a bully.” His heart darkened with a bitter memory. There was ice and yet pain, too, in his deep voice. “Where I come from…it was bully…or be bullied.” Why had he said that? Why had he betrayed himself to the likes of her?

She lifted her chin, studied him. “I bet you were the biggest, baddest bully of all.”

He glared. She chewed on her bottom lip, considering him with one of those intense glances that unsettled him and made him wonder what she might do next.

They were in Little Red’s hotel suite. The room key had been in his brother’s wallet. Luke had brought her here on the thin chance his brother would show up…alive…and he could, thus, kill two birds with one stone.

His brother’s suite had seemed as good a place as any to sober her up. Once, after pouring countless cup-fuls of coffee down her, when he’d been forcing her to pace the room with him, she’d panicked and broken out of the suite. He’d caught her in the hall, shoved her back inside, and pushed her into the closet. She’d pounded wildly on the door. He’d opened it and told her to be quiet, threatening to tie her up the way Baines had or gag her and lock her in the closet if she didn’t behave.

She stared at the skeleton key in the lock of the closet door and went still.

“My aunt used to lock me up…in the dark,” she said. “And tonight…” Her eyes filled with terror.

“Difficult aunt.”

“Oh, she was. She was a lot like you. She believed all people were for sale, too, especially women. She even saw marriage in that light. She was always saying, ‘It’s just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man.”’

“Every woman I know thinks like that.”

“Not me. I believe in love, in chemistry, in magic—in excitement.” She snapped her fingers. “Or I used to. Till Brand.” Her voice dropped. “Till you.” Again her eyes held fear although she strove to talk about something else. “My aunt and I drove each other to distraction. But she taught me to read and to appreciate the fine arts. On the whole, she was a lot nicer than you.” She tried to smile. “And at least she was very well educated and way more honest about what she was up to than you are—McKade.”

“Call me Luke.”

“I’m not sure yet if I want to know you that well.”

“You’re rude.”

“Me, rude? That’s rich.”

“Ungrateful too,” he accused.

She seemed to make an effort to concentrate on what he was saying instead of on what she was so afraid of.

“My aunt used to say I was a brat. And maybe I was…sometimes. I used to follow her when she didn’t know it. I was too curious about what went on.…There were the most fascinating rumors about her, you see. And I was way too lively just to accept what she said as gospel.” She was silent. “As if anything she could say would be gospel.” Her voice changed. “I am a brat by day…and brave…but by night…I’m afraid of the dark.”

“You chose an odd line of work, considering that fear.”

“Ha! You don’t listen any better than—”

“And you’re afraid of me.”

She shook her head. “Not of you…”

She didn’t fool him. If she wasn’t afraid, why did she keep glancing from him to the bed? Why was she pressing herself against the wall?

He advanced upon her, to prove his point. “Feel better after your bath?” he asked silkily.

But she didn’t back away as he’d expected. “My brain still feels…weird.…Like the thoughts are drifting…not connecting.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep then,” he suggested.

“What will you do?”

“Watch over you.”

“Just watch?”

“Disappointed?” he inquired softly.

She blushed. “Do you ever stop with the sex talk?”

“That might be hard…with you around. I can’t seem to forget I found you higher than a kite tied to a bed.” He picked up the red polka-dotted dress. “This little number was shrink-wrapped to your body.” He wadded it up and threw it at her. “What kind of girl wears black mesh hose and a dress like this two sizes too small?”

Unfolding the suggestive garment, her eyes rounded. She jiggled the dress and made the flounces bounce. “Oh, my!”

“Not much dress. Lots of girl,” he said.

“It isn’t mine!” She threw it at him and stalked toward the bed away from him.

“You were quite…fetching in it,” he taunted darkly.

Another blush. She sank into a chair.

“You want me to be some idiot you can fool with your fake blushes and little-girl smiles and sly glances.”

“I know about you, too. You brought me here…because you thought I was that kind of girl. That’s why you won’t let me go. I wonder…If I did what you wanted, would you let me go then?”

He stared at her, scared to the quick and yet darkly thrilled, too, by her tantalizing suggestion.

She shut her eyes. “It’s all so extraordinary…like a bad dream.” Her hollow, fearful tone floated to him. “Brand said he’d marry me. At least I think he did. But…”

She rubbed her forehead, her eyelids and strained to think. “Only…only…maybe he did ask me to put that awful rag on. I thought he took me to Mexico to get married.”

“Some wedding dress.”

She stared about the room as if seeing ghosts, seeming to hear and see him only vaguely. “He gave me…Oh, dear…No…He couldn’t have drugged…” Frowning, she stared at the dress he’d dropped on the floor.

“What?”

“Was I really wearing that?”

He nodded.

“Brand loved me.”

A low moan rose in her throat. Her hand went to her belly. Then her face changed as if she’d come to a decision. Big blue eyes widening on his strong face, she looked up at Luke. There was something so proud, so desperate and so responsible in her gaze. He felt a fierce, insane need to protect her.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, feeling ridiculous.

“If Brand did that…” She rubbed her temples. “He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t even listen. He won’t stop now, either.…He’s very determined. He’s rich, powerful.…”

“So am I.”

She stared at him. Her eyes lit up, as he’d known they would at the mention of his fortune.

“You have to help me. I have to get out of Laredo away from Brand—tonight.”

“No way.”

“I can’t let him find me.” For an instant she looked on the verge of panic.

He remembered his old friend, the pregnant law student who’d felt she had to run away from Baines.

As this girl studied him, she seemed to regain a bit of control. After a while, she even forced a slow, sexy smile. “What if…if I was the kind of woman you think I am…and you want me to be…the girl of your most lurid comic book dreams?”

He sucked in a breath. Here we go.

“We’re alone. In your hotel room.” Her gaze drifted suggestively to the bed. “What if I’d do anything? Absolutely anything? Would you help me?”

Anything. Pictures of women playing in provocative love games flipped in his mind. The pictures changed. Every face, every lewd position was of her.

Heat spiraled inside him. “One minute you play a whore, the next a virgin. Don’t tempt me unless you mean it.”

“Or the big tough, rich guy will grab me?” She trembled, hugging herself. Her blue eyes grew even more enormous. Then she licked her mouth with her tongue. “Anything,” she purred.

The imaginary pictures of her flipped again. He had a fleeting sensation of shame. She was in some sort of trouble. What kind of heel took advantage of a desperate woman, even a whore, who needed his help?

A man who came from the gutter. A man who used every opportunity for his own gain. A saint would have been tempted by her, and he was no saint.

She was so damn pretty she made every male sense knife sharp. His bones melted. His weaker nature won. Down in hell his name on that list blazed brighter. “Anything?”

She nodded.

“What do I have to do?”

“Money. And I need a ride north.”

“How much money?”

Her eyes locked on his. “A lot.”

“Undress.”

“Cash…before I—I begin—”

“Strip first.”

Meekly lowering her lashes, she gulped in a deep breath. For courage, he thought. Then she slanted her eyes at him as her fingers fumbled with the sash of his robe.

“Take your time,” he said with a touch of irony.

Untying the rope of blue cloth, she coiled the sash between her fingers.

He appraised what he could see of her body, watched her fingers stroke blue cloth. “So, I was right about you?”

Her wounded eyes stung him. She flung the sash full-force at his face.

That temper of hers turned him on. He caught the sash, recoiled it and plunged it inside his pocket. “Take it all off.”

She paled.

He grinned. “Act like you’re having fun.”

She brought a hand to her throat protectively. “You better hope I’m never in the position to exact revenge.”

“You said anything.”

“A gentleman would help a lady for nothing.”

“Gentlemen are an extinct breed.”

She gave him the once-over. “How right you are.”

“Nor does the term lady apply to any female in this room.”

“Ha! Someday I’ll make you regret this.”

“You blame me…for your idea!”

“It’s always the man’s fault.”

“Right,” he said.

With a little shrug, she flashed him an infectiously warm smile, covering it with fluttery fingertips. Then she squared her shoulders and blew him a kiss. The next thing he knew she winked and began to hum a ribald burlesque tune.

While he watched, she mimicked a stripper’s high-stepping strut, moving fast as was her custom, peeling the terry cloth back and giving her full, shapely breasts a little jiggle for him.

Lust arced through him. He began to burn.

His response paralyzed her. Her quick steps faltered; her humming paused in midnote. Her outstretched leg hung suspended in the air. She stared at it in openmouthed astonishment as if she were terrified to find it there.

Long seconds passed in which each was too aware of the other. Then she recovered, threw her head back, cupped her breasts as if to offer them to him.

She looked so damn cute, so eager, holding her breasts like that.

Available. She was like a fantasy in a dream. Only she was real.

She let the robe slide from her slim, rounded shoulders, down the length of her voluptuous body. His heart thundered.

His sea-gray gaze flicked over full, soft breasts, her narrow waist, and the fullness of her hips…and those incredible legs that went forever.

She blushed, as if stunned by what she was doing, and then quickly averted her gaze to the blue pool of terry cloth at her feet. Her modesty only enhanced her charm and beauty. He wanted to grab her, take her.

“You won’t say no again…just when things get interesting?” he rasped, taking a step toward her. When her smile froze, her fingers falling from those voluptuous lips, and she shrank back an inch or two instinctively, he softened his tone. “You didn’t answer me.”

She bowed her head, her cheeks crimson in shame. “I won’t say no…if you make me go through with this.…”

His eyes narrowed. He moved in for the kill, took her chin in his callused hand before she could escape. “How much?”

“W-what?”

He studied her slender neck, her swollen mouth. “How much do you charge…for this little dance…for all the rest?”

He loathed himself when she looked from him to the bed and began to shake. Then he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “A thousand dollars,” she snapped. “But you have to take me with you…tonight.” Her strangled voice was so low and hot with that temper of hers he could barely hear her. “Like I said, I need a ride.”

“You’re gonna get the ride of your life.”

Hot color crept up her throat, warming the skin beneath his fingertips.

“You like thinking of me as an object, a toy you can play with, don’t you? But if you give me the money…and help me…” She shut her eyes. “I—I’ll try not to let myself care what you think.”

She was so soft. His blood pumped at an alarming rate. His breathing was so shallow and quick, he couldn’t get enough air.

“I want my thousand dollars now.”

“A thousand dollars. You’d better be good. You’d better do—anything.”

“Oh, dear.” Then she said, “You got it!”

He pulled out his wallet, counted ten bills and laid them across her open palm. She took her time, folding them. In slow motion, she set them down one by one on the table.

That done, she lifted her gaze from the ten green bills. Squaring her shoulders, she faced him, wild emotion flaring in her pale face. “Go ahead,” she whispered, fighting to keep her voice steady. Her body went stiff.

Instead of seizing her as a girl in her business, no doubt, expected, he knelt at her feet as if in worship, his fingertips starting at her toes. Tracing the arch of her narrow foot, he noted how she quivered, goose-flesh springing beneath his lightest touch. When his hand reached the top of her thigh, he forced her legs open.

“My, my…a natural blonde.”

His gaze climbed, fixed on her face. “I have a thing for blondes.”

Her eyes were closed. Was she pretending he was someone else? Brand maybe? Or imagining this wasn’t happening? What was she thinking? He had to know. She had to know she was with him. For some inane reason that was vital. More vital than sex itself.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

Her cheeks flamed. Her black lashes fluttered reluctantly.

“Are you sure about this?” he demanded.

Her eyes clung to his in mute desperation, but she nodded.

“Smile, then.”

Her bottom lip wobbled, but she tried. Dear God, she tried. Despite her smile, a tear trickled down her flushed face.

He jerked his hand away. The fact that she didn’t want to look at him, that when she forced that tremulous smile, she wept, angered him. Had she wept in that shack with those goons?

“A girl of your…er…talents ought to be able to act like she wants it…as bad as her client.”

More tears welled. “I’m trying. It’s just that with you…” Her smile died. Her control slipped. She lifted her nose in outrage, stared down its length. Her wet, dilated eyes cut him like daggers. “With you, it’s difficult.”

“More difficult than with other men?” he growled.

“I imagine so.”

“You did say…anything,” he reminded her, trying not to show the dark jealous emotion that had begun to gnaw at him. “And I have a lifetime of fantasies. The girls in my dreams never cry.”

“Would I be the girl of your dreams…if I didn’t cry?”

“No way.”

A blink brought more of the same liquid pooling in those beautiful eyes. “Then turn off the light if you can’t handle a real girl’s tears.”

“Can’t handle—”

She stabbed at the switch behind her. Darkness enveloped them. Then she reached for him. “Dream on,” she whispered.

He felt her shaking, felt her reluctance, knew she was still crying. When he kissed her, she shuddered.

She didn’t want to do this. And, damn it, he wanted her to.

Why the hell did that matter? He would handle it.

She’d sold herself. This was business. He could use her any way he liked.

“What’s your name?” he demanded even as his hand blindly touched her wet cheek to comfort her.

After a breathless pause, she said quaveringly, “Willa.”

More than sex, he wanted to hold her close, to make her feel safe—which was ludicrous.

“I’ve never paid a woman for sex before.”

“You’re the first for me, too.”

Guilt crept over him. If she was telling the truth, if she wasn’t a whore, some desperate need he knew nothing about was driving her to this.

She was a whore. Of course, she was a whore.

He’d bought companies, ruined men of far more worth than she.

His gut knotted.

“Get into bed,” he growled.

As her bare feet scampered in the dark, pictures of a naked golden girl in a dozen way-out fantasies flipped in his imagination.

Sheets rustled. He heard her reluctant sigh.

He was as hard and hot as a brick just out of the kiln.

He couldn’t wait.

She didn’t want him.

Why the hell did that matter?