Читать книгу Climax Of Passion - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 8

HE HAD stipulated nine o’clock.

Amanda paced her room, waiting for the last few minutes to tick by before she had to face the man in the Presidential Suite again. She felt too on edge to sit down. Impossible to relax. So much depended upon what happened in the next hour.

He was a reasonable man, she assured herself. He hadn’t tried to detain her this afternoon. He had not said anything suggestive, nor made any move that could be interpreted as taking a liberty. He had agreed she had many pressing duties as the new general manager...and in the same breath, made this appointment for a discussion on her future.

Nine o’clock was not an unreasonable time. It had given her six hours to deal with whatever problems arose from the shock departure of the senior management and her startling promotion to the top rank. Implicit in that choice of hour, however, was the understanding that Amanda’s time was his, free of all interruptions. Amanda could not fool herself that he only wanted to talk business with her.

She couldn’t forget that brief blaze of searing desire this afternoon. She couldn’t deny the fascination he exerted on her. She was going to be in deep trouble if he rejected the schedule she had set in place.

Surely, as a reasonable man, he would accept what she had arranged. All the preparations had been made. She had covered every contingency. He couldn’t take offence at what she had done for him and it gave her a smooth getaway.

The only problem was...she had never met anyone like this man before. He affected her in ways...but there was no future in dwelling on that. If she gave in to this...attraction...compulsion...she would end up in his power, and where would that lead?

Amanda shook her head. It was too dangerous. However tempting it was to have the experience, to know all that he was, she had no doubt it would mean ceding control to him. And that she would not do.

Her decisions were made. She could not afford to waver from her chosen course. She had to seize the authority she now had and use it while time was still on her side. It was daring, so daring her heart had been pumping overtime ever since she had thought of it. Once she started there could be no stopping, no turning back. Her actions would be irreversible.

But first she had to face him.

She checked her watch. It was time to move. Punctuality was mandatory. She left her room and headed for the elevators. Her legs felt shaky. She steeled her mind to cope with the situation. She only had to get through one hour with him. She could keep her wits about her for one short hour.

She took deep, calming breaths as she rode up to the top floor. Her legs were much steadier on her walk to the door of the Presidential Suite. It was precisely nine o’clock as she pressed the buzzer to announce her arrival.

The door clicked open. ‘Good evening,’ she said to the butler.

‘I’m just leaving, Miss Buchanan. I’ve served the champagne.’

‘Thank you,’ she said on a note of resignation. The butler had obviously been given his orders. Mr Complimentary Upgrade meant to have her to himself, no third party around to inhibit whatever he wanted to happen between them.

The butler stood aside to let her through, and then, empty tray in hand, made his departure.

Amanda was immediately aware that the rooms beyond the vestibule were dimly lit. Champagne...soft lights...but the Presidential Suite was very large. Like a penthouse really. She had plenty of space to move around in.

Besides, this man was not the type to rush anything. Not something he wanted. He would wait patiently, wanting it all precisely as he planned it. Step by step. Relentless and ruthless in his execution.

Amanda shivered, then took firm control of herself. Nothing was going to happen that she didn’t want to happen. Determined to hold her own against this disturbing man, she set forth into the living room, back straight, chin up, a brave smile of confidence hovering on her lips. She felt rather foolish when he wasn’t there to greet her.

The table lamps on either side of the white leather lounge setting were switched on. Spotlit by one was a silver ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. The cork had been removed and the sparkling fluid poured into two crystal flute glasses.

Amanda’s hands clenched. If he was about to appear in something more comfortable...

‘The stars are brightly shining tonight.’

Amanda almost jumped. His voice was enough of a magnet to draw her gaze instantly to where he stood at the far end of the room, a darker shadow amongst the shadows beyond the long expanse of glass that faced the balcony.

It made Amanda acutely conscious of being in a pool of light, of having been observed without her knowledge. He would have noted she was still in her black suit, noted the body language that revealed her inner tension, and had probably already decided how best to deal with the situation. She felt at a distinct disadvantage.

‘It’s a good omen,’ he said softly. ‘I like watching the stars.’

‘Do you? I find a great deal of pleasure...’ Amanda began, rushing into speech to cover her disquiet, then wishing she’d held her tongue. Pleasure was a word she did not wish to use tonight. ‘There is a grandeur and sweep to it,’ she acknowledged, trying to put the conversation on an impersonal level.

He left the shadows and strolled towards her, projecting a totally relaxed manner. Amanda was relieved to see he was fully dressed although he had changed his clothes. He wore black. Easier to merge with the night, Amanda thought. Then she saw the sheen of silk in his shirt and knew that his choice had more to do with sensuality than darkness. It was an invitation to touch, to feel, to lose herself in a night with him.

He paused at the table where the drinks were laid out. ‘I have taken the liberty of ordering some Dom Perignon to celebrate your promotion,’ he said with a smile that was both whimsical and seductive. ‘Will you partake of a glass with me?’

He was already having an intoxicating effect on her...a man of mystery, of immense fascination. She couldn’t risk heightening it by any relaxation of her defences. ‘I don’t drink when I’m on duty,’ she said quickly.

‘And I don’t drink at all,’ he said slowly. ‘Nevertheless, these are challenging times in which we live, Miss Buchanan.’

He picked up the two glasses and brought them to her, standing close, making her extremely conscious of her vulnerable femininity. Something primitive pulsed from this man. It was muted by the civilised clothes, the civilised man-ner, yet her every instinct recognised the barbarian in him, the hunter, the conqueror, the possessor.

Amanda had the sense, the feeling of potent danger. He was so vibrant, so intensely alive, as though he thrived on challenge, as though it was meat and drink to him, the very essence of life.

‘Let us dare to break our own rules,’ he tempted softly, his eyes engaging hers with mesmerising directness.

She had to speak, to keep him talking. Only words could battle the effect he was having on her and keep him at a distance. ‘Wouldn’t that be flirting with chaos? You struck me as a man who appreciates and demands order, Mr Up-grade.’

‘Chaos can be brought into order, if the will is strong enough.’

‘Do as you will, but I shall not put my sense of order at risk. I prefer to keep my promotion than lose it on a glass of champagne.’

One black eyebrow arched quizzically. ‘Surely you make something out of nothing.’

‘I find it somewhat surprising that I was chosen for the position of general manager. That was something out of nothing.’

‘Call it impulse.’

‘With an already signed letter from Jebel Haffa?’

‘Xa Shiraq provides for all contingencies.’

‘Was it your...impulse...or that of Xa Shiraq?’

He smiled as if at some secret irony. ‘All was provided for. You need to know nothing more.’

‘What does Xa Shiraq know of me?’ she asked boldly.

‘Everything and nothing.’

‘Can you stop speaking in paradoxes and talk directly?’

He laughed softly, completely in control of the situation. ‘Yes and no,’ he replied.

Amanda realised he was toying with her, deliberately provoking her, inciting her to some rash step. She was equally determined not to be provoked, not to be played or toyed with, not to take some hasty, rash step.

‘An admirable response,’ she retorted dryly, ‘which answers all my questions.’

He hadn’t expected that. He eyed her again, let his gaze slide down her body, then turned aside to set the glasses back on the table, having abandoned any further thought of pressing the champagne on her and apparently not inclined to drink by himself. ‘I believe what I see and feel. I believe in myself, Miss Buchanan,’ he said quietly.

The light from the table lamp played over his chin and cheekbones and she thought he had the kind of profile that had once been struck on ancient coins, a noble, immortal face. Then he straightened up and the illusion was lost in the vital furnace of his eyes, desire that curled around her, encompassed her, and tugged on something basic inside her that made Amanda feel alarmingly out of control.

‘As deeply and with as much conviction as you believe in yourself, and in what you see and feel,’ he said, his voice a low velvet throb.

How did he know that? Could he see into her mind and heart?

‘You judge character quickly, Mr Upgrade,’ she remarked, knowing she must keep him talking, keep him at a safe distance.

His hands were free now, free to touch...and if he touched... She felt her skin yearning for it, her palms itching for it. Never before had her body reacted like this to a man, and she didn’t even know who he was. Didn’t want to know. If he gave her his name, his identity, she suspected that would make him a more powerful memory. Unforgettable.

‘One look at a person and much is revealed. You were described to me as a striking blonde. That suggests certain images. None of them was accurate.’

‘How do you judge me?’ she asked, too intrigued not to satisfy her curiosity.

‘To you, purpose outweighs feminine vanity. You have no desire to heighten sexual attraction. You are sensual. Your hair is long, beautifully fair, and uncompromisingly straight. That strengthens your charisma. Frequent visits to a hairdressing salon do not interest you. The fringe is neat and tidy. From that I conclude it is an easy solution to keeping the long fall from intruding on your face. There is no artifice or disguise. Your vision is not obscured. Practical. Efficient. You think of yourself as a person first, a woman second. Your inner needs are more important to you than drawing attention from men. An admirable quality indeed.’

Amanda was stunned by the truths he had so easily perceived. She had gone past the point of wanting to attract men. She had concluded years ago, after a number of disillusioning disappointments, that if a Mr Right did come along, it would happen quite naturally without any need for her to do anything except be herself.

She was not desperate for a man. She had other things to do that were important to her. And she was not about to let this man stand in her way, no matter how fascinating she found him. He could not be right for her even though...no, it was impossible.

‘Are you a hairdresser by trade, Mr Upgrade?’ she mocked at him, trying to restore her equilibrium.

‘I have shorn many sheep,’ he mocked back, ‘but none as fair as you.’

‘If you see so much in hair, what do you make of my eyes?’

‘When they look upon me and shine as brightly as the stars do tonight, I will tell you. In the meantime, let us concentrate upon the draping of your hair down to the soft, supple swell of your breasts...’

His gaze followed his words and Amanda had the prickling sensation of her nipples pushing against the lace fabric of her bra. The lace felt tight, constrictive, abrasive. She wondered what it would be like having his hands cupping her swelling breasts and was shocked at the vividness of the image that leapt into her mind, the darker tone of his skin against hers, those long lean fingers closing over her soft flesh, caressing her, sensitising her.

She gave herself a mental shake and was grateful that the black suit was not so form-fitting that he could see the effect he was having on her. ‘You judge much from my appearance, Mr Upgrade,’ she said dismissively, needing the distraction of some other subject, yet failing to bring her mind to focus on anything other than what he was making her feel.

His eyes simmered up to hers. ‘Salome used seven veils to seduce a king’s mind. I think you would only need one.’

‘I’m not a dancer,’ she stated firmly. Nor was she going to try.

He ignored her interjection, pressing the image in his mind into hers. ‘A veil in shimmering shades of blue and green and silver...translucent. To match your eyes.’

‘My eyes aren’t silver,’ she said pettishly.

‘They are like crystal over water, reflecting many facets, tantalising glimpses of what lies behind them.’

Instinctively Amanda lowered her lashes, afraid of revealing too much, not realising how provocative the action was.

‘Ah, yes...the strength of mind is greater,’ he said with satisfaction, walking towards her again, diminishing the space between them. ‘But it is encased in a woman’s body. A body I could bend to my will.’

She stiffened as he reached touching distance. Every nerve in her body twanged with tension, whether from anticipation, excitement or fear, she did not know.

He stopped. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Buchanan.’

She wasn’t at all sure of that. She could feel his power draining what strength she had. Her impulses were going haywire.

‘I give freely, generously–to the right people,’ he said persuasively.

By what standard did he judge the right people? Her father had not been considered a right person by Xa Shiraq, and since this man carried out Xa Shiraq’s orders, perhaps he had been the one who ensured her father’s unique discovery went discredited in the eyes of the rest of the world.

‘Measure yourself against me,’ he invited. ‘You are smaller, softer, more slender. Women were made to be partnered by men. They need a man to stand by them, protect them, look after them.’

‘An old-fashioned idea,’ Amanda protested. ‘No longer appropriate.’

‘A physical reality. Never dismiss the physical strength of a man and the pleasure it can give, Miss Buchanan. However steely your will, it is not proof against it.’

‘Why do you feel it is necessary to tell me what I know?’ Amanda asked, holding her ground with increasing difficulty.

‘Because you are denying what is self-evident. Mind over matter. But I know what you are feeling, Miss Buchanan. Whether you choose to indulge yourself or not.’ His black eyes burned into hers. ‘I know what you are feeling. I feel it, too. I think we both will always feel it. And remember it.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Her voice was a bare husky whisper.

‘Because I have never felt it before,’ he murmured.

Her eyes warred with his, fighting the link of intimacy he was forging with her. Amanda was certain of one thing. If she succumbed to this man she would never be herself again. He would dominate. She knew he would. He was that kind of person.

He suddenly laughed and turned aside. ‘It is a joke, is it not? A man of my age and experience...to be touched...by you...of all women. Yet touched I am...and there will be a resolution to it, Miss Amanda Buchanan. We have met...as perhaps we were always destined to meet.’

Amanda found her breath whooshing out of her lungs as she watched him stroll to the floor-length windows. Her knees were jelly. She wanted to sag onto the nearest lounge. Only a desperate determination to show no weakness kept her upright. Her dazed mind broke out of its enthralment and groped towards a need to understand this man who touched her in ways she had not thought possible.

‘How old are you?’

He did not answer immediately. He stared out at the night sky. ‘Sometimes I feel as old as the stars...’ slowly he turned to look at her again ‘...but you stir my youth.’

‘So you are both young and old.’

‘Yes.’

‘I am not of your race or culture,’ she reminded him.

His words...you, of all women...were still ringing in her ears. He knew as well as she did that a liaison between them would give rise to many problems. Yet she could not deny a thrill of pleasure that she had stirred the youth of this man, more particularly as it was against his will.

‘Does that matter? Are we not beyond race and culture?’

‘There have been other men in my life.’

He shrugged. ‘None that you will remember.’

‘I’m not a virgin.’

‘How unusual!’ His lips curled in a humourless smile. ‘Nor am I.’

‘You’re evading the point,’ she insisted accusingly, her face flushing at having to be so direct.

‘That you could be no more than one light-of-love in my life?’

‘Yes.’

He shook his head. ‘That is not worth having. It is not what we’re about. It’s too easy.’

He moved closer. ‘Anything worth having exacts a price. I shall pursue you. I shall try to make you submit to my will. You will do everything in your power to make me submit to yours. It becomes an interesting contest, does it not? Who will win, Miss Buchanan?’

For the first time he touched her, his fingers stroking lightly down her cheek, his eyes illuminated with an invigorated lust for life, lust for her, lust for the contest he envisaged.

‘Who will win?’ he repeated, his voice a low murmur that pulsed through her veins.

Somehow Amanda dredged up the strength to step back from him. ‘I have taken the liberty of ordering you a sumptuous supper, Mr Upgrade.’ Her voice sounded thin but she plunged on, defiantly ignoring the gauntlet he had thrown at her feet. ‘The finest delicacies the hotel has to offer will be brought to you. For your pleasure. Your great pleasure, I hope. And afterwards a dancer to entertain you. The best dancer in Fisa. I believe she does something with veils. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and ensure that your night here is one of entertainment. A night to remember.’

For the merest fraction of time she saw the flash in his eyes. Not admiration. Respect. It was enough. It sent a thrill of elation surging through Amanda. He had not anticipated such a move from her. Please God, he did not anticipate the next one.

‘How thoughtful of you!’ he said. ‘By all means go, Miss Buchanan. There will be another time for us.’

With the thrill of victory thrumming through her, she turned aside. His next words were quietly spoken, but as a counter-stroke, they were chilling.

‘The daughter is more impressive than the father.’

She could not stop herself from looking at him again. The black eyes gleamed their victory. He knew who she was, knew far, far, far too much.

‘Goodnight, Mr Upgrade,’ she said quickly, and spun on her heel away from him, hoping he had not seen or scented her fear.

Her father had died a broken man.

But she would see justice done to him.

The man in the Presidential Suite did not know it yet, but he had opened the door to Xabia for her. He had opened the door to Xa Shiraq. Let him answer for that, Amanda thought fiercely. Then let him see who would win!