Читать книгу Forbidden Seductions - India Grey - Страница 13

CLEO walked along the shoreline in the coolness of early morning.

It was barely light and, apart from a few seabirds, she was alone on the beach.

All the guests had left in the early hours. They’d stayed much longer than she’d expected, particularly as her grandfather had retired soon after midnight.

In his absence, Serena had done her best to provide entertainment for their guests. Earlier in the evening, a group of West Indian musicians had arrived, and although Cleo had anticipated a lot of noisy percussion, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

These musicians used their steel drums to produce melodic liquid sounds that played on the senses as well as the mind. Rippling chords of magic that filled any awkward silences with rhythm and enchantment.

The area around the pool had been cleared and there’d been some dancing. But, even though Cleo had danced with a couple of Jacob’s friends, she’d avoided the younger men like the plague.

The last thing she needed was for these people—who probably neither liked her nor trusted her—to get the idea that she was like her mother. She didn’t know much about Celeste, of course. Only what her grandfather had told her. But nothing could alter the fact that she’d had an affair with a married man.

Her employer, no less.

She supposed, from the Montoyas’ point of view, the evening had been a success. She’d been introduced to San Clemente society, and Jacob’s intentions towards her had been made plain for all to see.

But they were wrong.

There’d been a subtle change in the atmosphere after her grandfather had retired. No one had been rude, but their questions about her life in England had seemed more pointed somehow. She’d got the feeling they regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and blame.

But it wasn’t her fault that her father had seduced her mother, she told herself fiercely. And if they had fallen in love…

She had made sure she’d kept out of Dominic’s way. And with Sarah constantly at his side, it hadn’t been too difficult. Besides, with talk of a possible wedding on everyone’s lips, she’d had little to contribute.

She’d wondered a couple of times if Sarah was speaking more loudly for her benefit. She was obviously suspicious of Cleo, and she and Dominic’s mother seemed to have a lot in common.

Whatever, Cleo had been glad to leave the party herself at about 2 a.m. She hadn’t been tired, exactly, but she’d definitely had enough of being treated like the skeleton at the feast.

Now it was a little before six, and she’d left the house with a feeling of deliverance. She’d wanted to get away; not just from Magnolia Hill, but from her thoughts.

The tide was coming in. The cool water brushed against her toes, and Cleo kicked off her sandals and allowed the waves to swirl about her feet.

She’d been mad to come down to the beach in high-heeled wedges anyway. But then, she was still wearing the dress she’d worn the evening before. Having spent the last three hours lying sleepless on her bed, it had seemed like too much trouble to change.

She’d stopped to examine the pearly spiral of a conch shell when she felt the distinct vibration of footsteps on the sand.

Lifting her head, she saw a man approaching, his profile still in distinct in the morning half-light. He was some distance away, but he was running in her direction. Long legs pumping rhythmically, arms swinging to match his muscular pace.

It looked like Dominic, but it couldn’t be him. He had brought Sarah to the party. It was a cinch he’d taken her home. To his home, if she was any judge of the other girl’s intentions, thought Cleo ruefully. There was no way he’d have stayed at Magnolia Hill.

But it was Dominic!

As he drew nearer, Cleo recognised his height and his muscular build. Broad shoulders, narrow hips and a tight butt, she conceded reluctantly. Outlined to perfection in black Lycra shorts.

He obviously enjoyed running, judging by the damp patches on his black cotton vest, and the streams of perspiration running down his chest. Despite the fact that she’d had no sleep, her adrenalin kicked up another notch.

‘Hi.’ Dominic slowed as he reached her, his eyes taking in the fact that she hadn’t changed from what she’d been wearing the night before. ‘Going somewhere special?’

Cleo’s chin jutted. She wouldn’t allow him to make fun of her. ‘I haven’t been to bed,’ she said, as if that wasn’t already obvious. ‘I’m sorry. Is that a problem for you?’

Privately Dominic thought it was one hell of a problem, judging from the way he reacted to her. But after last evening’s fiasco, he was determined to keep things simple.

‘Not for me,’ he said, bending forward and bracing himself with his hands on his knees to avoid looking at her. He was uncomfortably aware that his quickened heartbeat was as much mentally as physically induced.

But eventually, he had to straighten. ‘So,’ he said evenly, ‘did you enjoy the party? I seem to remember the guest of honour disappeared.’

Cleo forced herself to look at the horizon. The faintest trace of pink was brushing the ocean and she pretended an interest in the view. ‘I wasn’t the guest of honour,’ she said tensely. ‘Or if I was, your guests didn’t know it.’

Dominic scowled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? What did they say to you?’

‘Oh—nothing.’

Cleo wished she hadn’t started this. Not when he was standing so close that the heat of his body enveloped her in its spell. She could smell his sweat; smell him; and her mouth was suddenly as dry as parchment. Even her legs felt unsteady as she met his accusing gaze.

‘Forget it,’ she said, trying to behave naturally. ‘Why aren’t you at—what was it you called your house—Pelican Bay?’ She paused, and then added brightly, ‘Did Sarah stay over as well?’

Dominic ignored her question. ‘I want to know what’s upset you,’ he said. ‘Did my mother say something? Did Sarah?’

‘Heavens, no.’ Cleo spread her hands, not allowing herself to look at him again. ‘But, let’s face it, your guests didn’t just come to be polite. They were—curious. About me.’

Dominic stifled a groan. ‘They were curious, sure—’

‘I rest my case.’ Cleo permitted herself another brief glance in his direction. ‘Curious—and suspicious. They think I want Jacob’s money!’ She made a sound of disgust. ‘If they only knew!’

‘Only knew what?’

Dominic’s hand reached for her bare arm and instantly her skin felt as if he’d burned her. The pain that flared in the pit of her stomach was purely sexual, its fiery tendrils spreading down both her legs.

She knew an urgent need to press herself against him, to allow the fever smouldering inside her to take control. But no matter how sorry he was, how sympathetic, he could do nothing physically to ease her pain.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, stepping back from him, breaking his hold, and Dominic raked frustrated fingers though his hair.

But it was just as well one of them had some sense, he conceded, even if he could have done without her conscience asserting itself right now.

He felt the ache between his legs, glanced down and saw the unmistakable swell of his erection. What did this woman do to him? he wondered. One touch and his body took control.

‘I think you’re exaggerating people’s reactions,’ he said harshly, in an effort to ground himself. But even to his own ears, his voice was edged with strain.

‘Well, I don’t want your grandfather’s money,’ she said. ‘So tell that to whoever’s prepared to listen. I’ll be leaving here in a few days anyway. Then it won’t matter either way.’

Dominic stared at her with anguished eyes. Dammit, he didn’t want to see her go. But to tell her that would be madness. He wasn’t interested in making that kind of commitment, to her or anyone else.

He had to put any thought of a relationship between them out of his mind…

With a muffled oath, he abandoned any attempt to reason with her. Turning, he plunged into the water, hoping against hope that the ocean would ease his mangled emotions.

Cleo’s lips parted in astonishment when she saw what he was doing. Dominic had gone into the water still wearing his vest and shorts. Was he mad or simply reckless? Why did it matter so much what he did?

She stared after him, watching as he struck out strongly into the current. The weight of his clothes didn’t appear to hamper his progress, but she was anxious just the same.

Allowing herself to tread a little deeper into the shallows, she wished she had the nerve to do something reckless. And as the salty water swirled about her ankles, she could feel the erratic beating of her heart.

Dominic had almost disappeared. His head appeared only fleetingly above the waves. She prayed he knew what he was doing. That he had the sense to know when to turn back.

A thin line of gold was fringing the horizon now, and in the growing light she saw—much to her relief—that he was swimming back to shore. She envied him his skill, the strength with which his arms attacked the waves and defeated them. He looked like a dark, powerful predator moving through the water, and she knew if she had any sense she’d be long gone before he reached the beach.

But still she waited.

Dominic reached the shallows and, pushing himself to his feet, he walked towards her. He was dripping water every where, from his hair, from his arms, from his legs. Even from his lashes as he blinked to clear his gaze.

Pushing his hair back with both hands, he caught Cleo’s gaze and held it. He knew she’d been watching him, had felt her staring at him, even with so many yards of ocean between them. And, as her eyes dropped down his body, he realised his swim had done nothing to kill his lust.

With a feeling of inevitability, he closed the gap between them. Then, before she could do anything to stop him, he reached out and jerked her into his arms.

His mouth found hers and it was just as sweet and lush and hot as he had imagined. His tongue licked, probed, seeking and finding entry. And she opened to him eagerly, it seemed, welcoming his invasion.

Cleo’s world spun. To try and steady herself, she clutched his hips above the cropped waistband of his shorts. And found smooth muscled flesh, narrow bones that moved beneath her fingers. Raw, uncontrolled passion in the way his body ground against hers.

‘Cleo!’

She heard his strangled groan as if from a distance. But whatever protest it might have signalled made little difference to his urgent assault on her emotions.

His tongue mated with hers, velvet-soft and undeniably sexual. Cleo felt as if she was drowning in sensation, the will to keep a hold on her senses as fleeting as the clouds that briefly veiled the sun.

Dominic deepened the kiss, his hands slipping the narrow straps of her dress off her shoulders. He seemed to delight in the silky smoothness of her olive-toned skin.

As the thin fabric dropped away, Cleo made a futile attempt to stop it. Drawing back from his kiss, she gazed at him wildly, her breathing as uneven as her pounding heartbeat.

‘Let me,’ Dominic insisted, removing her fingers. And, as the dress fell to her waist, he cupped her breasts in his eager hands.

His thumbs rubbed abrasively over the tender dusky nipples. They were already tight, he saw, and swollen with need. Then, dropping onto his knees in front of her, he let the dress fall about her ankles. He apparently didn’t care that it was now as wet as he was. Instead, he buried his face against her quivering mound.

Cleo’s legs shook. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to think coherently, let alone push him away. She was naked, but for the lacy thong that Norah had assured her was all she needed under the flimsy chiffon. And when Dominic licked her navel, she let out a trembling cry.

Dominic’s body felt as if it was on fire. As he pressed his face against her softness, his lungs quickly filled with her exotic scent. She was satin and silk, the rarest of spices, and oh, so responsive. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs. He wanted to rip the scrap of lace away.

It barely did the job anyway, he acknowledged. Dark curls spilled out at either side, and he wondered if those hidden lips were moist. He guessed they were, slick with the arousal rising to his nostrils. His hands moved to cup her rounded bottom. Just touching her like this was both a heaven and a hell.

He wanted to touch her everywhere, he wanted to touch her and taste her, and spread those gorgeous legs so he could—

Sanity struck him like a peen hammer. They were here—on a private beach, it was true—but one of his grandfather’s groundsmen raked the sand every morning. How would Cleo feel if someone saw them? While he might not have any inhibitions, Dominic was fairly sure Cleo would.

Abandoning the erotic image of laying her down on the warm sand and relieving the hard-on he’d had since he’d first seen her on the beach, Dominic got reluctantly to his feet.

Dammit, he thought, he’d been semi-aroused since their confrontation the night before. If you could call what had happened between them a confrontation. Whatever, he’d wanted her then and he wanted her now.

God help him!

Even so, he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of lifting one of her pouting breasts to his mouth and suckling briefly on its puckered tip. She tasted so good; so irresistible. How could he let her go?

Desire sparked anew, and he opened his lips wide and allowed her nipple to brush the roof of his mouth. It was all unbearably sensual, this carnal need he had to make her want him as much as he wanted her. His hands followed the sensitive hollow of her spine, arching her against him, letting her feel what she was doing to him.

The unmistakable roar of the tractor arrested him before he could drag his sodden vest over his head and gather her against him. He’d wanted to feel those button-hard nipples against his bare chest, but it was too late.

‘For pity’s sake, let me go!’

Dominic didn’t know whether Cleo’s frantic words sourced a belated resistance on her part or a sudden awareness of the tractor’s approach. But they were a shocking reminder of what he was doing; or what he’d done.

With a feeling of remorse, he stumbled back from her. But when he would have bent to pick up her dress, she beat him to it, wrenching it away from his grasp.

Giving it only the most perfunctory of shakes, she stepped into it, hauling the straps up over her shoulders and recoiling from the damp clamminess of the skirt.

Cleo had heard the engine, but she was wondering who could be driving along the sand at this hour of the morning. Whoever it was, she should be grateful, she thought, avoiding Dominic’s eyes with an urgency that bordered on paranoia.

Dear heaven, what had she been thinking of? How had she allowed such a thing to happen? After everything she’d said. How could she have been so stupid?

The dress was gritty as well as wet, its abrasive folds like sandpaper against her sensitive skin. How on earth was she going to get into the house unnoticed? She could imagine how she would feel if anyone—her mind switched instinctively to Lily—saw her.

‘Cleo, dammit—’

Dominic put out a hand as she snatched up her sandals and started away from him. But she easily evaded his touch.

‘Go home, Dominic,’ she said, her voice as unsteady as her legs. But she couldn’t blame him entirely. ‘This—this never happened.’

‘We both know it did,’ said Dominic harshly as the tractor rolled into view. He swore then. ‘Look, why don’t you let me take you back to my house? We can dry your dress—’

‘Yeah, right.’ Cleo regarded him incredulously. ‘Do you honestly think I’d go anywhere with you?’

Then, her eyes widening at the sight of the heavy vehicle, she backed away from him. Stumbling a little, she turned and hurried away towards the house.

Dominic swore again. Raking frustrated hands through his hair, he watched her disappear through the trellis gate that led into his grandfather’s garden.

He hoped to God that she didn’t encounter his mother. Lily Montoya was already suspicious of the girl and she wouldn’t mince her words. If she discovered Cleo in that state and then learned that Dominic had been on the beach with her, she’d certainly demand an explanation.

One that he didn’t have to give, admitted Dominic grimly. He had the feeling that his whole day was only going to go from bad to freaking worse.