Читать книгу Billionaires: The Tycoon - Julia James, Catherine Mann - Страница 15
ОглавлениеAMBER’S HANDS WERE trembling as she shut the door on Conall and tried to block out the sounds of his retreating footsteps—but it wasn’t so easy to blot out the mocking words which still echoed around her head.
Forget it had ever happened?
Was he out of his mind?
Her fingers strayed to lips which felt as if they were on fire—as if he’d branded them with that hot and hungry kiss. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes. He’d done things to her she shouldn’t have allowed him to do. He’d touched her breasts and put his hand in between her legs but instead of feeling outrage or disgust—or even her habitual freezing fear—she had embraced every moment of it. It had been the most erotic thing which had ever happened to her until he had ended it so abruptly. His belt undone, he had pulled away from her with disgust darkening his eyes, his accusatory words making her sound like some sort of predator—as if she were using all her wiles to lure him into her bed. Oh, the irony.
Walking over to the window, she stared out over the beautiful green parkland and thought about the way she’d responded to him. How infuriating that a desire which had eluded her all these years had been awoken by a man who made no secret of despising her. Who had looked at her as if she were something he’d discovered in a dark corner of a room and wished he hadn’t. And his rejection had hurt. Of course it had—especially coming so fast on the heels of the nice things he’d said about her painting.
What mattered now was how she reacted to it. Why take all the responsibility for something he had started? Why not show Conall Devlin just what she was capable of? Show him that she was not going to become some simpering fangirl, but do what she had been brought down here to do.
Quickly she unpacked her case and took a shower—and afterwards studied the couple of dresses she’d brought with her, realising that Conall had only ever seen her in a series of unflattering outfits. She brushed her fingertips over the soft fabrics, unsure which one to pick. The scarlet was more show-stopping and did wonders for her silhouette—but something stopped her from choosing it. Instead she pulled the ivory silk chiffon from one of the hangers and gave a small smile. She might have rejected most of the rules of her upbringing, but she could still remember what they were. That less was more and quality counted—especially if you were dealing with a royal prince.
By six-thirty, and feeling more confident, she was swishing her way down the sweeping staircase into the entrance hall, where the buckets of flowers had been transformed into lavish displays. She could see Conall deep in conversation on his cell phone, but he raised his bent head as Amber reached the bottom of the stairs. His eyes narrowed and she felt a beat of satisfaction as she registered his expression. He looked amazed. As if she’d grown a pair of wings in the time it had taken her to get ready and come downstairs. Suddenly she was glad that she’d opted for no jewellery other than a discreet pair of pearl studs at her ears and that her newly washed hair fell simply down over her shoulders.
‘Hi, Conall,’ she said. ‘I do hope I’m appropriately dressed to meet this royal guest of yours.’
Conall didn’t often find himself lost for words but right now it was a struggle to know what to say. A raw and visceral reaction began to pound its way through his body as Amber came downstairs. He stared at her with a mixture of anger and desire, feeling his groin begin to inevitably harden beneath the material of his suit trousers. How the hell did she manage to make him feel this way—every damned time? As if he would die if he didn’t touch her. Unwillingly his gaze drifted over her, lingering in a way he couldn’t seem to help. Her dress fell in creamy folds to the ground, beneath which you could just see the peep of a silver shoe. With her black hair a sleek curtain of ebony and her eyes as green as a cat’s, she looked...
He swallowed. She looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in that hot mouth of hers. Like those girls he used to see when he was growing up and his mother was working at the big house. The kind you were encouraged to look at because they always wanted you to look at them, but were forbidden to touch.
But he was no longer the servant’s son who had to accept what he was told, he reminded himself grimly. He was more than Amber Carter’s equal—he was her boss—and he was the one calling the shots.
‘Very presentable,’ he answered coolly. ‘And certainly an improvement on anything I’ve seen you wear before.’
She cocked her head to one side. ‘Do you always end a compliment with a criticism?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends who I’m talking to. I don’t think a little criticism would go amiss in your case. But if the point of you coming down here looking like some kind of goddess is to try to snare the Prince, let me save you the trouble by telling you that he has a bona fide princess in the wings who’s waiting for him to marry her.’
She shot him an unfriendly look. ‘I’m not interested in “snaring” anyone.’
‘Even though acquiring a wealthy husband would be a convenient way out of your current financial predicament?’
‘Oh, come on! Which century are you living in, Conall? Women don’t have to sell themselves through marriage any more. They take jobs like this— working for men whose default mechanism is to be moody and more than a little difficult.’
‘Or they get Daddy to support them,’ he mocked.
‘Not any more, it seems,’ she said sweetly. ‘So why don’t we get the show on the road? You’re supposed to be giving me a guided tour of the house and showing me this painting the Prince wants to buy.’
Conall nodded as he gestured her to follow him, but he could feel the growing tension in his body as she walked beside him, aware of the filmy material which drifted enticingly against her body and whispered against every luscious curve. Her arms and her neck were the only skin visible and it was difficult to reconcile this almost ethereal image with the earthy woman who had kissed him so fervently in the bedroom earlier.
Tonight his country house looked perfect, like something you might see in the pages of one of those glossy magazines—but hadn’t that always been his intention? Wasn’t this the pinnacle of a long-held dream—to acquire a stately home even bigger than the one his mother had worked in during his childhood? A way of redressing some sort of balance which had always felt fundamentally skewed.
He led Amber through the ground floor— furnished and recently decorated in the traditional style—showing her the drawing rooms, the library and the grand conservatory. In the ballroom where the party was being held, a string quartet was tuning up and bottles of pink champagne were being put on ice. Everywhere he looked he could see candlelight and the air was scented with the fragrance of cut flowers and the sweet smell of success.
But Conall felt as if he was just going through the motions of showing Amber his home. As though all this lavish wealth suddenly meant nothing. Was that because the beautiful antiques just looked like bog-standard pieces of furniture when compared to the black-haired beauty by his side? Or because all he wanted to do was to drag her off to some dark corner to finish off what he had begun earlier?
He took her to a galleried room at the far end of the house, outside which a burly guard stood. The velvet drapes were drawn against the night outside and on one bare wall—beautifully lit—hung a painting.
‘Here it is,’ he said.
Amber was glad to have something to concentrate on other than the man at her side, or the remark he’d made earlier about her looking like a goddess. Had he meant it? A wave of impatience swept over her. Stop reading into his words. Stop imagining he feels anything for you other than lust.
Stepping back, she began to study the canvas—a luminous portrait of a young woman executed in oils. The woman was wearing a silver headband in her pale bobbed hair and a silver nineteen-twenties flapper dress. It was painted so finely that the subject seemed to be sending out an unspoken message to the onlooker and there was a trace of sadness in her lustrous dark eyes.
‘It’s exquisite,’ Amber said softly.
‘I know it is. Utterly exquisite.’ He turned to her. ‘And you’re clear what you need to do? Stay by the Prince’s side all evening and speak only when spoken to. Try to refrain from being controversial and please let me know if he communicates any concerns to one of his aides. Think you can manage that?’
‘I can try.’
‘Good. Then let’s go and wait for the guest of honour.’
They walked towards the ballroom, where Amber could hear the string quartet playing a lively piece which floated out to greet them. ‘So who else is coming tonight?’ she asked.
‘Some old friends are coming down from London. A few colleagues from New York. Local people.’
She hesitated. ‘Do you ever see my half-brother, Rafe?’
His footsteps slowed and he shook his head. ‘Not for ages. Not since he went out to Australia and cut himself off from his old life and nobody knew why.’
Remembering an offhand remark her father had once made, she glanced up at his rugged profile. ‘I think it was something to do with a woman.’
‘It’s always to do with a woman, Amber. Especially when there’s trouble.’ He turned his head towards her and gave a hard smile. ‘What do the French say? Cherchez la femme.’
‘Is that cynicism I can hear in your voice? Did some girl break your heart, Conall?’
‘Not mine, sweetheart. Mine’s made of stone—didn’t you know?’ His eyes glittered. ‘All I heard was that Rafe was heavily disillusioned by some woman and his life was never the same afterwards. It’s a lesson for us all.’
He really was cynical, thought Amber as he introduced her to the party planner—a freckled redhead who clearly thought Conall was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Along with just about every other female present. Amber wondered if he was oblivious to the way the waitresses looked up and practically melted as they offered their trays of canapés and drinks. Whether he noticed that the female guests were fawning all over him. He must do—but, she had to admit, he handled it brilliantly. He was charming but he didn’t flirt back—thus risking the wrath of their partners. She watched as he shook hands and made introductions as the room began to fill up, a smile creasing his rugged features.
She moved away, trying to remember that she was here as a member of his staff and not as his guest—wishing that she could retain a little immunity when she was close to him. She found herself a soft drink and stood in an alcove, watching as even more people arrived and the level of chatter increased. There was a discreet buzz of anticipation in the air, as if everyone was waiting for their royal guest, but Amber only became aware of the Prince’s arrival when a complete silence suddenly descended on the ballroom.
People instantly parted to create a central path for him and the imposing man who walked in accompanied by two aides was instantly recognisable from the images Amber had downloaded from the Internet. With his immaculately cut dark suit and his golden skin gleaming, he had a charisma which was matched by only one other man in the room, who instantly stepped forward to greet him.
Amber watched as Conall gave a brief bow before shaking Luciano’s hand and the string quartet broke into what was obviously the national anthem of Mardovia. And then a pair of midnight eyes were silently seeking her out and she found herself walking towards them, forcing herself to concentrate on the Prince and not on the rugged Irishman who had touched her so intimately.
‘Your Royal Highness, this is Amber Carter—one of my assistants. Amber will be on hand tonight to provide anything you should require.’
That horrendous year at finishing school in Switzerland had taught Amber very little other than how to play truant and to ski, but it came up trumps now as she executed a deep and perfect curtsey. She rose slowly to her feet and the Prince smiled.
‘Anything?’ he drawled, his eyes roving down over her with an appreciative stare.
Amber wondered if she’d imagined Conall’s faint frown and imperceptibly she nodded to the hovering waitress. ‘Perhaps you would care for something to drink, Your Royal Highness?’
‘Certo,’ he answered softly in Italian, taking a glass of Kir Royale from the tray and then raising it to her in silent salute.
But Amber found herself enjoying the Prince’s unexpected attention. For the first time in a long time she found herself encouraged by the sense that here was something she could do. She might not have any real qualifications but she’d watched enough of her father’s wives and girlfriends fluttering around to know how not to behave if you were trying to play the perfect hostess. Even her mother had been able to pull it out of the bag when the need had arisen.
Unobtrusively she stood by to make sure the Prince wasn’t approached by any stray star-struck guests as Conall introduced Luciano to several carefully vetted guests. It seemed he’d recently bought a penthouse apartment through Conall’s company and she listened while the two men chatted with a local landowner about the escalating fortunes of the London property market. More waitresses appeared with tiny caviar-topped canapés but she noticed that the Prince refused them all. Eventually he turned to Conall.
‘Do you think I have properly fulfilled my role as guest of honour,’ he questioned drily, ‘and given this occasion the royal stamp of approval?’
‘You’d like to see the painting now?’
‘I think you have tantalised me with it for long enough, don’t you?’
Conall looked at her. ‘Amber?’
She nodded, aware of two bodyguards who had suddenly appeared at the entrance to the ballroom and who now walked behind them towards the gallery. She thought what a disparate group they made as they made their way through the empty corridors.
The guard at the door stepped aside and Amber watched Luciano’s reaction as he stepped forward to stand directly in front of the canvas. She thought that someone trying to negotiate a better price might have feigned a little indifference towards the painting, but the admiration on his face was impossible to conceal.
‘What do you think?’ asked Conall.
‘It is breathtaking,’ the Prince said slowly as he leaned forward to study it more closely. He murmured something in Italian to one of his aides and several minutes passed in silence before eventually he turned to Conall. ‘We will discuss prices when you are back in London, not tonight. Business should never be distracted by pleasure.’
Conall inclined his head. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
‘Perhaps you could check that my car is ready? And in the meantime, I really think I must dance with your assistant who has looked after me so well all evening.’ The Prince smiled. ‘Unless she has any objections?’
The Prince’s bright blue eyes were turned in her direction and Amber felt a stab of satisfaction. The Prince of Mardovia had told everyone that she’d done a good job—even though she’d done nothing more onerous than act as his gatekeeper—and now he wanted to dance with her. It was a long time since she could remember feeling this good about herself.
‘I’d love to,’ she said simply.
‘Eccellente.’
She was aware of Conall’s fleeting frown before he went to chase up the Prince’s transport and aware of the envious glances of the other women in the ballroom as the Prince pulled her into his arms and the string quartet began to play a soft and easy waltz. Amber had been to some flashy parties in her time, but even she knew it wasn’t every night of the week that you got to dance with a prince and Luciano ticked all the right boxes. He was supremely handsome and extremely attentive, but the weird thing was that it felt almost like dancing with her brother. Innocent and sweet, but almost dutiful. His arms around her waist felt nothing like Conall’s had felt when he’d hauled her into his arms earlier. Despite the fact that he’d told her to forget it, she found herself remembering the way he had kissed her. Kissed her so hard that he’d left her feeling dazed.
‘Devlin is your lover?’ the Prince questioned suddenly, his voice breaking into her thoughts and amplifying them.
Slightly taken aback by his candour, Amber bit her lip. ‘No!’
‘But he would like to be.’
She shook her head. ‘He hates me,’ she said without thinking and then remembered that she was supposed to be there in the role of facilitator—not pouring out her heart to a royal stranger. ‘I’m sorry—’
But Luciano didn’t seem to notice for he lifted his hand to silence her apology. ‘He may hate you, but he wants you. He watches you as the snake watches a chicken, just before it devours it whole.’
Amber shivered. ‘That’s not a very nice image to paint, Your Highness.’
‘Maybe not, but it is an accurate one.’ He gave her a cool smile. ‘And you really should have mentioned that you speak Italian.’
Amber could feel a hot blush rising in her cheeks, so that any thought of denying it went straight out of the window. She looked up into Luciano’s bright blue eyes. ‘How—?’
‘Not difficult.’ He smiled. ‘When I was speaking to my aide you were trying very hard not to react to what I was saying, but I am adept in observing reactions. I have had enough attempts made on my life to recognise subterfuge, even though I sometimes cannot help but admire it. Tell Conall I had always intended to give him a fair price for the painting.’
Amber tilted her chin. ‘She’s related to you, isn’t she? The woman in the painting?’
He grew still. ‘You recognised the family likeness, even though our colouring is quite different?’
Amber nodded. ‘I’m...I’m quite good at doing that. I have a lot of half-brothers and sisters.’
‘She is the daughter of my great-grandfather’s brother who was born at the beginning of the last century. He fell in love with an Englishwoman and eloped with her to America. It caused a great scandal in Mardovia at the time.’
‘I can imagine,’ commented Amber.
Luciano glanced at his watch. ‘At any other time I would be fascinated to continue this discussion but look over there—the Irishman has returned and his expression tells me that he does not like to see you in my arms like this.’
‘And you care what he thinks?’
‘No, but I think you do.’
Amber stiffened. ‘Maybe I do,’ she admitted.
Luciano’s eyes narrowed as he swung her round with a flourish, to the final few bars of the music. ‘You are not aware of his reputation, I think?’
‘With women?’
‘With women, yes. And with business,’ he commented drily. ‘He is known for a detachment and a ruthlessness he has demonstrated tonight by placing a spy in my camp.’
Amber felt her cheeks grow pink. Hadn’t she accused him of the very same thing? ‘I’m sure that wasn’t his intention at all,’ she said doggedly.
The Prince smiled. ‘Ah! Your loyalty to the man is touching—but do not look so alarmed, Amber. Conall and I know one another of old and I have great admiration for someone as ruthless as I am—but I would heed any sensible woman to exercise caution with such a man.’
Amber’s cheeks were still burning as the Prince dropped his hands from her waist as Conall returned to escort him to his waiting car.
There was a loud buzz of chatter as the royal party left the room and Amber moved away from the dance floor and went to stand by the cool shelter of a marble pillar. With both men gone she felt like Cinderella—as if she no longer had any right to be here. As if any minute now her beautiful cream dress would turn into rags. She looked around. Maybe she should take the opportunity to slip out of the ballroom and go back to her room before Conall came back. Nobody would miss her. He might even be glad that she was out of his hair and he could party on without compunction.
But suddenly the decision was taken out of her hands because Conall had returned and was standing in the entrance to the ballroom, his dark suit hugging his muscular frame. He had undone a couple of buttons of his white silk shirt and Amber could see the faint smattering of dark hair there.
His eyes searched the room until he’d found her and as he began to walk towards her, her heart began to pound painfully in her chest. Would he be angry with her? She might have rather clumsily allowed the Prince to realise she was a linguist but he hadn’t seemed to mind and she had done her best. Surely even Conall could understand that.
He was standing in front of her now, his midnight eyes shuttered. He didn’t say a single word, just took her hand and led her onto the dance floor and Amber could feel her pulse rocketing skywards as he pulled her into his arms.
‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she questioned shakily, because she hadn’t felt remotely like this when she’d been dancing with Luciano.
‘Taking over where the Prince left off.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Unless you have decided that dancing with mere mortals has no appeal compared to the heady delights of having a blue-blooded partner?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy to dance with you as long as you promise not to tread on my foot.’
His hands tightened around her waist. ‘And that’s your only stipulation, is it, Amber?’
Her eyes were fixed on the sprinkling of chest hair which was now exactly at eye level. ‘I could think of plenty more.’
‘Such as?’
‘I wonder why you want to dance with me when you seem to have been glaring at me all evening.’
‘Is that what I’ve been doing?’
‘You know you have. Is it...’ She hesitated. ‘Is it because the Prince guessed that I spoke Italian?’
He laughed. ‘He said you frowned when he used the word assassination. I guess most people would. And no, it’s not because of that.’
‘What, then?’
His hands tightened around her waist. ‘Maybe because I have conflicting feelings about you.’
She lifted her face up and met the hard gleam of his eyes. He had feelings for her? She could do absolutely nothing about the sudden race of her heart—only pray he couldn’t detect its erratic thumping. ‘What do you mean?’
Idly, he began to rub his thumb up and down over her ribcage. ‘Just that you arouse me. Deeply and constantly. And I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.’
If anyone else had come out and said that Amber would have been shocked or scared, but somehow when Conall said it she was neither. ‘And I’m supposed to be flattered by such a statement?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said simply. ‘My biggest concern is what I’m going to do about it.’
She could feel danger whispering in the air around them, but far more potent was the sense of excitement which made the danger easy to ignore. ‘And the options are?’
‘Don’t be disingenuous, Amber, because it doesn’t suit you.’ Almost experimentally, he rolled his thumb over one of her ribs, slowly rubbing along the chiffon-covered bone. ‘You know very well what the options are. I can take you upstairs so that we can finish off what we started earlier and maybe rid myself of this damned fever which has been raging in my blood since the moment I first saw you draped all over that white leather sofa.’
Somehow Amber stopped herself from reacting. Since then? ‘Or?’
‘Or I trawl this ballroom looking for someone who would make a more suitable bed partner on so many levels.’ His voice dipped to a deep caress so that it sounded like velvet brushing over gravel. ‘There’s a third choice, of course—but not nearly so inviting. Because I could always go and take a long, cold shower and steer clear of all the complications of sex.’
Amber said nothing. He’d made her sound as disposable as a paper handkerchief. As forgettable as last night’s tangled dreams. Yet he wasn’t lying to her, was he? He wasn’t dressing up his desire with fancy words and meaningless phrases—raising up her hopes before smashing them down again. He wasn’t promising her the stars, but his underlying message was that he would deliver on satisfaction. And didn’t she want that satisfaction for the first time in her life? Didn’t she want to sample what other women just took for granted?
She thought about what the Prince had said to her. That a sensible woman would exercise caution. She guessed he’d been warning her off Conall Devlin, for whatever reason. But she wasn’t known for being sensible, was she? She was known as a wild child—the party animal who was up for anything. And only she knew the truth—that all her wildness was nothing but a façade behind which she hid, a barrier which nobody had ever been able to break down.
But Conall Devlin had got closer than anyone else.
She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers pressing against her flesh and she was acutely conscious that they were inches away from her breast. Through the delicate fabric of her silk dress it felt as if he were touching her bare skin and she felt a shiver rippling down her spine. How did he do that? What power did he have which made her respond to him like this and make her so achingly aware of her own body? The hard jut of his hips and the potent cradle of his masculinity as he pressed himself closer should have intimidated a woman of her laughable experience, but it didn’t. It just made her want more. Much more. Was she really prepared to turn her back on this opportunity to become a real woman at last?
Instinct made her lips part as she looked into his eyes and saw the sudden gleam of intensity in his darkened gaze.
‘And don’t I get a say in what happens?’ she questioned, as lightly as if she had this kind of conversation every day of the week.
‘Of course. You get to choose—because that is a woman’s prerogative. Tell me what you want, Amber.’
The mood of the conversation had switched and beneath the teasing banter of his tone she could sense his sudden urgency. But still Amber held back, telling herself to confront the reality of what was happening here. For him this was just a liaison no different from countless others—apart from her name and her hair colour, she was probably as interchangeable as the last woman who had shared his bed.
And for her?
It was going to be no good if she started weakening. If she made the mistake of falling for him. She could only go ahead if she accepted it for what it was. Not stardust and roses, but a powerful sexual hunger. A physical awakening which was long overdue.
Rising up on tiptoe, she put her lips to his ear and only just refrained from sliding her tongue across the lobe.
‘I want to have sex with you,’ she whispered.
Conall stiffened, thinking he had misheard her. He must have done. She had been feisty and defiant every step of the way—surely she wasn’t rolling over and capitulating that easily. And didn’t he want her to go on resisting him for a little while longer, because it was so deliciously rare and because the conquest was never quite as good as the chase...
‘You mean that?’ he questioned softly, his fingertips continuing to slide over her silk-covered torso.
She nodded, her words uncharacteristically brief. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
A smile curved the edges of his lips as he felt the heat begin to rise within him. ‘Very well. This is what I want you to do. You will go upstairs to your room and wait for me while I say goodbye to my guests. But you will not undress before I arrive.’ He paused. ‘Because undressing a woman is one of the greatest pleasures known to man. Is that clear?’
She nodded—more obedient than he had ever seen her. ‘Very clear.’
‘I shall come to you before midnight.’ He tilted her chin with his thumb and stared straight into her emerald eyes. ‘But if before that you decide—for whatever reason—that you’ve changed your mind, then you must tell me and we will consider this conversation never to have happened. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Conall.’
He put his lips very close to her ear. ‘I’m not quite sure how to cope with this unusually docile Amber.’
She turned her head to meet his gaze. ‘Would you prefer defiance, then?’
‘I’ll let you know in graphic detail exactly what I’d prefer but I think it had better wait until we are alone. Because my words are having an unfortunate but predictable effect on my body, and having you this close to me is making me want to tear that dress off you and see the flesh beneath, and I don’t think that would go down very well with my guests, do you?’
She shook her head but, to his surprise, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and he felt a doubling of his desire for her. ‘Go upstairs and wait for me,’ he said roughly. ‘Because the sooner this evening ends, the sooner we can begin.’
