Читать книгу Purchased for Passion - Julia James, Annie West - Страница 11

LEO strolled out onto his balcony. The sun was high already, and he was not surprised. It had been a long, long night—but very little sleep had taken place.

He stretched in a pleasurable flexing of his shoulders.

Thee mou, but it had been good! More than that—it had been mind-blowing.

And not just for him. Anna Delane had responded exactly as he had known she would.

She’d gone up in flames.

White-hot, scorching flames.

Again and again—all through the night. Time after time he had taken her, and every time he had drawn from her a response that had had her body shaking, shuddering, had her crying out helplessly, reducing her time after time to exhausted, breathless satiation. She had threshed in his arms, her spine arching, hair wild like a maenad, eyes blind and unseeing as she’d convulsed in the extremity of pleasure, totally, completely possessed by it.

It had been intoxicating.

And incredibly arousing.

There had been something exquisitely satisfying about her helplessly sensual response to his touch. She had not intended it, that was for sure. She’d tried to hold back from him, to be like a statue, a block of wood—rigid and unresponsive. But he’d ignored her sullenness, her obvious determination to cheat him of what he wanted from her. Of what she owed him.

He’d got what he wanted from her, all right. Had drawn it from her stroke by stroke, touch by touch, kiss by kiss. Caressing her body with his until she was hot in his arms, giving those low little moans in her throat, moving her body on his in helpless, hungry desire…

He felt his body stir. Even though it had been sated time after time on hers. He gave a low laugh. Time enough to indulge—he was going to be here for as long as he wanted Anna Delane, for as long as she still fed his appetite for her—but right now there was another appetite he wanted to feed. It had been a long time since dinner the night before.

He walked inside the bedroom, picked up the house phone by his bed, and gave his order for breakfast. As he replaced the receiver he let his eyes rest on the woman sleeping in his bed.

She really was extraordinarily beautiful—and never more so than now. Her black hair streamed over the pillow, tumbled and tangled. Her skin was white against the white sheets, black lashes splashing on her cheeks. She was breathing softly.

He gazed down at her.

There was something strangely vulnerable about her.

He frowned slightly.

Vulnerable?

That was the last word he should apply to Anna Delane. Even when he hadn’t even known her for a thief she’d radiated attitude. Sharp-tongued, difficult—a troublemaker.

And a hypocrite. Oh, yes. His eyes narrowed. A fully paidup hypocrite! He’d known from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, when she’d met his look, that she was sexually responsive to him. She’d made no secret of it at all as he’d looked her over and signalled to her that he liked what he saw. And she’d signalled back her response to him clearly enough, all the way through that evening when he’d kept her at his side. Hell, what did she think he’d done that for? Obviously it had been to tell her that he was sexually interested in her. And yet when he’d moved in on that response she’d turned on him like a harpy. Even though she’d been halfway to bed with him when she’d done so.

And then, then to subject him to a tirade of virtuous outrage as if she’d never melted like warm honey in his arms—when all along…all along, she’d been nothing but a thief. Daring to steal from him—and making the Levantsky jewels her target. A thief without any sense of shame, or guilt, or contrition. A cool, conscienceless, self-seeking, thieving piece!

But she hadn’t been cool when he’d been inside her, when she’d been crying out, threshing in orgasm. She hadn’t been cool when he’d held her afterwards, her body shaking, convulsing in the aftermath, her hair tangled, her brow sweated, her breathing rapid and shallow, her heart beating like a frantic bird beneath her ribs.

No, she hadn’t been cool then…

He turned away and headed for the en suite bathroom. Gazing down at Anna Delane and remembering how she’d been in his arms a few short hours ago was not a good idea right now. He wanted breakfast—time enough for more sex later.

A lot more sex.

He hadn’t had nearly enough of Anna Delane yet—she had a whole lot more to make up for before he’d be done with her.

’Would you like to swim?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Take the catamaran out? Or the launch?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Do you want to see the rest of the island?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘As you wish.’

There was no baiting amusement in Leo’s curt voice now. Merely mounting irritation. He picked up his coffee cup and drank, then set it down again. His eyes rested on the woman sitting opposite him.

She was reading a book. A thick paperback that was absorbing all her attention. But then everything and anything absorbed her attention except him. Of him she took no notice whatsoever. She was shutting him out of her existence. She never looked at him, or met his eye, or talked in anything other than the briefest, tersest replies.

She’d been like that since he’d sent for her.

The fact that he’d had to do so had been a source of irritation in itself. He’d come out of his shower to find his bed empty. She’d simply disappeared. It hadn’t bothered him. He’d assumed she’d merely gone back to her own room to shower and dress.

But she still hadn’t appeared even when he’d despatched one of the staff to tell her that breakfast would be on the terrace. He’d eaten on his own, then sent for her again.

That time she’d come down.

And had stalked stiff-backed across to the table just as she had done the night before. As if she’d never spent the night in his bed.

She’d been wearing dark glasses, completely concealing her eyes. Dark glasses, and her hair back in its punishing knot, and wearing tight black leggings and a long-sleeved sweat top. Completely inappropriate for a hot tropical day.

She’d sat down, totally ignoring him, and turned instead to the maid, requesting a pot of hot water and some fruit.

Then she’d twisted her chair slightly towards the sea view, crossed her long legs, opened her book and started reading.

He might not have been there.

For a minute Leo had looked at her, disbelievingly.

Then he’d spoken.

‘Kalimera, Anna,’ he’d said, in a studied tone.

She’d ignored him.

‘Are you always unsociable in the mornings?’ His tone had been even more studied.

No answer.

‘Anna—’

There had been an edge in his voice then.

She’d turned her head towards him.

He’d been unable to see her eyes. The dark glasses were very effective.

Irritatingly so.

‘Yes?’

Her tone had been quelling.

‘Tell me—’ he’d kept his tone light, civil ‘—what would you like to do today?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’

‘There must be something you would like to do,’ he’d persisted, with punishing politeness.

But she’d said, ‘No, thank you.’ In the same tone of complete indifference. And she’d gone on doing so to everything he’d suggested.

Now he just sat here, glaring at her, her nose still buried in her book.

Every last vestige of Leo’s good mood vanished.

The maid came out again, placing the requested items on the table. Anna lifted her head out of her book briefly and smiled her thanks. A brief smile, but a smile all the same.

Leo was pretty sure it was the first smile he’d ever seen from her.

It did something strange to him.

He pushed the strangeness aside, watching as she took a teabag from where she’d been using it as bookmark, placed it in a teacup and poured fresh hot water over it. A tangy, herbal scent came off it as it infused.

‘Do you not drink coffee?’ he asked.

‘Very seldom.’ She picked up a teaspoon and poked the teabag.

Then she forked a slice of fresh pineapple and placed it on her plate. She started cutting it up, lifting small slices to her mouth.

Silently, Leo slid the basket of fresh breads across to her.

‘No, thank you,’ she said.

‘Are you on a diet?’ he enquired.

‘I’m always on a diet,’ she answered, continuing with her pineapple.

‘You hardly need to lose weight.’ His eyes ran over her slim, elegant body.

She turned her head to him then.

‘That’s because I’m always on a diet,’ she replied caustically.

She went back to eating her pineapple, then took two slices of papaya, ate those, and pushed her plate away.

‘What would you like to eat next?’ Leo enquired with punishing civility.

‘Nothing, thank you.’ She picked up her teacup and took a small sip of the hot herbal tea. Then she placed it back on its saucer and resumed reading.

Leo looked at her fulminatingly.

What the hell was she playing at? Pretending last night had never happened? Pretending she’d never cried out, eyes distended with passion, hands clutching at him, shuddering with orgasm in his embrace?

Evidently, yes.

He stared at her balefully. Hell, she should be purring by now! Her body languorous and sensual from its sating last night. She should have undulated towards him wearing something skimpy, like a bikini with a chiffon sarong caressing her hips, wafting up to him, hair cascading down her back, mouth beestung. She should have leant down, draping her arms around his shoulders, murmuring amorously to him, lowering her mouth to his to greet him…

Instead she was sitting ramrod-straight, answering in terse, caustic monosyllables or totally ignoring him.

Christos, who the hell was she to ignore him? Did she really think she’d prefer a police cell to his bed? Obviously not, or she wouldn’t have accepted the bargain he’d offered her. She wanted to save her precious skin, all right, and she hadn’t been fussy about how she was going to do that. Well—he glared at her—she could damn well earn her parole, just the way he’d told her when he’d caught her red-handed with his rubies.

By working very, very hard to please him.

He took a mouthful of coffee and then pushed the cup away.

‘Anna—’

The edge was back in his voice.

She looked up.

‘Yes?’

He rested his eyes on her. For a moment he said nothing. He thought he saw something flicker in her face, then it was gone.

‘Lose the attitude,’ he said softly. ‘If you’d rather go back to a police cell in Austria, you only have to say. But if you don’t, then I suggest you remember what you are here to do, hmm?’

Something changed in her face then, all right. It seemed to blanch even whiter than its usual paleness. Then it was gone again. She set her book down.

‘You want sex again?’

The question was delivered in such a deadpan voice that Leo just stared. Distaste knifed through him.

‘Spare me your crudities,’ he said coldly.

The look came in her face again, then disappeared.

‘Well, what do you want, then?’ she demanded.

There was belligerence in her voice. It set Leo’s back up.

‘You can start,’ he said tersely, ‘with some civility.’

A choke sounded from her.

‘Civility?’ She echoed the word as if he’d said DIY brain surgery.

Leo’s mouth tightened.

‘We will be here together for at least three weeks—I have no intention of putting up with your ill-humour for that duration.’

She seemed to have gone pale again.

‘Three weeks?’ she echoed faintly. ‘I can’t stay here that long!’

Anger shot through him again.

‘You think your time in jail would be less?’ he riposted sarcastically.

‘I’ve got assignments booked.’

‘I will have them cancelled.’

She leant forward.

‘No, you will not. I will not have my professional reputation compromised by you high-handedly cancelling my assignments!’

Once more Leo was reduced to just staring at her.

‘Your…professional…reputation…?’ he echoed. ‘I don’t believe I just heard you say that! You, Anna Delane, are a thief! You have committed a criminal act. I could have you slung in jail. And you dare, dare to talk to me of your “professional reputation”?’

Leo pushed his chair back and stood up, his hand slashing through the air.

‘Enough! I don’t want to hear one more insolent word from you.’ He relapsed into Greek, and vented his feelings in several choice expletives. Then he stalked away, his mood as black as thunder.

Behind him, Anna Delane sat very, very still.

She wouldn’t crack. She wouldn’t. She would not give him that satisfaction.

Satisfaction.

The word jibed at her with cruel taunting. She could still see it now, etched on her memory, the triumphant satisfaction on his face as she’d opened her eyes to look down at the man who had just done what he had to her.

Self-hatred lacerated through her. How could she have betrayed herself like that? How could she have responded to him, been stroked and caressed and kissed into arousal as she had let herself be?

Until she was helpless, mindless, beyond all control, all salvation.

Beyond anything except the fire that had swept through her body, flamed it to an ecstasy that she had never known existed.

Nothing had ever been like this—nothing.

It had been incredible, ecstatic, exquisite—a stormfire of sensation that had burnt her flesh to the core in a sensual pleasure so intense she had not known it was possible to exist.

I never knew—I never knew it could be like this…

And in that same moment of exultant realisation she had known exactly why she so feared Leo Makarios—just why he was so dangerous to her. She had opened her eyes and realised, with a sickening, ravening horror, what she had done, what she had let him do. What she had wanted him to do!

And he had known it. Wanted her to want it, and what he could make her feel. She had seen the triumph in his eyes.

Self-hatred lashed through her again.

Oh, God, she’d walked to his bed like an ignorant, arrogant fool! Thinking she could stay detached, controlled. Uninvolved with what was going to happen to her. She had prayed for strength, but she had been weak—devastatingly, sickeningly weak.

So pathetically weak she hadn’t been able to resist. Not a single touch or caress; not even a single kiss! Leo had melted her into his arms and she had been able to do nothing, nothing, to hold back from him!

A shaft of fear went through her.

Three weeks, he’d said. Oh, God, she couldn’t last three days here!

Or three nights…

She sat staring out over the beautiful vista of sea and sand as if she were staring at a desert of thorns.

He would do to her again tonight what he had done last night. She knew it. Knew it with a sick, dull certainty. He would take her to bed and stroke, caress and kiss her body until she could fight it no longer. Until her control was stripped from her just as he stripped the clothes from her body, and that mortal, consuming fire would ignite in her again—until she was aching for him…

Anna could feel her body start to respond, feel a prickling in her skin even at the memory of the night that had passed.

Agitatedly she got to her feet, crossing her arms over her chest, crushing down the sensation that was starting to lick at her body. The hunger that was coming to life again, the throb between her aching thighs…

She had to keep busy! Had to do something, anything, to distract her body. She’d already done her morning stretches and skincare routine, using them to blank out her mind as best she could, when she had finally stirred from her exhausted slumber to wake to lacerating consciousness. Sick with horror, she’d bolted from the bedroom, hearing the shower in the en suite bathroom, knowing she had to get away before he emerged.

Emerged to enjoy his triumph over her.

She’d stuck in her room, body aching, trembling with overstimulation, wanting only to sink into permanent oblivion—anything other than face up to what she had done.

But there had been no oblivion—only a maid, insistent, not once but twice, that Mr Makarios was waiting for her on the terrace.

So she had put her armour on. Like one going into battle. Her exercise outfit was hardly the thing to wear in the Caribbean, but it was the only daywear she had brought with her that was not designed for the Alps in winter. She’d tied up her hair, put on the concealing veil of her dark glasses, and gone down to face up to what she had done.

Taking refuge from it the only way she knew how.

And she’d nearly cracked.

So very nearly.

As she’d walked up to him and seen him sitting there, lounging back, the strength of his body exposed in a close-hugging polo shirt, in hip-lean shorts, seen the long, strong sinews of his thighs, the smooth, muscled forearms, seen him watching her approach through lazy, heavy-lidded eyes, she had felt her insides start to dissolve.

He had just looked so devastating!

Something had turned over inside her, melting through her.

And then another emotion had taken its place. A familiar one—a safe one. The safest she could ever have in his company.

Anger.

That was what she had to feel in his presence—nothing but anger. It was the only way she could endure what lay ahead.

In the night, she knew, with bitter self-hatred, she would succumb—could do nothing else, was helpless to resist.

But in the day—

In the day the object of her hatred could be someone other than herself. It could be the man who had done to her the thing she could never, ever forgive herself for.

Leo Makarios—the man she both hated and desired.