Читать книгу Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 77
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ОглавлениеTELL me what you want.
Such a simple statement, and so complicated all at once. So many things she wanted, and only one thing she would get from him. Only one thing he was willing to give.
Or perhaps he wasn’t.
Perhaps he was simply trying to humiliate her. Perhaps the best thing she could do—for herself, for both of them—was to turn and go back to her bedroom.
Heart in her throat, she turned away and took two steps. And then, because she was frustrated and angry and hurt and confused, she turned back. Stood there staring at him while he stared back, no one saying anything, no one moving.
So many emotions and thoughts crashing through her—and one very big one that said, Why are you doing this? Life is too short to play games. You know what life can do to you when you don’t take it seriously.
As soon as she thought the words, she understood something very fundamental about Raj. It was as if someone had pulled back a curtain and shown her an illuminated tablet upon which this particular truth was carved: he was accustomed to denying himself.
The little boy who’d never written that note to the Barbie-pink girl, who’d never gotten to go to her party or ask her to be his girlfriend, was standing here now, unwilling to take a chance. Because tomorrow might change everything. Because tomorrow he might move away again, and the party would happen without him. The girl would find another boyfriend. Nothing stayed the same in Raj’s world, and he’d learned it was better not to get attached to anything just in case.
Her blood sang as if she’d just been shown a priceless secret. She understood what motivated him. She understood and she knew what she had to do.
Veronica untied the belt at her waist and let the robe slide down her shoulders to pool at her feet. She was only wearing the black lace thong she’d worn beneath the strapless gown, and nothing else. Her breasts pebbled as she stood there for what seemed an eternity, waiting for Raj to react.
“Veronica,” he said. Choked, really.
“I know what I want,” she said. “But I don’t think you do. You think you have to deny yourself. But you don’t, Raj. It’s okay to want things. It’s okay to want me. I don’t expect anything out of you.”
“You do,” he said, his voice still strained. “You want the kind of life I can’t give you.”
She swallowed. “I don’t think either one of us is ready for more at this point in our lives.”
Though part of her ached for more, she didn’t deserve it. She had to be real with herself. Because he would despise her if he knew what sort of person she really was. And she couldn’t bear it if he did.
She closed the distance between them. They didn’t touch. The heat emanating from his body touched her instead—enclosed her, enveloped her. He was on fire. It made her wonder how much she would sizzle when he actually made contact.
Then she slid her palms up his arms while his eyes glowed hot, over his biceps and hard pectoral muscles. His nipples were small, tight, and she tweaked them with her thumbs while he growled deep in his chest.
And then she told him what she wanted right now. The words she used were graphically, shockingly raw.
She surprised herself. Surprised him if the way his eyes widened were any indication.
But then he was dropping to his knees in front of her, pressing his face to her bare belly, kissing a trail down her abdomen. Hooking his fingers into the material of her thong, he slipped it down her legs until she could step out of it.
Then he lifted one of her legs and put it over his shoulder while she gasped.
“Raj, not here!”
“Yes, here.”
She gripped his shoulders to keep herself upright, but his mouth on her body, on her most sensitive spot, soon had her panting and gasping and thrusting her hips to increase the pressure. When she came a split second later, her knees buckled. Only his strong grip kept her standing.
And then he was on his feet, backing her against the wall. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him, their tongues tangling urgently as he shifted her against him until her legs were wrapped around his waist and his hard shaft was at her entrance.
Veronica cried out as he plunged into her body. But it wasn’t pain that caused her to do so. Somehow he knew, because he didn’t hesitate to thrust again and again, harder, until she dragged her mouth from his and tilted her head back to moan her pleasure.
Oh, this was exactly what she wanted—what she needed. Raj, here like this. Raj, inside her, part of her. Raj, Raj, Raj …
“God, Veronica,” he said, and she knew she’d been speaking aloud. She’d been telling him what she wanted, saying his name …
His mouth found her throat, his lips and tongue and teeth sending a shiver of delight racing down her spine, over her nerve endings, into her molten core. She was close, so close.
Raj made a sound of frustration. “Need more,” he said, the words hot against her skin. “Need more of you.”
And then he strode across the room, their bodies still joined, taking her somewhere, though she didn’t know where until they were falling together and her back hit something soft.
He rose above her, his dark face so handsome and sexy as he worked to hold on to his control. She could see the restraint in his eyes, could see how he held a part of himself back, how he was still worried about hurting her in spite of his need.
“Give me all of you,” she said. “I want all of you, Raj.”
“Veronica—”Her name was a groan—so raw, so torn.
“I don’t want you to hold back. If this is all we have, I don’t want to miss anything.”
They both knew it wasn’t about the physical. That part was perfect. Amazing, hot and wonderful. His gaze was wild, his body throbbing inside hers, and yet she still wondered if she’d carried it too far, if he would withdraw and leave her lying here alone.
He was capable of it, she was certain, no matter the cost to his pleasure.
But then he groaned, his head dropping until his forehead touched hers, and she knew he’d surrendered. He kissed her, their mouths fusing so sweetly, so perfectly. He was still so hard inside her, but he didn’t move. He simply kissed her, skimming the fingers of one hand over her face, as if he were learning her shape and texture by touch alone.
A tear leaked from her eye, slid down her temple. He kissed it away, kissed the tender skin of her cheek, the bones of her face. Love swelled inside her heart until she thought it would burst. She wanted to let it out, wanted to tell him how she felt, and yet it terrified her.
She was in love with him, and she couldn’t tell him. So bittersweet, so shattering.
Veronica thrust her hands into his hair, curled them into his skin, slid them over his body. She wanted to know every part of him, the golden skin and eyes, the hard, sensual lips, the straight, regal nose. The hardness buried deep inside her.
“Oh, Raj,” she gasped as he flexed his hips and sensation bolted through her, from her fingertips to her scalp, her toes to her nipples. Every part of her was alive and on fire for him.
“I love the way you say my name when I’m inside you,” he growled. “So sexy, so needy.”
“I am needy,” she said, arching her back, trying to get him to move again. “I want more.”
He withdrew from her, surged forward again. “More of this?”
“God, yes.”
This time he obliged her, thrusting into her again and again, her body soaring as he drove her toward completion. There was nothing left between them. No barriers, no secrets, no lies—nothing but raw, hungry emotion. Their bodies rose and fell together, giving and taking, taking and giving.
She wanted to feel like this forever, and yet it had to end. Finally, she could hold back no longer. The pounding pressure started a ripple of sensation deep inside that engulfed her senses. The only word she could say, the only one that would form on her tongue, was his name.
And then he was tumbling over the edge right behind her, grasping her buttocks and lifting her to him as he came. Her name on his lips sounded so raw it gave her a thrill. His breath in her ear was rapid, as if he’d been running.
Veronica closed her eyes, her heart racing in time with his, blood pounding and body singing. She was happy. Right this moment, she was so incredibly happy. She felt as if she was flying and she didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to see the scorpion waiting to strike. She didn’t want this to end.
But it would. She knew it would.
“You’ve killed me,” he said. “Sacrificed me for your selfish pleasure. I’m done in.”
Veronica laughed, ran her fingers up the damp skin of his back. “Oh, yes, my evil plan is complete. I intend to drain you, Rajesh Vala. Leave you an empty husk, unable to ever get it up again for any other woman.”
She said it jokingly, and yet the thought of Raj with another woman pierced her to the bone.
“Don’t do that,” he said softly, skimming his lips along her jaw, the shell of her ear. “Don’t put something between us that doesn’t exist.”
She shuddered beneath him, her heart pinching tight in her chest. “I’m simply being realistic,” she said. Because there would be other women in his life, once she was gone. He was too sensual, too male. He couldn’t be tamed—but he could be caught, for a short time anyway.
He tweaked her nipple, made a sound of approval when she gasped. “This is what’s real, Veronica.”
A short while later, he carried her to his bed and proved that he was perfectly capable of sacrificing himself for her pleasure yet again.
Raj came awake as the sea breeze blew into the windows and rustled the filmy netting. The covers had been flung off long ago. Beside him, Veronica was curled into a ball with her back to him. He traced a fingertip along her shoulder, her hip. Already, his body was stirring, wanting her again.
She was a fire in his blood, this woman. She had been since the first moment he’d seen her. He spared half a thought for Brady, but she’d never been Brady’s to begin with. Veronica had chosen him, and he would not feel guilty for it.
He kissed her shoulder, cupped a breast in his palm. She came awake with a smile, turning sleepily in his arms.
She was as hot for him as he was for her. Thank God. Pushing him onto his back, she straddled him and sank down onto him with a groan. He closed his eyes, his body pulsing inside hers. He could live this way. He could wake every morning like this, Veronica undulating her hips and making him crazy with need.
He gripped her thighs, slowing her movements before it was over too fast. When he looked up at her, her pale hair was swinging around her breasts as if she were Lady Godiva riding through the town square. Her nipples were hard little points that he wanted to suck.
Except that he couldn’t move. If he moved, it would be over too quickly.
She arched her back, lifted her arms and pulled her hair off her body. “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice little more than a throaty whisper. “Like that. Just there.”
He suddenly wanted to shatter her control, wanted to prove he could, wanted her wild and wriggling beneath him. He wanted to know that she was his, that he was the one who made her quiver and sigh and cry out with pleasure.
With a quick movement, he flipped her over, driving deeper into her body. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her teeth biting into her lush lower lip as she arched toward him.
He lost whatever thread of control he’d been holding on to, driving into her until she shattered beneath him with a sharp, hard cry. But he didn’t stop there. He couldn’t. He kept stroking into her until she caught on fire again, until his body was burning up with hers, until they both plunged over the edge and crashed onto the rocks below.
Mine, he thought. Mine.
It was sometime later when he woke a second time. Veronica was asleep again, her lush body pale in the morning light. Her skin was red in places, and he realized he needed to shave. He climbed from the bed with a yawn and a languid stretch before making his way to the bathroom and turning on the shower.
If he had any strength at all, he’d make love to Veronica in the shower. He imagined holding her against the slippery wall, imagined driving up into her body, and was half tempted to go wake her when he began to harden.
Instead, he got dressed and headed for the dining room. Breakfast would be waiting, as well as his morning reports. He took a seat at the table and tore into the fragrant dosa.
It had taken him several visits to convince the housekeeper that he didn’t want a traditional English breakfast every morning when he was in residence. Now that he’d been coming to Goa for the past few years, they’d slipped into enough of a routine that he could expect masala dosa in the mornings unless he specifically asked for full English.
He flipped through the reports, finding nothing he didn’t already know in any of them. The doors to the terrace were open, and air fragrant with the spices being used in the kitchen blew gently through the house.
“Good morning.”
Raj looked up from the report he’d been reading. Veronica waltzed into the room, her hair a gorgeous mess pinned on top of her head, her lips full and swollen from his kisses, her skin glowing. She’d slipped into one of his shirts, which she’d rolled at the cuffs, the tails hitting her about midthigh.
He’d always thought it a not-so-subtle attempt at claiming ownership when a woman put on one of his shirts the morning after sex. As if she were saying he belonged to her now that they’d spent the night in bed.
But with Veronica, all he could think was that she belonged to him and that his shirt was a lucky bastard.
“Don’t gape, Raj,” she said, grabbing a piece of dosa and a cup of chai that seemed to magically appear when she did, before she turned and went to stand in the open door. Beyond, the sea sparkled in the sun.
Raj went to stand behind her, breathing in the scent of her hair. Aching to touch her again, right now. Right here.
“It’s so lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relaxed.” She turned and winked up at him. “But I don’t think the relaxed part has anything to do with the view.”
“It’s a very nice view,” he said—though he didn’t mean the scenery.
She laughed and pulled the V of his shirt closed where it had gaped over her breasts. “Such a man.”
“Definitely.”
She took a sip of the chai and sighed. “It’s odd to think it’s nearly Christmas, isn’t it, when it’s so warm?”
“I like it warm.”
She turned to him. “You don’t like a traditional Christmas, with snow and hot chocolate and a big evergreen tree?”
He shrugged. “Actually, I don’t care for Christmas much. It’s too commercial.”
She blinked. “But what about presents? Surely you like presents.”
“It doesn’t have to be Christmas for presents.”
“No, that’s true. I just remember such fabulous Christmases when I was a little girl. When my mother was still alive, my father would take us to Switzerland or Bavaria. He’d rent a chalet, and we’d ski and do all the traditional things. It was wonderful. I never feel like it’s Christmas unless I’m cold.” She grabbed a slice of mango from the table. “What’s your favorite Christmas memory?”
A dart of pain pierced him. He started to make something up, to give an answer that would satisfy her and let her keep chattering happily away.
But he couldn’t seem to do it. The urge to speak the truth built in his gut until he was nearly bursting with it.
“I don’t have any. My mother couldn’t afford Christmas.”
She’d done her best when he was small, finding some cast-off toy at the thrift shop or signing him up for whatever local program gave to needy children. But the older he’d gotten—the further she’d sunk into her addiction and depression—she’d given up even trying.
Veronica’s sky-blue eyes grew cloudy. She reached out, squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m not a kid anymore. It doesn’t matter.”
“But you must have been sad when you were little. I’m sorry for that.”
He slipped a hand into the small of her back, pulled her in tight. His body wasted little time in reacting to the soft, warm feel of her pressed against him.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. He traced a finger along the beautiful line of her mouth. “It was a long time ago. And I can think of a few things you can give me if you really want to give me presents.”
She ran her free hand up his arm, threaded her fingers into the hair at his nape. She looked troubled still—but then she smiled a wicked smile and he forgot everything but her.
“Oh, I imagine I could think of a few of my own.”
Veronica couldn’t remember ever being as happy as she was with Raj. It was her second day in Goa, and he’d taken her into one of the small villages along the coast. They were currently strolling through a market, hand in hand. She knew they had security.
Except the men Raj employed weren’t dressed in suits and sporting headsets. They blended in, unlike her own staff had done in London.
She enjoyed it because it made her feel carefree. It was an illusion, but she was determined to take pleasure in it anyway.
“We can’t stay long,” Raj said as they meandered between stalls filled with fresh fruits and vegetables—tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, squashes, coconut, mangoes, nubby jackfruit—and dried spices and chilies that were so colorful she wanted to stop and stare at them so she could remember just how vibrant colors like orange and red and brown could truly be.
The women wore colorful saris, the men kurtas and sandals. There were goats, cows, the occasional painted elephant and a few Western tourists in their T-shirts and backpacks. The market was jammed with sound and movement, and she loved it.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she said. “It’s marvelous.”
He smiled down at her, tweaked the sunglasses on her nose. “It’s a risk, but I think no one will recognize you. You look very mysterious.”
“And you stand out like a peacock,” she grumbled as a woman turned her head to look back at Raj as she walked past them. The woman smiled. Veronica felt a stab of jealousy when Raj smiled back.
“The better to draw attention away from you,” he said, leading her down another alleyway in the market.
Eventually, he stopped in a shadowed alcove and pulled her into his arms. She’d chosen to wear linen trousers and a big cotton shirt today. She’d belted the white shirt at her waist with a broad belt, and put on a straw hat that she’d found on a shelf in her bedroom. She’d been wearing ballet flats, but Raj had bought her a pair of beaded sandals as soon as they’d arrived in town.
Now, she braced her hands on his chest and gazed up at him through dark sunglasses. He was looking at her like as if was his favorite snack.
The thought made her shiver.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself today,” he said. And then he bent and kissed her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She felt the same, her arms going around his neck, her body arching into his. The alcove he’d pulled her into was private, but not that private.
He broke the kiss, though not before she felt the effect of it on his body.
“I can think of something else I’d enjoy even more,” she purred.
“Me, too,” he said. “But man cannot live on sex alone. We have to eat.”
Veronica smiled. “I love to eat.”
“Good, because I’m taking you somewhere special.”
He led her from the market and down a wide street lined with wooden buildings painted in bright colors. People turned their heads as Raj and Veronica walked past, though she knew it was because they were looking at him and not her. Then Raj led her into a nondescript red building whose wooden facade had seen better days.
It was sun-bleached and dusty, with palms overhanging the entry. Inside, the building was clean, but Raj led her through the room and out the back to a plank deck overlooking the bright blue sea. Several tables were scattered on the deck, topped with grass umbrellas, and Raj took her to the farthest one and pulled out a rickety wooden chair for her.
The proprietor came bustling over, his chatter a mixture of English and Konkani. He seemed to know Raj, and they spent a few minutes conversing in both languages before the man clapped Raj on the shoulder and said the food would be out soon. Then he disappeared into the kitchen and started shouting orders.
“You’re wondering why this place is special,” Raj said.
Veronica shrugged a shoulder. The clank of metal and cacophony of voices in the kitchen had somehow blended together until it became white noise. “It seems like the kind of place that wouldn’t get a second look from most tourists,” she admitted.
“Exactly. That’s part of it, since it’s not overrun by tourists. The other part is that I was eating at this very table one afternoon when I decided to buy a house here.”
She reached for his hand, knowing that he was sharing something important with her. Raj, who wasn’t vulnerable or weak in the least, had experienced something profound and been moved into action by it. Her heart throbbed with love for him.
He squeezed her fingers. “It may not seem like a momentous step, but it was for me. This house here was the first I ever bought for myself. Until then, I’d lived in rented condos or hotel rooms.” He turned to gaze out at the turquoise water. “Actually, it was the first real home I ever had.”
Something in his voice carved out a hollow space inside her that ached for him. He was a little boy who’d never had Christmas, a man who’d waited—though he’d had money—to buy a home for himself.
“You never lived very long in one place, did you?” When he’d told her they’d moved a lot, she’d assumed he meant every few months or so. When you were a kid, any upheaval was traumatic. Now, she was beginning to think it had been something more.
He turned back to her, his golden gaze both hard and sad at once. “The one thing I wanted more than anything as a child was to be able to have a room of my own. My own bed, my own walls, my own toys. If I unpacked my suitcase—when I still had a suitcase—we moved again. So I stopped unpacking. Then one day it was gone and everything we owned could fill the backseat of the rusty car my mom somehow managed to keep.”
“Raj,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to hold him, wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to take his pain away.
He leaned forward and kissed her, swiftly and surely. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Veronica. I didn’t tell you so you would feel sorry for me.”
She spread her palm over his jaw, caressed him. “I don’t. I’m just grateful you felt you could tell me.”
He turned and kissed her palm. “There’s no one else I’d rather share it with.”
The words were simple, but they choked her up. She dropped her gaze, stared at the bright tablecloth. If he knew the truth about her, he wouldn’t think so highly of her, would he?
She had to tell him. “Raj …”
“Yes?”
But a waiter walked out with fresh papadum and sauces and she lost her nerve.
“Nothing,” she said.
The rest of the meal came soon after. They talked and ate and enjoyed the view before Raj paid the bill and they walked back out to the street.
Soon, they were on their way to his house, the cars rolling through a beautiful tropical landscape. Goa was such a land of contrasts, she realized, as they passed a temple with a tall, conical bell tower, it’s layers crowned with carvings and dotted with arched windows. A short distance away they passed a distinctly Portuguese church, its grounds scattered with tourists wielding cameras.
It was a beautiful place, and she could see why Raj loved it so much.
Though she’d intended to meet with her staff again this afternoon, all it took was one hot look from the man she loved to make her amend her plans. They spent the next couple of hours in bed, wrapped in each other, living off of kisses, whispered words and slow, deep thrusts that took them to heaven and back. It would be so easy to forget the world when nothing seemed more important than what took place when they were alone together.
But later, when the sun was sinking into the sea and they were dozing in each other’s arms, there was a knock on the door.
“Yes,” Raj managed to say, his voice husky with sleep.
“There is a call for the president,” someone said.
Veronica looked up, met his gaze. She didn’t want the outside world intruding, not yet. But she had no choice. They both knew it.
“Who is it?” Raj asked.
“Someone named Monsieur Brun.”