Читать книгу The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12 - Кейт Хьюит, Шантель Шоу - Страница 13

SHE was on fire.

It had been like this that night on Aristo.

Alex had kissed her, and it had been like touching a match to tinder.

Until then, she’d always thought descriptions like that were clichés, the stuff of novels and movies, but Alex had taken her in his arms and taught her that a man’s touch could change everything you knew, everything you believed, forever.

One kiss. One warm mingling of breath. One caress of lips and tongues and you were transformed, became someone else.

Someone you didn’t know, didn’t understand.

Didn’t respect.

Her eyes flew open. She slammed her hands against Alex’s broad chest. He made a sound that was almost a growl and gathered her closer. Her struggles increased.

“Alex! Damn you, let me go.”

For a moment, her words didn’t penetrate. He was lost in the taste of Maria, the feel of her soft body against his. But her hands became small fists, hammering at his shoulders. The message was clear. A moment’s tease, just enough to drive him half out of his mind…

It wasn’t going to work.

He opened his eyes and let go of her.

“Pack your things.”

His voice was low and rough, his muscles taut with anger and frustration. She had a way of getting to him and he didn’t like it. It was not something he was accustomed to.

“That’s it?” Her voice shook with indignation. “You walk in here, announce that I’m going to—to be your sex slave—”

“My mistress,” he said, mentally cursing himself. How had she reduced him to this?

“You think that makes it better? You cannot walk in here, manhandle me and expect—expect—”

“Is that what you call it when you turn soft and hot in a man’s arms and all but beg him to take you?”

Her face colored. “Get out!”

“Try singing a different tune, agapimeni. The one about being a shocked virgin is getting tiresome.”

“Is there something about ‘get out’ you don’t understand?”

“And what of the contract you just signed, Maria? Shall I take that to court and have a judge deal with it?”

“Don’t threaten me!”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a warning. You’ve committed to creating the queen’s birthday gift, to be completed by twenty-eight February and subject to my approval.”

“Your approval?”

“Indeed,” he said coldly. “Perhaps you should have read the contract more thoroughly.”

Maria wanted to laugh. Or cry. Either seemed appropriate. A minute ago, Alex had been kissing her passionately. Now, he was talking to her as if he were a prosecutor and she a balky witness.

Did he think he could use sex to control her? Or maybe he thought he could bully her. Big mistake! She’d grown up on the streets of the Bronx. What was royal arrogance compared to Bronx attitude?

“Contracts,” she said, just as coldly, “are made to be broken.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Did you lift that line from some trendy legal show?”

She flushed. Close enough. She’d taken it from an article about how a hotshot movie star had gotten away with walking out on a film.

“And you’re right,” he said, taking the contract from his pocket, flipping to a page and holding it out. “Some are. This one is not. Take a look at paragraph three.”

Why did doing as he’d suggested smack of defeat? Was it his smug tone, or was it the instinctive knowledge that what she’d find in that paragraph would not be good? She snatched the contract from his hand, read the pertinent sentences… and felt a shock of disbelief flash through every nerve in her body.

Failure of the party of the first part to complete the agreed-upon commission and/or to fulfill the additional duties required of her in their entirety …

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Ah,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I can see that you really didn’t read this before you signed it. A bad decision, I’m afraid.”

“That’s insane! You cannot contract for—for a mistress …”

“Keep reading,” he said softly.

Did she have a choice? Her gaze dropped to the contract.

Such failure shall result in forfeiture of all goods and services already provided and repayment for same.

“What goods and services?” She looked up and flashed a triumphant smile. “You haven’t provided any.”

“Have you forgotten you’re flying to Aristo with me? Did you think I wouldn’t provide you with a workshop and tools?” He jerked his chin toward the contract. “There’s more.”

Finally, in the event of forfeiture, an additional penalty to be paid by Maria Santos in the amount of …

The typed-in number had so many zeroes it made her laugh. Alex’s eyes narrowed.

“I assure you, this is not meant for your amusement.”

No. Of course not, but what else could she do when the penalty for walking away was easily ten times the value of everything she owned?

“You must know I can’t afford anything even close to that!”

He shrugged. “I know only what is in the agreement you just signed.”

He sounded as removed as if they were discussing when the snow might stop. It not only killed her hysterical laughter, it killed any hope she’d had that this was a joke.

“But—but I’d lose everything. This loft. My clients. The people I deal with would suffer, the ones who subcontract to me. And Joaquin, who’s been with me from the start—”

“Your lover’s welfare is not my concern.”

“Joaquin is not my lover.” Maria flung the contract at his feet. “He works for me.”

He bent and picked it up, smoothing the pages, his expression blank.

“It doesn’t matter one way or the other. My only concern is this contract. Are you going to abide by it or not?

She stared at him, hating him, hating herself even more. How could she have slept with him that night? Better still, how could she have returned his kisses just now? Was she truly, pathetically her mother’s daughter?

She wanted to curse him. To pummel those broad shoulders with her fists, but what would that change? Nothing, she thought bitterly, nothing at all.

“This is usury!”

He grinned. Such a ruggedly beautiful face, she thought wildly, made even sexier by that quick devil’s smile.

“An impressive legal term,” he said. “But incorrect. The penalty to which you’ve agreed has nothing to do with a loan.”

“Damn it,” she exploded, “do not play word games with me! I know what usury means. And I know what this contract is.

Unconscionable. Immoral. Cruel and mean-spirited and—”

“And enforceable.”

“You cannot coerce a woman into—what was your phrase? Into warming your bed!”

Suddenly, he was standing much too close. She stumbled back but his big hands were already framing her face and lifting it to him.

“There’s not a word that even hints of coercion in that contract,” he said softly. “You signed it of your own free will.”

“How can you do this?” she said shakily. “Don’t you have any scruples?”

He laughed softly. “An interesting question, coming from you.” His smile faded; his gaze dropped to her lips. “One month, agapi mou. That’s all it will be. One month of being in my bed. Of spending the nights with me deep inside you.” His lips twitched, as if he’d made a joke, but his eyes were so dark they seemed bottomless. “I can endure it, if you can.”

His words made her blush. How could he joke about the devil’s bargain he was forcing on her?

“I hate you,” Maria snapped.

Alex grinned. “Hate me all you like, sweetheart. It’s not your heart I’m after.”

No, she thought, no, it wasn’t. And that was fine because her heart would never be part of this arrangement.

“Understand something, Your Highness,” she said, searching for and finding a way to salvage one tiny bit of pride. “Being in your bed is one thing. Participating in what happens there is not something you can ever expect.”

His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “A challenge?”

“A statement of fact.”

“A challenge,” he said flatly. “One I am happy to accept.”

He bent his head, brushed his lips over hers. His mouth moved against hers again and again in the lightest of kisses. She wanted to lean into him. Wanted to close her eyes, part her lips, clasp his head and bring it down closer to hers…

I feel nothing, she told herself.

And wished to God it were true.

What in the name of Chronos was she doing? Was she packing everything she owned? Jeans. T-shirts. Sweaters. Sneakers and sandals and, hell, another pair of jeans.

Alex looked at his watch, scowled and shook his wrist. Was the damned thing working? Impossible that only five minutes had passed since she’d first turned on her heel, marched away from him and dragged a suitcase from a corner of the loft.

The loft. Her loft. His lip all but curled. He’d been in Manhattan lofts before. Soaring ceilings. Enormous windows. Brick walls and polished wood floors. Furniture from Scandinavia that made the most of all that open space.

Maria’s loft lacked only whatever machines had once been installed here. Raw space, New York realtors called it, and made it sound as if that was a good thing—which, he supposed, it was if you intended to transform it into something habitable.

This was not habitable.

The floor was wood but the finish had long since worn away. The walls were brick. Not warm brick, just brick. Old, dark, depressing. The ceiling soared, all right. It soared straight up to an intimidating tangle of pipes and electrical lines.

As for furniture… there were a couple of work tables. Some cabinets and benches. Boxes. More boxes. And, in this end of the room, farthest from the entry door, a screen that he assumed concealed the bathroom, or what passed for a bathroom, and in front of that, a bed.

Maria’s bed.

Neatly made. Simple. Almost convent-like in appearance…

A double bed.

Alex’s jaw tightened.

His own bed—his beds, considering the number of homes he owned—his beds were always king-sized. A bachelor’s necessity, his brothers called them. Plenty of room for a man and a woman and hours of hot sex.

But a double bed might have advantages.

There’d be little space in which to sprawl while the lovers in Maria’s bed took some needed rest. They would have to sleep on their sides, spoon fashion, she with her backside tucked into his groin, her spill of wild, sexy curls tucked beneath his chin. He would wake during the night, feel the heat of her against him and his sex would engorge, fill with heat, throb as he shifted his weight, as she backed up to him, as she awoke and drowsily whispered his name while he sought her moist entrance, while he pistoned within her until she cried out…

Skata!

He was watching Maria pack and turning himself on.

How could she have that much power over him? He didn’t like it, not one bit. Men were the ones who held power and if that marked him as old-fashioned, so be it.

He had surely made the right move. Taking her to his bed as often as he wished would purge her from his system. And no matter what she said, she would not be unwilling for long. She could talk about not wanting him all she liked but when he touched her, all that staunch denial fled. To hell with the fact that she despised him. He felt the same about her. What he’d told her was true enough.

Sex had nothing to do with emotion.

As for her threat not to react in his bed… A lie. A magnificent lie. He knew a thousand ways to make her react. His mouth at her breasts. Between her thighs. On her clitoris…

“Damn it,” he growled, and strode toward the bed on which her suitcase stood open. “That’s enough!”

She swung toward him. “What?”

“Perhaps you have forgotten what my country is like,” he said through his teeth. “It is not the wilderness. We have shops.”

The understatement of the year, Maria thought. Ellos had all the shops that made Fifth Avenue paradise and dozens more. Unfortunately, it had the prices to go with them. She wouldn’t have the money to step through those doors until she completed this commission. One new outfit, she’d been in debt for life.

Not that that was a possibility. The outfit she’d worn today had pretty much melted her credit card.

“Excuse me,” she said with enough sugar in the words to cause diabetic coma, “but I’m not done.”

“You are done,” he said grimly. “You’ve packed enough for ten women.”

What she’d done was pack enough for one woman who had no idea what the weather was like halfway around the world this time of year. Yes, she could ask him, but that would be a show of weakness. Stupid, perhaps, but that was the way she felt.

So she’d taken jeans. T-shirts. Sandals. Hiking boots. Sweaters. She’d considered something dressy, but what for? She would not be going out in the evenings.

She would be going to the prince’s bed.

She stared at him as he closed the suitcase. She hated him as a woman; as an artist, she couldn’t help but admire him. Well, no. Not him. Not Alexandros Karedes. What she admired was his long, leanly muscled body. His wide shoulders and broad chest. Narrow hips and long legs. The black-as-midnight hair, the dark eyes, the face that Praxiteles might have chiseled from the finest marble.

He was even more beautiful nude.

She remembered that. The corded muscles in his arms. The ridged abs. The powerful thrust of his penis rising from a cluster of dark curls…

Maria swung away and went to the workshop end of the loft.

Forget that. Block it from her mind. Besides, despite all that about the contract, he couldn’t mean to enforce such a demand. The more she thought about it, the more assured she grew that the sleep-with-me nonsense was just a particularly nasty way of reminding her that she had no standing in his world.

Fine, she thought, plucking a big leather tote from a shelf and sweeping a handful of tools into it, absolutely fine. Let him play his stupid games. One month, that was all, a month of his bullying tactics and then—

Unless she was wrong.

What if he was serious? What if he really expected her to sleep with him? Well, not ‘sleep’. She remembered that one night in his bed. They hadn’t slept at all. He’d taken her over and over, driven her out of her mind each time, made her do things…

No. Her breath caught.

He hadn’t ‘made’ her do anything. She’d wanted to do them, things she’d heard of and read about but never, ever imagined she’d want to do.

And would never do again.

Blindly, she grabbed another handful of tools and dumped them in the tote.

What she’d told him was true. If he insisted on holding her to their devil’s bargain, she would not participate. She would lie in his bed but she would not move. She’d let his hands seek out every shadowed valley. Let him put his mouth on hers. On her breasts. Between her thighs. She’d let him do everything he wanted but she would not react, she would not, would not…

She gasped as Alex grabbed the tote from her, snapped the lock, then hoisted it and her suitcase from the floor.

“We’re leaving.”

“I need the rest of those tools—or maybe you thought I work gold and precious stones with tweezers and a crowbar?”

“Did you not hear me when I said you will have the studio of your dreams?”

“I heard you. I still want my own things. It’s how people are, when they’ve worked at the same job for a while. They want the stuff they’re familiar with, whether it’s a pen or a chisel. I know that’s difficult for you to get your head around, considering that you’ve never had to do a day’s work in your life, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. Was that really how she saw him? As a royal dilettante? He thought back to his father’s initial reaction when he’d first approached him about bringing new economic life to Aristo.

“What could you possibly bring to Aristo that I have not?” Aegeus said, with his usual imperialistic charm.

A casino, for one. A new commercial port that specialized in handling enormous cargo ships. A colony of upscale second or third or fourth or even fifth homes for multi-billionaires looking for seclusion on the island’s northeast coast overlooking the Bay of Apollonia. He had even managed to divert some of the super-rich from building in the new resort town of Jaladhar on the island of Calista, which, together with Aristo, had made up the Kingdom of Adamas until they’d been declared separate nations by his grandfather, King Christos, more than three decades ago.

So, no. Oh, no. He had never worked a day in his life. He travelled between his offices in New York and Ellos, he flew to all the major cities of the world, met and negotiated with hard-headed businessmen and heads of state and it was all nothing but a wealthy man’s hobby. Or so this woman thought.

He glared at Maria. At the smug little smile on her lips. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her.

Part wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she begged for him to do more.

Thank God he wasn’t fool enough to do either. Instead, he jerked his chin in her direction.

“Coat,” he said briskly. “And shoes. Make it quick or I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you downstairs just as you are.”

He would do it, too.

Maria knew that.

So she pulled on heavy socks, a pair of bulky boots she’d bought the winter she’d almost—almost—decided to try skiing, stuffed her arms through the sleeves of a warm but ugly vintage parka she’d found at the Hell’s Kitchen flea market, secured her wild mop of hair with a scrunchy and marched to the door.

Let His Mightiness see what kind of bed-warmer he’d bought himself, she thought grimly.

Useless. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he motioned her toward the steps and followed her out of the building. The snow was still coming down but the flakes were big and slow, the kind that normally turned the city into a wonderland.

She could see nothing wonderful about it tonight.

As they stepped off the curb a uniformed driver sprang from behind the wheel of the big limo, touched a finger to his cap and clicked his heels.

Maria snorted.

Alex ignored her.

“Hans,” he said.

Hans clicked his heels again. Alex thought about telling him to stop doing that but he’d already told him the same thing at least a dozen times. Apparently, Hans was one of those people who dreamed of the grandeur that was royalty.

Maria, clearly, was not.

Hans reached for the bags. “I’ll put them in the trunk,” Alex said sharply. “You see to Ms. Santos.”

Another click. Maria rolled her eyes. Hans swept open the rear passenger door, gave her a little bow as she stepped inside the car. The door shut with the sort of solid ‘thunk’ she figured you expected when a car cost as much as a house. A swirl of warm air, perfumed with the scent of expensive leather, swallowed her up as she fell back into the soft seat.

The only thing that spoiled it was Alex, who opened the other rear door and got in beside her.

“The airport,” he said.

The car moved gracefully from the curb. Maria’s gut moved, too, but not gracefully. What in the world was she doing? She had to phone Joaquin to say she was leaving, and she certainly had to say goodbye to her mother.

“Wait!”

The car stopped. Alex turned toward her. “Whatever you forgot,” he said coldly, “can stay right where it is.”

“No. I mean, it can’t. I mean …” She took a deep breath. “I can’t go with you.”

Alex folded his arms. “We’ve been through all this.”

“I can’t just leave. I mean… I have to let people know. I have to say goodbye.”

“People,” he said coldly. “You mean, your ‘friend’, Joaquin.”

She thought of correcting him, but what for? He could believe what he liked.

“And will you tell him the intimate details of our arrangement, glyka mou?” he said with a sly smile.

Her head came up. “I will never tell anyone about that.”

He stared at her for a long minute. For some insane reason, he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he would not hurt her, that he would do all he could to bring her pleasure…

To hell with that.

“What’s his address?”

“Why?”

“Hans is an excellent driver,” Alex said with a tight smile, “but he has one flaw. He can’t find a place unless I give him its address.”

“Oh,” she said quickly, “no, that isn’t necessary. Just—Driver? Driver, there’s a subway stop two blocks up. If you’d drop me off there—and then I can, ah, I can meet you somewhere later …”

“The address,” Alex said quietly, but in a tone so filled with authority that Maria knew she’d lost.

She sank back in her seat.

“One seven four oh Grandview Avenue,” she said in a small voice. “That’s in the Bronx.”

“The Bronx?” the driver said.

“The Bronx,” Alex repeated firmly, and the big car started up again.

Alex watched Maria’s face as the limo made its way along the snow-laden streets.

She sat huddled in the corner, as far from him as she could get, staring straight ahead, her face pale in the glaring headlights of the few cars coming toward them. The snow had all but emptied the city streets.

She was trembling.

He frowned. Was she cold? Impossible. The sole virtue of that ugly jacket had to be its warmth. Besides, the car’s interior was warm.

She was nervous, then. Or anxious. About agreeing to go with him? Not that she’d actually agreed. He’d forced her into it.

Never mind.

Was she nervous about telling her lover she was going away with another man? Alex’s jaw tightened. A week from now, hell, a couple of hours from now, her lover would be history. Once they boarded his private plane, he’d take her to the big bedroom in the rear of the cabin, strip her out of that foolish outfit and touch her in ways that would make her forget any man but him.

That was how it had been that night.

Maria, blind with passion. Her skin, silken to the touch. Her mouth drinking from his, her fingers cool against his body, her hands trembling when he clasped them, brought them to his chest, his belly, his erection.

Touch me this way, he’d murmured. Yes. Like that. Like that.

She’s never done this before, he’d thought in amazement. And then he’d simply stopped thinking, lost in the heat that consumed them.

What a lie!

She’d done everything before. He’d known it as soon as he heard her on the telephone that morning. Until then, she’d had him fooled. And that wasn’t easy. He’d been with a lot of women. Too many, he sometimes thought; their faces and names and bodies had become blurred over the years.

Not hers.

Maria’s name, her heart-shaped face and its delicate features, her body that was softly curved and not a fashionable arrangement of hard bones and flesh, even her voice…

He had forgotten nothing. She came to him in his dreams, telling him she wanted him.

Turning yourself on again, you idiot? he thought angrily as he shifted in the deep leather seat.

Well, there’d be no more of that.

He knew what this was all about, if he was honest. Ego? Maybe a little. Anger? Okay, that, too. Payback? Absolutely. But the real reason he wanted her was much more basic.

The hair of the dog that bit you. Driving out demons. Whatever you wanted to call it. Have enough sex with Maria Santos and he’d wipe her name, her face, everything about her from his mind.

A month from now, he’d be happy to see the last of her. Whether she was clever in bed or not, he’d never come across a woman who could hold his interest for much longer than that. This one would be no exception, not even if she went from waif to temptress, fire to ice…

“It’s the building right over there.”

Her voice was low. Alex blinked and realized the car had slowed to a crawl. He looked out the window and saw a nondescript street, cars packed tightly along the curb, and a looming wall of apartment buildings.

“This one, miss?” Hans asked.

“Sí. Yes.”

It was the first time she’d lapsed into Spanish since the phone call—and since she’d cursed him. She sounded breathless. Stressed. His jaw tightened. Was she nervous about visiting her lover and telling him her plans?

If he’d been her lover, she’d have had the right to be terrified. He could not imagine agreeing to her going off with another man for a month. Not for a day. Not if she belonged to him.

The limo eased into the space beside a fire hydrant. The driver turned off the engine and reached for the door handle.

“Thank you,” Maria said quickly, “but that isn’t necessary. I can open the door my—”

“Stay in the car, Hans.” Alex’s voice was cold. “I’ll take care of Ms. Santos.”

A blast of frigid air swept in as he opened the door. Maria’s heart skipped a beat. Did the Prince of Arrogance think he was going inside with her? Not in a million years.

“Thank you,” she said, forcing a polite smile, “but I can manage.”

“Don’t be silly, glyka mou. It’s late, the street is nearly deserted. What kind of gentleman would permit a woman to be alone under such conditions?”

His tone had gone from harsh to silken. A spider’s web was silken, too. She didn’t want him with her, not only because then he would know she hadn’t come to see Joaquin but because he would know too much.

“Maria. I’m waiting.”

He was leaning into the car, his patrician face rigid. Anger swept through her. Did he think he could take over every aspect of her life?

“Keep waiting, then. I don’t require your assistance. And let me assure you, Your Highness, if you think you are a gentleman—”

She gasped as he caught her shoulders and pulled her from the car.

“You will not talk to me that way,” he growled. “I don’t give a damn what you do or do not require. What matters is what I require. For the next month, you’ll do things my way or not at all. Is that clear?”

“Yessir,” she said, and touched her stiff fingers to her forehead. “Of course, sir,” she added, and clicked her heels. Then she jerked her chin up, stepped around him and marched over the snowy sidewalk to the building’s entry.

Alex could feel his face burning.

He shot a furious glare at Hans, sitting straight as a ramrod behind the wheel. He gave no sign that he’d seen or heard what had just happened.

Alex took a deep breath. Then he trudged after Maria through the snow. Her feet, in those hideous boots, moved up and down without interference but he was wearing leather mocs—handmade leather mocs, he thought grimly, and they were already cold and sodden.

Great. He was about to come face to face with the man who’d been her lover and his damned shoes would probably fall off his feet when he…

Panagia mou!

What kind of place was this for a love nest? The entrance door had a broken lock. The lobby smelled of mice and mildew. What remained of a mural clung pathetically to a graffiti-scarred wall. There was an elevator but Maria ignored it and headed for the stairs.

“Four flights,” she said briskly, without looking back at him. “Are you up to that, Your Highness?”

He didn’t bother replying, he simply climbed the steps behind her. One flight. Two. Three. At last, they reached the fifth-floor landing.

“This is where he lives?”

Alex sounded incredulous. She hated him for that, and for forcing himself into this part of her life.

“Answer me!” He clasped her wrist and spun her toward him. “Your lover expects you to come to him in a dump like this?”

The door to the apartment directly ahead swung open. Alex looked up, angry at himself, at Maria, at the unwanted intrusion.

“What the hell do you want?” he snarled at the shadowy figure in the doorway.

The figure stepped forward into the dim light of the stairwell landing. It was a woman. Small. Dark-haired. Wrapped in a wool bathrobe.

“Maria?”

Maria took a deep breath. “Sí, Mama. It’s me.”