Читать книгу Seduction Island - Lorie O'Clare - Страница 7

Jordan Anton squatted on the edge of the volcanic rock and stared at the white foam as it raced up the sandy beach. It receded into crystal clear, bright blue water. Coral reefs added to the magnificence of the view. Too bad the small island was nothing more than a dried-up old volcano.

Jordan picked up a loose rock and hurled it at the ocean. Prisons came in many shapes and sizes. At least this one offered a view.

He jumped the three feet to the sandy ground and walked the length of the rocky wall. Beyond the thick grove of some erotic-looking flowering plant, a worn path led away from the beach. He started up the path, taking in the thick trunks of what might possibly be a hybrid of a palm tree. If he were in Montana he would know the names of the trees around him.

Jordan wondered how many Antons had been sent to this island when they didn’t meet the approval of Pierre Anton, his grandfather. He would only be here a month, through all of January, and the terms weren’t completely unbearable. But he was here against his will. He would be here in this warm tropical paradise, while everyone at the ranch endured the frigid winter.

He paused, tucking a thick black strand of hair that had come loose from the ponytail at the nape of his neck behind his ear. The long hair bothered his grandfather, but then, everything about Jordan bothered Grandfather Anton. Which, of course, was why Jordan was here.

“Why bother with a Harvard degree if you aren’t going to use it, boy?” Grandfather had asked him more than once during their last visit.

Jordan wanted to ask exactly how he was not using his degree. There was knowledge in his head that hadn’t been there before going to Harvard; life experience and memories that he wouldn’t have had if he hadn’t attended the Ivy League school. Jordan didn’t have any regrets. He wasn’t sure why it bothered Grandfather so much that he went to help Aunt Penelope with her ranch in Montana. His grandfather, of all people, should see and understand that Jordan was yet again learning and gaining life experience and memories by helping out on the ranch that his aunt would otherwise lose after divorcing her husband.

Of course, since she had divorced an Anton, more than likely Grandfather Anton didn’t want her ranch to make it.

Jordan could spend weeks trying to understand the mind of someone like his grandfather. Or he could put those thoughts out of his head and figure out what the incredibly gorgeous woman standing no more than ten feet in front of him was doing on this island. His grandfather had spelled out the terms of their agreement very clearly before Jordan flew to the island. He would meet Tory, a Sicilian princess who possibly came from more money than the Antons. His grandfather wanted to merge the families, a business deal in his eyes, loosely called a marriage.

Jordan had no intention of marrying anyone but knew if he didn’t agree to come here, spend a month with the princess on the pretense of possibly announcing an engagement, Grandfather would make it hell for Aunt Penelope and her ranch.

Princess Tory would arrive tomorrow, which meant the sexy little thing wandering from the castle was one of the hired help, probably taking advantage of her boss not being here and exploring. He hadn’t been scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.

He finished tucking the strand behind his ear and watched her studying the bark of the tree she stood in front of. “What are you doing?”

She jumped, yanking her hand back from the tree she was about to touch as if it might bite her, and turned and stared at him, wide eyed. In the next moment she regained her composure, straightened, and narrowed her gaze at him.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business. Who are you?” she demanded, obviously clueless as to whom her employer would be while on this island.

There were advantages to people not knowing his identity. It gave him the opportunity to learn their true nature before revealing his name and watching the fake appreciation and respect gloss over their face like it did every time he mentioned his last name.

“I asked you first.” He hid his smile when she appeared frustrated, obviously realizing she didn’t have the upper hand with him.

Jordan moved closer, admiring her long brown hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. His guess was it fell close to her ass. And he’d bet she had a nice ass, too. The curves he saw from the front view were beyond mouth watering.

“I seriously doubt you have permission to be away from the castle. And I don’t approve of breaking rules to gain information.” She had an American accent, probably northeast—New York or one of the nearby states. The way her hackles rose, turning her dark blue eyes almost violet, proved she knew how to defend herself.

Definitely not old money. Not to mention, if she were from his class, or the class his family so proudly held on to, she wouldn’t be out here without an escort. Jordan wouldn’t put her much past twenty-five at the most. No rings on her finger, not even a school ring. Maybe he’d run into his social organizer, although Grandfather boasted that the reputable social organizer ran only in the best of circles. Jordan seriously doubted his grandfather would hire a social organizer who shopped at Wal-Mart and not Neiman Marcus.

“Sometimes there are advantages to breaking the rules.” He decided not to ask further who she was, doubting she’d confirm anyway. The anonymity on both sides allowed him to see her in her natural form. It would go away soon enough and she’d start kissing his ass. At least for a little while he could enjoy the fiery temper he doubted she’d let him see otherwise.

“Not that I can see.” She turned, walking away from him, along the path she’d probably taken from the castle. “And if you believe there are, I doubt you’ll hold on to your job for long.”

Jordan liked playing the rogue. In truth, he didn’t feel he was playing too much. But his damn last name and supposed “position in society” got in the way too often to allow him to interact with another person like this. Especially a gorgeous woman. Hell, when was the last time a lady walked away from him?

“What’s life, if you don’t take risks?” He caught up with her easily enough. Although it didn’t bother him a bit that the path wasn’t really wide enough to walk alongside her. The view of her backside was as extraordinary as he’d imagined.

“A safe place,” she said tightly, her ass swaying beautifully in her snug, new-looking blue jeans.

“You must know how to take risks if you’re here,” he pointed out.

“You’d be surprised what I know.”

“We might surprise each other with our knowledge.”

“Huh,” she snorted, picking up her pace. “I know your type.”

The path curved around thick foliage and sloped up and down as it brought them closer to the large castle, now visible ahead of them. It was an anomaly, the only structure on this small island, and probably built during a time long forgotten. Jordan wouldn’t be surprised if it were the selling point when his grandfather decided to pick up this little rock surrounded by the Pacific, and not too far off the coast of New Zealand.

He remained a couple paces behind her. “Do you, now? And what is my type?”

“The type I’m not interested in,” she said, her arms swaying on either side of her. He liked how her long thick ponytail flowed from side to side, matching the soft curves of her hip and ass as it moved to a tantalizing rhythm.

“You don’t know anything about me. How do you know if you would like my type or not?” he asked.

She stopped, the edge of the path just ahead of her, where it broke off into the well-maintained gardens surrounding the castle. He had been amazed when, upon his arrival just a few hours ago, he’d learned that a skeleton crew maintained the land and castle. There were only a few household servants, and there had to be a gardener, with as magnificent of a view the yard around the old structure provided, although he hadn’t spotted any outdoor staff yet.

Jordan snapped his attention from her ass to her face when she spun around and shoved her long ponytail over her shoulder. He decided he liked how the spaghetti strap to her halter top almost crept off her shoulder, aiding in showing off her small bone structure and slender shoulders.

She shoved a nicely manicured finger into his chest. “I know what I need to know about you,” she hissed, stepping close enough that he could see cobalt flecks bordering her irises. They helped her blue eyes darken when her emotions were running strong, as they obviously were now. “You are the one who thinks acting like a badass will impress a girl, make her take a risk, invite an adventure. You think you can play me, take what you want, and then gallivant on to the next pretty girl who strikes your fancy.”

“Ouch.” Jordan noticed she said “girl” and not “lady.” That would definitely make her not Harvard. Probably not Yale or Stanford either, although he wouldn’t swear to the latter. He also concluded she wasn’t from New Zealand, although her American accent had already given a hint to that. Kiwis were usually pretty friendly folk, and this woman came equipped with a double-edged dagger. He hated admitting his intrigue. What he did know was he couldn’t let her see it, or she might very well hand him his head on a platter. “You’ve pegged me wrong, my lady,” he drawled, using his best Montana accent. “And as well, you’ve offered me a challenge. One I’m up to, I might add. For now, though, I’ll bid you good day.” If only he wore a hat. Tipping it in parting would play the part out perfectly. Instead, Jordan stepped around her, forcing her to jump to the side to avoid brushing against him. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again very soon.” He picked up his pace, heading to the castle, and as an afterthought, opted to head to the back of the building instead of the front. Making it look like he would enter through the servant entrance, or possibly even head to the stables, would keep her guessing.

Soon enough she would know who he really was.

Amber Stone walked down the wide hallway, her tennis shoes making a dull thudding sound on the glossy stone floor. Beautiful, ornate carpets, which were narrow and probably cost more than any paycheck she’d ever earned, silenced her footsteps when she walked over them. She paused and looked into a dimly lit library. Its tall bookcases filled with hardback books appeared ominous, as if all the secrets they held weren’t for her. Amber never understood anyone who would willingly sit in a boring room all day reading a book, when everything anyone needed to learn came from experiences in living, not in fantasizing about someone else’s life.

She hurried past the room, turning and hesitating at the glass doors, which closed off a room she wasn’t sure what to call. Amber imagined royalty sitting in there, passing the time of day in accepted boredom while servants took care of their every need. It was a life she couldn’t imagine, and honestly didn’t want to try.

Walking quickly, she reached the far corner of the first floor of the castle and pushed open the thick wooden door, immediately inhaling something sweet mixed with the mouthwatering smell of coffee.

“Please tell me there is a fresh cup available,” she said, smiling at the older woman who turned curiously and stared at her.

“Coffee, ma’am?” The woman’s gray hair was thick and bundled up on her head. Her accent sounded Irish, making her the perfect cook for this kitchen, which stole Amber away to another time.

“Oh God, please. But I’m not a ma’am. Just call me Amber.” She reached out and touched the woman’s cool, soft arm when the cook hurried around the corner of the island counter, wiping her hands on her apron and then reaching for a cabinet. “I can get it. Just tell me where everything is.”

“I don’t think…”

“I insist. Whatever you’re making smells so good I don’t want to interrupt you. And I don’t need to be waited on,” she added firmly. “I can get my own coffee.”

The back door opened with a bang, causing Amber and the older woman to jump and turn to acknowledge a man, probably close to the cook’s age, hurry in so quickly he slid to a stop. “You wouldn’t believe…” he began.

“Jesse,” the older woman scolded at the same time the man spotted Amber and clamped his mouth shut. “Mind your manners,” she added, lowering her tone as if she didn’t intend for Amber to hear her. “There is company in the kitchen.”

“Lord, I’m not company.” Amber opened two cabinets before finding enough coffee cups to serve an army. Grabbing one of them, she admired the white, eggshell porcelain as she walked over to the industrial size coffeepot and put the cup under the spout. “My name is Amber Stone. I take it you’re Jesse,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the older man who stood planted where he’d stopped, staring at her with watery brown eyes. “And your name is?” she asked, nodding at the older woman.

“I’m Cook,” the older woman informed her, returning to her task of kneading out dough.

“Cook, huh.” Amber carried her cup around the island, set it down, then spotted a stool up against the far wall. She dragged it noisily to the island and propped herself on it. “You’ve got a name, don’t you?” she pressed.

Cook folded the dough in half, pressed with the balls of her hands, then repeated the process.

Amber glanced at Jesse, but he still hadn’t moved. Obviously these two didn’t get a lot of visitors. Their social skills sucked. Amber sipped the coffee and hummed her approval.

“I don’t want to call you Cook. What’s your name?”

Cook straightened, her eyes as pale a brown as the man’s behind her, although their accents were very different. “It’s a name you want, is it?” she asked crossly. “Fine, then, you’ll have my name. It is Anne Marie Francis Margaret McGillicutty.”

“Wow, that is one hell of a name,” Amber said, hoping she sounded sincere. She glanced at Jesse. “Do you have as long of a name?”

“Nope. Just Jesse,” he said, still not moving.

“What do your friends call you, Anne Marie Francis Margaret McGillicutty?” Amber asked.

“Cook,” she said, returning to her dough.

Amber stared at Cook’s thick gray hair, which was loose around her temples in spite of many hairpins attempting to keep it in place. Then, laughing easily at the comical situation, and wondering for the one hundredth time what the hell she was doing here, she wiped her eyes, still laughing.

Cook looked up at her, stopped her kneading, stared for a moment, and then broke into laughter as well. As if that were his cue to relax, Jesse hurried around the island, grabbing a cup and helping himself to coffee as well.

“How long have you two been here?” Amber asked, feeling the tension in the large, spacious kitchen fade as she brought her cup to her lips.

“I’ve worked for Mr. Anton for many years.” Cook informed her. “Arrived the same day you did, yesterday.”

“You’re kidding. This place is in immaculate condition, the gardens gorgeous. Who takes care of the place?”

“I’m sure he sent in a crew to make it look like this before Jordan arrived,” Jesse told her, walking over to the stove, lifting the lid off a pot, and breathing in the steam from it.

“He?” Amber asked.

Cook and Jesse looked at her pointedly. “He,” Cook stressed. “Mr. Pierre Anton, our boss. Your boss, too. He told us you would be arriving tomorrow, though—assuming you are the young master’s social organizer, Miss Stone?”

Amber nodded. “He just hired me but I asked if I could come out a day early to get settled in.” She figured it might be worth trying to get any information out of these two concerning the mysterious Pierre Anton. She’d never been offered a job in quite the way he did, or with a job description like this one. And she’d been working since she was fourteen.

“You asked him?” Jesse asked, rubbing his gray hair as if trying to comprehend what she just said.

Cook’s look was stern, as if Jesse’s question was somehow rude. Her expression softened when she focused on Amber. “If you’ve come to discuss the menu, we can do that after dinner.”

“The menu?” Amber frowned.

“The menu,” Cook repeated. “You know, all the meals that will be served to you, the young master, and the princess.”

“Oh, of course. Well, I’m sure whatever you decide will be fine. Whatever you’re making now smells delicious.”

“You are the social organizer, aren’t you?” Cook looked at Amber like she’d grown a second nose. “Are you always so indifferent about the food served at your events?”

“Of course. Show it to me after supper. I’ll approve it.” Amber stared at her coffee cup, trying to think of something effective to say to cover her blunder. She’d been insane to think she could pull off being a social organizer. The servants in this castle knew more about her job description than she did. “I wanted to take time to get familiar with everything before our guests show up. But if you want me to go ahead and start my duties today, that’s fine.”

“That’s what I came in here to tell you.” Jesse suddenly sounded excited. “He’s here already.”

“Who is here?” Amber asked, more than willing to direct the conversation away from her.

“Jordan Anton, Pierre’s grandson. I just saw him out in the stable with the horses.”

“Oh really?” Amber jumped up, her stomach immediately twisting with nerves. The entire reason she’d been sent to this island was to provide the entertainment for Jordan Anton and his fiancée. Not that she had a clue how to do that, but she had successfully bluffed her way through the interview with Pierre Anton. And she would bluff her way through introducing herself to the millionaire’s grandson. If she’d pulled the wool over the senior’s eyes, junior wouldn’t be much harder to convince. “So much for a day to prepare,” she said, downing her coffee and walking her cup to the sink. “Where are the stables, Jesse?”

Amber ignored the comments from Cook about her attire not being appropriate. Jordan Anton would understand she didn’t start working for him officially until tomorrow. She would keep the introductions simple, she decided, heading down the stone path Jesse had indicated led to the large, stone building behind the castle. It didn’t look like any barn she’d ever seen before.

Amber didn’t get why Cook thought she should put on a dress to enter this place. It had been all she could do to find nice summer clothes to buy during the dead of winter. She’d been excited to use her clothing allowance although every one looked at her like she was crazy when she wanted halter tops and shorts when it was snowing outside.

She pressed her hand on the large wooden door that was already open and breathed in the pungent smell of horses and manure. Everything smelled so different here than it did in Brooklyn, New York. But then, Amber wasn’t sure she’d ever inhaled air that wasn’t laced with factory smoke and carbon monoxide.

“Hello?” she called out, edging into the barn and looking warily into the nearest stall at the giant beast that glanced her way, looking bored. “Do you know where Jordan is?” she whispered to the horse.

Amber had never seen a horse in real life, and this creature was a lot bigger than she thought horses were supposed to be.

“Hello,” a man said, walking around the horse, who continued staring at her with incredibly large brown eyes. “Beautiful creature, don’t you think?”

Amber licked her lips, which were suddenly too dry as she took in the man she’d met while exploring the island. For a moment she wasn’t sure of the meaning of his words. He stroked the side of the horse, his hands large, with long fingers and nails cut short. She imagined his touch would be rough, yet calming and confident. There was something about this guy, with his black hair pulled back in a ponytail and his relaxed, roguish stance, that screamed trouble in the worst of all possible ways. Yet he was compelling. Granted, annoying, too. But there was enough of a challenge in his eyes that she prayed he would spar a bit better this time without running away.

“I don’t know a lot about horses,” she admitted.

“I’m sure you know when something is beautiful.” There was a drawl in his tone that was too soothing to be fake. Yet she couldn’t grasp why someone who sounded like they were from the Wild Wild West would be across the world on this island.

“What one person might view as appealing another might find terrifying,” she countered.

“True,” he said, turning his attention to the horse. “Bess here isn’t terrifying. She and I are becoming quick friends.”

Amber almost asked why they were only now becoming friends, but decided she’d be smarter to focus on her job and not provoke a conversation with this man. He had trouble written all over him.

“Are you the only one out here?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” he said, leaving the horse and approaching her.

Amber instinctively took a step backward. He took her arm, though, appearing indifferent to her balking, and guided her past the horse and deeper into the smelly barn.

“Now, tell me you don’t find him gorgeous,” he said, stopping in front of the last stall.

It was dark this far back in the barn, the only light streaming in through the two large doors opened at the other end. Amber jumped when the black creature in the stall lifted his head, meeting her gaze with a defiant look that gave her chills.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, unable to stop herself as she stared at the large, sleek-looking, inky black horse.

“Put your hand here.” The man reached over her shoulder, pressing his hand against the side of the horse. “Then calm, gentle strokes.”

Amber was overly aware of the man touching her backside, his hard body like a steel wall pressing against her shoulder and her hip. She shifted her attention from the horse to his arm, noticing dark hairs on his forearm that she bet would tickle her flesh if he pulled her into his arms.

“Like this,” he said, his soft baritone next to her ear when he took her hand in his and placed it on the horse. He kept his hand over hers, stroking the horse with her hand. “That’s how you make friends.”

She wondered if he meant with the horse or with her. “What’s his name?” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, telling herself she should pull her hand from underneath his, but her body ignored the instructions. She wasn’t about to show any interest by asking his name again.

“I don’t know but can find out. Would you like to ride him?”

“I’ve never been on a horse,” she admitted easily enough. She wasn’t sure the thought appealed to her.

“We need to change that. It’s obvious he likes you. I’ll teach you to ride.”

“I don’t think—” she began, not seeing how riding a horse would help her to be a better social organizer.

“Don’t run from something because you don’t know about it,” he told her, tightening his hand over hers when she tried pulling free. “Especially when your fascination is so apparent.”

Amber yanked her hand from under his. The quick movement must have startled the horse, or possibly annoyed him. He raised his head, looking down at her with very large eyes. The whites of his eyes in contrast to his black coat made him look exceptionally pissed. She jumped back and the man wrapped his arms around her, stilling her.

God, the dark hairs on his forearms did tickle her, sending a rush of excitement over her body, while goose bumps traveled across her flesh just as quickly.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “What most people don’t understand about horses is their intelligence level. Believe me, he reads you as well as I do. He just registered your fear when he moved, which confused him. And I’m sure he detects how aroused you are at the moment, too, which probably is annoying him because he’s stuck back here without a female horse to enjoy.”

“How dare you,” she snapped, struggling to get out of his arms.

The horse moved in his stall, stepping back and forth while making a sound in his throat. Amber wasn’t sure if the horse was agreeing with the dark stranger, who pressed against her backside, or announcing him an ass.

“Would you rather I lie to you?” he whispered in her ear, keeping one arm tightly around her waist while moving his other hand up her front. His fingers grazed over her breasts, causing them to swell, suddenly feeling heavy with need, while her nipples puckered painfully. “Would you not be interested in knowing how the first time I saw you I turned harder than stone? Before I said a word to you I ached to touch you, learn every inch of your body while exploring your mind at the same time.”

There was something interesting about his vocal inflection. He held on to a drawl, reminding her of a ranch hand who possibly spent his entire life around horses. But there was a New England, almost aristocratic edge to his words, too, barely detectable but coming through more noticeably as he whispered in her ear, torturing her flesh. He cupped her chin, turning her head so she was able to see how deep his dark blue eyes were. She swore if she stared into them long enough, she’d understand the very depths of his soul. One thing she noticed, as she slipped deeper into his compelling gaze, was there was more to this man than just a hired hand who lived his life caring for animals and doing menial labor.

It crossed her mind that her month on this island, carrying out a job she knew damn good and well she wasn’t qualified to do, might be more pleasant if she consented to a sordid affair with one of the servants. Especially one like this man with his powerful body and incredibly smooth way of speaking and manipulating her body so it was ready and eager to agree with his proposition before her mind could even wrap around it.

“No, I’m not interested in knowing that,” she said, the words slipping out of her mouth from years of habit kicking in. It was second nature to turn down the advances of any man who came on to her strong and fast. Any man like that was a guaranteed heartache. She reminded herself firmly that she didn’t have time for this, especially over the next month while she tried pulling off a job description that was more foreign to her than the damn horse who watched them with vague interest. Pulling off this job would give her enough money to put a down payment on a home, to finally own something. She ached to create roots, lay down a foundation, and quit throwing money away on rent.

Amber twisted in his arms, and was rewarded for her efforts when his cock stretched against her hip, hardening and throbbing while he continued staring down at her with his compelling blue eyes.

“I’ll let you go,” he informed her, although he continued holding her firmly against him, cupping her chin while his finger moved slowly along the length of her jawbone. “But first tell me why you’re lying to me.”

Amber smiled. Maybe being a social organizer, pretending to know what filthy rich people did for fun, was grossly out of her league. But handling this ranch hand, this rough and ready man, was definitely something she knew how to do. Just knowing he would willingly bend her over and fuck her right here and now should have her beating his chest, scratching and clawing until he let her go, and then running as far away from him as she could get. It was her pride, though, that had her relaxing in his arms, continuing to hold his gaze, and going as far as to lick her lips, although when he had her this close to panting, she couldn’t moisten her dry lips.

“I’m not lying. Just because you’ve successfully discovered I’m a healthy young woman who is capable of sexual reaction doesn’t mean I’m like that horse watching us. I wouldn’t fuck someone simply because they’re presented to me.” She licked her lips again, liking how he watched her, searching her face and then settling his gaze on her mouth while she continued speaking. “I’m sure your horses are as intelligent as you profess, but what makes them different than most people—or at least, from me—is in order for me to fuck someone, the attraction must be mutual, not just physically, but also emotionally. Now, let me go, please.”

He released her, although he didn’t look appropriately chastised. Instead, when he lifted his focus from her mouth to her eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, the flicker she caught in his gaze created butterflies in her tummy. She held her breath, watching his lips part, and realized that, although free to walk away from him, she anxiously waited to hear what he would say next.

“Meet me here tonight at midnight and I’ll prove to you I can stimulate your mind as well as your body.” He walked away from her for the second time, while she memorized the view of his tall, muscular backside and focused on it even after he disappeared from her view.