Читать книгу An Australian Surrender - Maisey Yates - Страница 11

I’M not yours. I’m not anyone’s.

Her words echoed in her head as she contorted her arm in order to pull the zipper up on the tiny black cocktail dress that Ethan had had sent to her room an hour earlier.

Her words were feeble because hey, power, he had it. But she didn’t belong to him. That was how her mother had seen her, too. A thing she could own. A thing she could sell. It was a good thing she’d had musical abilities or there was no telling what her mother would have used her for.

She shuddered and bent over, lifting a foot up and tugging on one of the glittering, beaded high heels, also provided by Ethan. Or Ethan’s personal shopper or assistant. He didn’t exactly seem the type to go and pick up a pair of gorgeous, sparkly shoes.

She bent and started pulling on the other shoe, lost her balance and wobbled sideways, catching herself on the couch but still tumbling to the floor. She let a curse slip through her lips and then laughed.

“Not quite ready yet?”

She turned sharply at the sound of that rich, oh-so-sexy voice. “You didn’t knock. Did you knock?”

“It’s my hotel,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders and walking over to the bar. From her vantage point on the ground he looked even taller, and slightly more infuriating than normal since he’d just caught her at a disadvantage.

“It’s my room,” she said.

A half grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m paying for it.” He picked up a bottle of Scotch and poured himself just enough to fill the bottom portion of the glass. “Drink?”

“Soda?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Soda?”

“I have a one-drink limit if I’m going out in public. My mother’s rule, but in cases like this, I’ve always found it to be a good one.”

“Have you?” he opened the fridge that was set into the bar and produced a little glass bottle of lemon-lime soda.

“I’ve seen too many starlets sprawled out on the floor at a big party after too much heavy drinking.”

He looked down at her, his lips curving upward. “Sprawled on the floor, eh?”

She pushed her shoe on the rest of the way and pulled herself up, tugging the hem of her dress down. “A clumsy moment isn’t the same as getting completely drunk and making an ass out of yourself in public.”

“Relax. Have a soda, it’ll calm your nerves. Well, it won’t, but here you go.” He picked up the bottle and walked over to her, putting the cool glass in her hand.

She was surprised that it still felt cold. After being in his hand she’d half expected it to be hot. From him, his skin. And good grief, but he was handsome.

Rugged and polished at the same time, totally put together while maintaining a slightly dangerous edge. It was the glimmer in his brown eyes, the sort of devilish look that told a woman he knew how to be bad at just the right moments….

And here she was turning Ethan Grey into some kind of simplistic fantasy. She was too innocent when it came to men and she knew it. It was too easy to imagine she could handle him when she knew nothing could be further from the truth. When it came to sexual games, she couldn’t compete with him.

But at least she’d be comfortable at the party. At least there she’d be in her element. More than she’d been since her world had crashed, burned and crumbled at her feet.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling very thirsty. As if she’d swallowed sawdust.

Ethan pushed his dark hair off his forehead, leaving it disheveled. Her fingers itched to put it back in place. She gripped the bottle tighter.

“Just about ready then?” he asked.

“Um … Yes. Ready.”

If she just thought about the party, and not how it would feel to run her fingers through Ethan’s hair, she just might make it through the night.

Ethan watched Noelle’s eyes as they entered the grand ballroom, all decked out for the kind of pretentious party he didn’t care a fig about. Her eyes were lit up, like everything else in the room. It was the brightest he’d seen her since the day he’d first met her, pale and drained in the foyer of her home.

This was the sort of party his mother had lived for. He remembered her looking the same way, getting ready to go somewhere, getting out of the house. It was the only thing that had made her smile. When she could go to an event and shine. When she could bask in the glow of her dimming fame and receive some form of adoration. The adoration he’d given her had never seemed to matter.

And his father … he had been too consumed with chasing after another woman. Lavishing his affection on her. Making an ass of himself and embarrassing all of them because he couldn’t control his libido. He’d never seen how being easy was supposed to make a man more virile, more of a man. In his estimation, control counted for a lot more.

And Damien Grey had never possessed any sort of control when it came to women. But Ethan was different. When it came to relationships, he was in charge. It began and ended when he wanted it to, and if he didn’t have the time to invest in a relationship, he simply didn’t.

Of course, now he was paying for the long bout of celibacy.

“Like it?” he asked, his throat tight.

Her arm was draped through his, her hips brushing against his as she walked. Every stroke of her soft curves was like getting licked by a flame. He had thought her insipid that first day … but tonight he was seeing the real woman.

She was beautiful, perfectly made-up with her blond hair pinned into a low bun and the fitted black dress skimming her curves. He’d just about swallowed his tongue walking into the room and seeing her sprawled on the floor, long shapely legs exposed up to the tops of creamy, toned thighs.

He couldn’t remember the last time the sight of a woman’s legs had gotten him so hot.

Disgust rolled through him. Was he really letting her get to him so easily? Just because she had feminine curves and a hot pair of legs? She was also the daughter of the woman who had torn his life apart. There should be no attraction there. He should look at her and see Celine Birch. And yet he didn’t.

Attraction or not, he wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t his father. He thought with the brain in his head, not the one in his pants.

“It’s lovely. Amazing. Whose party is it?”

He realized he hadn’t told her. He used that much-needed distraction to get his body back under control. “Birthday party. One of the big important socialite types.”

“Which one?”

“Sylvie Ames.”

“Oh, I played at one of Sylvie’s birthdays. Her sweet sixteen. I remember it.” Her cheeks flushed pink and she seemed to shrink a little bit beside him.

“When was that?”

“More than ten years ago.”

“How old were you?” She seemed too young to have been doing anything on a grand scale ten years ago. Or even three years ago.

“I was eleven.” She had been too young. He’d known she’d been a famous child, had even had a vague concept of who she was when his father had been sleeping with Celine, her mother. But it hadn’t really struck him until that moment just how vulnerable she would have been.

“That’s quite impressive,” he said. Scanning the crowd, trying to keep his mind on picking out the possible paparazzi that might be sprinkled throughout. He needed to get his picture in the papers. That was the whole point of tonight, after all. Not to think of Noelle, in front of so many people at such a young age. Exposed to all manner of criticism.

He shouldn’t care. But he found that he did.

“Oh yeah, fabulous. I’ve burned through the career of the lifetime and hit the point of redundancy at twenty-two. Hooray for me.”

“Why is it you think you’re redundant?” He broke from looking into the knot of people and turned his focus on her.

“Well, let’s see. I’m broke. Instant noodles is fine dining in my home and … oh yeah, I just took a position as a man’s fake future bride in order to keep myself from having to move into a cardboard box.”

“Honestly, I will never be able to fathom women’s moods.”

Her eyebrows snapped together. “What does that mean?”

“You were fine a moment ago.”

“Fine before I found out …” She looked around furtively. “Fine until I found out I was here, at this party, on charity when I was a performer at a party for the same person once. A highly valued one. If it weren’t for you the only way I’d be allowed in here would be if I was serving drinks.”

“Jealousy, or inadequacy?”

Noelle felt unreasonable anger at Ethan rise up in her. “Why not both?”

He grabbed onto her arm and turned her so that she was facing him, not caring that the wait staff and guests were having to move carefully around them in the crowded space. “I’ll tell you something, Ms. Birch. You’re here with me. And that means it’s not you who should be feeling jealous.”

“High opinion of yourself.”

He snorted. “You think I’m full of myself? Nah. I’m just realistic. I’ve got more than a billion dollars. I’m talking sitting in my bank account, that’s discounting assets. My family on my father’s side is old money, made even richer by the success they’ve had with their resort chain. And my mother is a former A-list movie star with connections most people can only dream of. Half the women in here would give their favorite handbags to be with me and it has absolutely nothing to do with who I am as person, but what I could give them. But they aren’t with me. You are.”

It didn’t really make her feel better, his little speech. After all, he wasn’t here with her because he cared for her. He’d sort of taken her in, like a stray cat. A stray cat who had to earn her milk and catnip by posing as his fiancée. But that was a whole different ball game to being the woman he desired.

But his speech did resonate with her. People wanted him because of what he had, because of his influence, and just like her, if it was all gone tomorrow, his popularity would be too.

And how empty was that? No wonder he was willing to get married to inherit the resort chain. He had to get everything he could to cling to the things that made him special.

It was relatable on a bone-deep level. It was what she wanted too. She was trying to get what she needed back. The things that made people look at her, acknowledge her.

If she couldn’t have the fame and the glory she’d accept just not being homeless. She wasn’t feeling particularly picky.

“I know all about that, Ethan,” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. The time to have a drink was now.

“Do you?”

“Look around us. Look at all the friends I have. Didn’t you see my support crew rallying around me back at the house that day you first came? People ready to hold a bake sale to help me hold onto my home? Oh, no, there was no one. Because I’m no one. At least as far as everyone else is concerned.”

Ethan looked at her, his dark eyes locking with hers. He pressed his palm to her lower back, dipped his head low. Any of the people around them would be forgiven for thinking that he was going to pull her to him and kiss her right there in front of everybody. She didn’t think that. She didn’t. It certainly wasn’t why her lips were dry and her pulse was pounding.

“Let me tell you something, Noelle. It’s these people—anyone who believes that. They’re the ones who don’t matter.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with a sheen of moisture, threatening to turn into a source of real embarrassment. She pulled away from him and looked at the stage. There was a piano there. She wondered who was playing tonight.

Her hands itched all of a sudden. Flexed as she thought of playing a slow, smooth song

Because she couldn’t look at Ethan. And she couldn’t think about what he’d just said. It was contrary to everything she’d ever been taught about life. About what was important.

And he was just trying to make her feel better, because who wanted a cranky-looking woman on their arm all night?

A woman, a very young woman in a long red dress, came floating out onto the stage and sat in front of the piano, a string quartet sitting down the stage from her. The first strains of the music started to filter through the room and Noelle closed her eyes. Let them fill her with longing, with an ache that she was afraid would never go away.

“Care to dance?”

She opened her eyes and looked at Ethan, his eyes hot and intent on her. She cleared her throat. “You dance?”

“My mother insisted I learn. And anyway, I found it quite instrumental in picking up women back in the days before my bank balance was quite this healthy. Back in the days when I had to rely on charm and skill to get a date.”

She looked back at the stage, at the performers. She’d always been the one up there. Separate and removed. The mood of the room. A part of the parties, an integral part, but never in them.

“For the press?”

His lips curved up slightly. “Yeah, of course.”

She accepted his offered hand. It was hotter than she’d imagined it would be, his palm a bit rougher. He led her to the dance floor and her heart started tripping on itself. She’d never danced with a man before. She’d never danced. Not even at her own CD-release parties. But she’d even performed at those, even then more the entertainment than the guest of honor. And dancing wasn’t essential to piano, which meant it was a skill she’d never acquired.

“I don’t really know how to dance,” she said, when they stopped at the edge of the dance floor and he pulled her gently into his arms.

“But I do. And you can let me lead.” He laced his fingers through hers and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he said, his voice soft, enticing.

She obeyed the instruction and immediately had to fight the urge to slide her hand, palm flat, down to his hard-muscled chest. She knew it was muscular because her breasts were crushed against it, her heart raging, and she was certain he could feel it.

She looked back up at the stage as Ethan moved back. She felt it all flow through her, the music and his movements, and her feet seemed to obey the prompting from Ethan’s body. Everything just seemed to work.

“So tell me, why don’t you know how to dance?”

“No time,” she said, her words short and breathless, not from the exertion of dancing, but from being in such close proximity to a man. To this man.

“Ah, right. The drills.”

“Yeah, the drills. They took up—take up—a lot of time.”

“I see.”

“A person can’t be great at everything. You can be great at one thing, if you work at it. If you want it badly enough.” She repeated the words of her former piano teacher, slightly shocked at how quickly the words rolled off her tongue, even after all this time.

“I don’t accept that,” he said, pressing his hand more firmly against her lower back, moving the lower part of her body closer to his. It made her tingle, made her uncomfortable … aware of her breasts. It was the strangest thing. Not completely unpleasant.

“Doesn’t matter whether you accept it, it’s true. It takes hours and hours of dedicated practice to claim proficiency at anything. It takes true commitment.”

“Hmm, commitment I’m not so good with.”

Her pulse pounded harder. He flexed his fingers and the slight motion against her back made a shock of sensation skitter through her veins, lighting up every last part of her body, from her head to her toes and every inch in between.

“Are you sure? Because you asked me to marry you only twenty-four hours after meeting me.”

“Commitment with a catch I can deal with. Commitment with a defined end date, I actually think that’s quite perfect. But then, that’s why I don’t make commitments. Because I know I wouldn’t want to keep them.”

“Well, then your proficiency must be in something other than relationships.”

He smirked. “I have a major in business with a pretty accomplished minor in bedroom skills. And I only claim a minor because you insist a person can’t have a double major in life.”

She felt her face get hot, her blood pounding in her temples. She didn’t know how he could say things like that so casually, like it didn’t mean anything. As if it didn’t throw his mind straight into the bedroom with all kinds of sweaty, half-formed visions.

She’d watched her share of late-night cable when she’d been alone in her hotel room, so she knew what kinds of things he was talking about. And it was making her feel weak and shaky all over.

“What about you? What’s your view on commitment?”

“I majored in piano,” she said, forcing a smile. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Yeah, I got that. I see what you were doing there.”

“You’re making fun of me,” she said. But he wasn’t doing it in a cruel way. He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever really teased her like that. If anyone had engaged her in conversation quite like this. Intimate. Sharing. Strange.

“A little bit.”

He turned away from her and she couldn’t help noticing how striking his face was in profile. Strong nose and square jaw. He was almost too perfect to be real. He was like a man chiseled from rock, only infused with breath and warmth. And a glint in his eye that spoke of sin and pleasure.

“Over there,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “That’s Anita Blaire, she’s the lead writer for the society pages.”

Noelle turned her head slightly and saw a woman craning her neck to get a look at them.

Ethan released his hold on her hand and placed his palm on her hip, sliding it around slowly until both of his hands were rested on the indent in her spine, just above her bottom. He moved his thumb slightly, slowly, his touch edging near intimate territory.

She stiffened, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to pass out. She swallowed, barely able to finish the job thanks to her suddenly dry throat.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Lean into me.”

She did her best to relax but her muscles were locked up, tense. Not with fear, but with anticipation. She didn’t know what he might do next. Where he would touch her. It made her hot and shivery all over. Like having a fever, one that burned from deep inside her core.

“How’s this?” she asked, her voice a little bit thin, shaky.

“Better,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple, the slightly intimate caress making her stomach tighten with raw, sexual need. It was different like this. In the arms of a real man, instead of just the hazy fantasy of a dream lover’s caress. Her ideas of desire were all viewed through a Vaseline-smeared lens in her mind’s eye. But this wasn’t obscured or blurred, it was sharp and clear. Almost painful in its intensity.

And he hadn’t even kissed her.

Would he? Eventually. He would have to eventually because he would have to do the kiss-the-bride thing at the wedding. And now her palms were sweaty. She tightened her grip on his shoulders.

He angled his head and his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. She blew out a shocked breath and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, just to get that extra hold, because she felt as if she might melt into a puddle of Noelle at his feet. Wouldn’t that be a good picture for the society pages?

He pressed his lips more firmly to her skin, just beneath her ear. She shuddered when he brushed the tip of his tongue over the tender skin. She’d never even known to fantasize about such a simple, sensual thing. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known the effect it would have on her.

“You taste like vanilla,” he said, his voice soft and husky, his breath touching her neck, making goosebumps spread over her.

She pulled her head back so she could look at him, at his dark eyes, so intent on hers. Was he going to kiss her now? Like, really kiss her?

He looked away from her, back in the direction of Anita. “I think we’ve caught her attention,” he said.

The shroud of arousal that had cocooned them just a moment before broke and Noelle became conscious again of the noise in the room. The buzz of conversation, the music, the fact that there were other people there, in the ballroom, in the world.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat, “yes.”

“Ready to go and be social?”

No. She was ready to go and crawl under a rock and hide for ten years, thank you very much, because she’d made an idiot of herself over the brief brush of his lips on her skin. The worst thing was, she was still wishing he’d done more.

“Of course,” she said, her voice brittle.

“Come on then, sweetheart, let’s spread the good news of our new-found love.”