Читать книгу Awaken To Pleasure - Nalini Singh - Страница 11

“She could be nice sometimes,” Taylor said, betraying the soft heart behind that tough exterior.

“When she wasn’t drugged to the gills.” He knew too much about the kind of pain “nice” Bonnie could inflict.

“I wonder why she did all those things.”

He knew she was talking about the drugs and that final affair, unearthed by the press and gleefully announced to the world. What would she say if he told her that Bonnie’s famous lover had been the last in a string of men?

He’d stopped touching Bonnie as soon as he’d discovered the infidelities. His love for her had died long before. After a lonely, barren childhood, her joyful charm had drawn him, only to teach him an even deeper sense of isolation. They hadn’t shared a bed again, except for that day four months before her death. After hours spent at work in Taylor’s company, aching for things he had no right to demand, his defenses had been at an all-time low. Seeing Bonnie smile after weeks of depression, he’d desperately wanted to believe that they could salvage their marriage.

As the forgotten child of an impulsive celebrity union, he’d promised himself that he would not repeat the cycle of divorce and remarriage that characterized his parents, and which had already spread to his three younger half siblings. Even the youngest, Valetta, had a broken marriage under her belt.

Driven by that promise, he’d kept trying to glue together his and Bonnie’s shattered relationship. He’d even let Taylor go without a single touch, stifling the hungry need her presence always aroused.

But even his most precious vows had a breaking point—he hated Bonnie for teaching him that lesson. The final straw had come the day she’d flaunted her faithlessness, meeting her newest lover in a place haunted by the paparazzi. That humiliating betrayal had forever severed any remaining loyalty he’d had toward the girl he’d married, and he’d immediately filed for divorce.

He still remembered her reaction.

“Oh please,” she’d mocked, cocktail in hand. It had been barely 10:00 a.m. “As if you’ve been faithful.”

The tragedy was, he had. The only infidelity he could be accused of was of the mind. In his bleakest moments, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Taylor, but he would’ve never touched her while a wedding band encircled his finger. Never. She deserved better than that.

After he’d walked out on Bonnie, a cautious hope had taken root in his heart. Once the divorce was final, he’d intended to seek out Taylor and see if someone so young and untouched could find something to love in him.

Then all of his dreams had crumbled to dust. Bonnie’s death hadn’t shocked him; she’d been trying to kill herself for years. It was discovering the murder of his child that had destroyed his hope. He’d been bleeding too badly to do anything but merely function.

Taylor’s voice broke into the nightmarish memories. “I mean, Bonnie had beauty, talent, wealth and you. What was missing in her life?”

Jackson’s heart slammed hard into his rib cage at her befuddled tone. “Maybe I’m not such a prize.”

“I know you’re incredibly loyal and generous. Your protectiveness might annoy your wife but she’d know it sprang from deep caring. That would make it bearable.”

Her naive belief in his goodness rocked him to the deepest recesses of his misbegotten soul. “I wish you were a reporter.” They’d savaged him after Bonnie’s last affair, taken his humiliation and broadcast it to the world. Jackson Santorini’s private pain sold a lot of papers.

When Bonnie had overdosed, they’d turned on him again, like a pack of wild dogs, vicious and unfeeling. But, they’d done such a good job the first time around, he couldn’t give them any more rage or any more anguish.

“Plus, you’re gorgeous.” Taylor wondered what she was doing. Her words were true. What was also true was that she could never deliver on the promise implied in the flirtatious tone. And even if she could have, she was nowhere near Jackson’s league. The man was linked with superstar actresses whose beauty shone from the silver screen and glittered on red carpets.

Just last week, she’d read an article where a titian-haired actress had stated that the reclusive head of Santorini Studios was her dream man. Though the megastar couldn’t understand why such an important man chose to live in so small a country, it made him all the more interesting to her. All the more desirable.

“I don’t think anyone would describe me as gorgeous.” Jackson’s response was dry. “But thank you.”

She scowled. “You’re not pretty, not like the actors. There’s nothing soft about you. Your face is strong, interesting…gorgeous.” She wasn’t going to back down. Just like the world-famous actress, dark-eyed, dark-haired Jackson Santorini was her dream man.

Some people might say that he was a little too muscular, but on Jackson, the bulk looked good. Very, very good. She wanted to reach over and squeeze one of those taut arm muscles to see if there was any give at all. Then she wanted to bite down on that firm, golden flesh.

And therein lay her problem.

Jackson had been the best employer she’d ever had. The most demanding but also the most appreciative. A permanent job with him would’ve been perfect…if she hadn’t stupidly gone and fallen in lust with her married boss.

Until she’d met him, she’d thought of lust as something frightening and dirty. Given her childhood, she knew that was understandable. But, the moment she’d seen Jackson Santorini in the flesh, it had hit her like a thunderbolt. She’d been flabbergasted, having no idea what to do about the heat that pooled in her stomach like high-octane fuel whenever he so much as glanced at her.

Even more disturbing were the other emotions that had crept in while she wasn’t guarding her back. Dangerous emotions like trust. And hope.

Not that she’d ever followed up on the attraction. Touching another woman’s husband was an unbreakable taboo. Even if her morals hadn’t stopped her, practicality would have—she’d seen firsthand what happened to discarded mistresses. But she hadn’t been able to stop fantasizing about her sexy Italian boss, even as she adamantly refused to open the door to any other feeling.

When the media storm had broken over Bonnie’s lover, she’d wanted to slap the other woman for throwing away a man of Jackson’s worth. Though she’d had no right, she’d ached to go to him, and try and soothe his unbearable pain. How dare that woman hurt Jackson where he was most vulnerable—in that proud heart of his?

It had been over a year since their last meeting but her feelings hadn’t changed. Even her upsetting experience at Donald’s hands couldn’t alter that, because she trusted Jackson on a gut level. She’d never felt safe with a man until he’d started bullying her with his protectiveness, walking her to her car and more than once following her home late at night to ensure that she arrived safely. And he’d never made any demands in return.

The truth was, her sexy ex-boss still made her burn.

Jackson was stunned by Taylor’s little speech. Nobody had ever called him gorgeous, not even starlets who thought he might be influenced by flattery. That was a lie too big even for them. And yet he knew that the woman in the passenger seat did not tell lies. Who else but Taylor would’ve dared to inform him that he looked like he was strung out on cocaine when he’d dragged himself into the office one Monday after fighting with Bonnie all weekend?

The question was, what was he going to do with the knowledge that she considered him gorgeous? At that moment, his attention was caught by flashing red lights up ahead. “Looks like there might have been an accident.”

“I hope no one was hurt.” Taylor leaned forward, blanket clutched tight. When he glanced at her, he saw that heat had given her face a soft pink glow that was at once enchanting and innocently seductive.

“Let’s see.” Reaching the poncho-clad cop standing in the middle of the street, he wound down the window. Sharp drops of rain immediately assaulted his face. “What’s the problem, officer?”

The young man leaned down. His eyes flicked to Taylor and then back to Jackson. “There’s been a three-car crash up ahead. Pretty messy. We’re detouring people up though there.” He pointed to an upward-sloping street on his right, the route marked with orange safety cones.

Jackson nodded. “Was anyone badly injured?”

“No fatalities.” His relief was clear. “Drive safely.” Moving back, he let them pass.

After turning up the small incline, Jackson said, “Look, you need to dry out and with this detour and the weather, we won’t reach your place for at least another hour.” Water sloshed around the tires as he came to a level section of the road. “You can spend the night at my place—the drive will only take twenty minutes.”

“I can’t do that!” she cried.

“Why?” It angered him that she didn’t trust him, when he’d never given her reason not to. Okay, so maybe he’d yelled at her once or twice while she’d been his secretary, but she’d yelled right back and they’d got along fine.

Once again, she surprised him. “Because paparazzi stalk you. They’re probably hiding in the bushes by the door. I don’t want to be famous.” She sounded determined.

He shook his head at her amazing mind. “If there is a paparazzo there tonight, piccola, I swear I’ll beat him up for you.” The endearment slipped out without thought. “Of course, he’s probably already drowned.”

A laugh escaped her. “Well, if you promise.”

Traffic being much lighter on this side of the city, they reached his eight-month-old Mission Bay home in less time than he’d anticipated. Pressing an electronic key, he drove the car through the security gates. About fifty meters up the drive he pushed another button to raise the garage door before driving in. It shut behind them, enclosing them in a dry haven lit with a strong white bulb. The sound of rain on hard surfaces was muted to a soft lullaby, lending an unexpected intimacy to the air.

“Don’t you think garages should have bleary yellow lights?” Taylor stretched out to pop her door open.

He let her lighten the mood, giving her space. For now. “You think something’s wrong with my ambience?” Stepping out, he found her standing beside her door like some sort of disheveled fairy wrapped in tartan.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “When I’m no longer in danger of turning into an icicle, I’ll tell you.”

Biting back his first real smile for a year, he led her out of the garage, through the converted basement which he used as a gym, and up to the first floor of his home. “Bathroom’s upstairs on the right.” He pointed to the stairs leading up from the living room. “There should be fresh towels on the rails. I think the cleaning service came today. I’ll find you a robe and throw it through.”

“Don’t peek.” She started to struggle up the stairs, trying not to trip on the blanket she refused to release, an empress giving an order to a lowly servant.

Shaking his head at her impudence, he dropped his keys on a table in the living area and walked into his study.

Ignoring the blinking message light on his phone, he placed a call to the Auckland Police Station. As usual, Detective Cole McKenna was pulling the graveyard shift. After Jackson explained the matter to one of the few men he trusted implicitly, Cole swore creatively under his breath.

“Your lady doesn’t want to press charges?”

Jackson thought about Taylor’s attempts to brush off the entire incident. “I’d like to take care of it without pulling her into something messy.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I need a diversion from paperwork anyway. Let’s see—Donald Carson, Project Director at Dracena Medical.” He tapped some keys. “Got him. I think 3:00 a.m. sounds like a good time for a visit.”

Jackson itched to face Carson himself but he’d made a promise and if he saw the man, he’d surely break it. “Thanks.”

“I’ll swing by your place and drop off your Taylor’s purse when I’m heading off shift, just after six.”

Yes, Jackson thought, she was his. “I don’t want Taylor to start thinking I’m about to get arrested so leave the black and white at the station,” he joked, trying not to let his frustration at being unable to act himself seep into his tone.

Cole chuckled, seeing through him. “Lady must be something special if you’re trying to behave.”

They hung up on that note. His tension easing now that he’d done something about the man who’d dared to hurt Taylor, he quickly played back his messages. All four were from very smart people, including his mother, wanting something.

The demanding note in his mother’s voice wasn’t unusual. A rising star when she’d inconveniently fallen pregnant with Jackson to Anthony Santorini, her husband at the time, Liz Carlyle had had neither the time nor the inclination to raise her son. She’d saved that for his half brother Carlton, born almost ten years later.

As for Anthony, the celebrated director’s paternal instincts had finally kicked in nine years after Jackson’s birth, when he’d sired Mario closely followed by Valetta, with wife number three.

However, now that Jackson was a success, both Liz and Anthony preferred to forget that the closest they’d ever come to parenting him was writing checks for boarding schools and nannies. Neither had any compunction against using family ties to solicit his help. Frowning, he noted the details of the messages before erasing them. He’d take care of their requests later.

After he took care of Taylor.

Heading upstairs, he passed the closed door of his admittedly huge bathroom and entered his bedroom, knowing he had an unused robe someplace. Except when he reached the closet, he picked out his favorite.

The instant she shut the bathroom door, Taylor dropped the blanket and started removing her damp clothes, pausing only to place her cell phone in a safe spot. Clipped to the waistband of her pants, it hadn’t disappeared with Donald. The small change in her pockets clinked as she dropped her pants to the floor—forgotten from an earlier purchase, the money would have been just enough for the bus.

She noted the sunken spa to the left but headed straight toward the shower. Encased in glass, it had an enormous amount of space, the fixtures steel and glass. Obviously, it had been custom-built for someone much bigger than her.

Immediately, her brain bombarded her with images of Jackson’s muscled bulk in the shower, his arms bulging with strength as he did things to her in the watery enclosure that were surely not anatomically possible.

“Even if they were, you’re such a coward that you’d run a mile if he tried.”

With a self-mocking laugh that was tinged with a trace of disappointment, she stripped and stood in the centre of the cubicle, under the three showerheads. The spray hit her so high that she was in danger of drowning. She reached up and tried to tilt them down but they wouldn’t budge. Giving up, she stood shivering on the tiles outside. Jackson’s firm knock came a minute later. Cracking open the door, she peeked around it.

“You should be getting warmed up. I told you I’d throw it in.” He scowled, all male annoyance and faintly menacing good looks.

And yet she trusted him. He had a rock-solid integrity that defied her to put him in the same unflattering category as the rest of his sex. A thought nudged at the back of her mind but she pushed it aside. Her stepfather’s attempt at wresting custody of Nick from her was her problem and despite his kindness, Jackson wouldn’t want to know about it. After all, she’d just been his temporary secretary.

She grabbed the robe, hiding behind the door. “Wait.” Snuggling into the garment, which smelt reassuringly of Jackson and devoured her entire body, she tugged the door fully open. “I need you to set the showerheads lower. I feel like I’m standing under Niagara Falls.”

Shaking his head, he walked into the humid room. “They’re electronic.” He showed her a control panel on the outside wall of the shower. “See?”

Taylor flicked her gaze up from her appreciative view of his backside. The man was muscled everywhere. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run her hands all over that beautiful golden skin. “How was I supposed to know your house was gadgety?” Grateful that she sounded normal, she made a face at him. “Okay, fix them anyway now that you’re here.”

Giving her one of his rare but extremely lethal grins, he did as ordered. “Enough, shortie?”

Nurtured by the warmth of that smile, something woke in her heart, something that wasn’t lust. Used to protecting herself from emotions that promised joy but could just as well lead to incredible suffering, she tried to ignore it. “Thanks, Mr. Mobster.” She could barely wait to luxuriate in the heat. “I need to thaw now. Shoo.”

He left with another grin that seared her nerves. Disgusted at both her physical and unexpected emotional susceptibility to a man so far out of her reach, she shucked off the robe and stepped into the shower.

Jackson stood outside the bathroom, trying to relearn to breathe. It wasn’t easy when erotic visions of Taylor in black lace dominated his thoughts. His lovely guest had apparently started stripping at the door and not stopped ’til she’d reached the shower. Ignoring the trail of feminine clothes, ending in a pair of black lace panties, had been a forced lesson in self-control. Especially when he noticed that the bra matched.

He hadn’t thought that Taylor would be the black lace type. Showed how much he knew. Groaning, he leaned on the wall with both hands and dropped his head against the white paint. His shoulders were rigid with tension, his jaw set as he wrestled with instinct.

“I will not seduce Taylor,” he repeated over and over, and knew he was lying. Having her encased in his robe wasn’t enough. He wanted her encased in him, while her body sheathed his in hot, wet welcome.

Poor, sweet Taylor would probably run a mile if she discovered what he was thinking. Bundled up in his white robe, she’d looked even smaller than usual. Though she wasn’t a petite woman, next to his bulk she appeared fragile. His biceps bulged as he tensed his body, trying to tame the desire rippling through him, hot and voracious. Its talons tore at his control, hungering for heat and abandon and sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Taylor had definitely awakened the sleeping tiger within him. The question was, did she have any interest in satiating it? Well…she had called him gorgeous. Despite his frustrated desire, he smiled, remembering the first time he’d seen her.

He’d looked up from drafting changes to a contract, expecting to find a mature woman in his office doorway. The agency knew his requirements. He didn’t want some young would-be starlet trying to impress him with her “charms”—he wanted superb typing skills not mediocre acting skills.

The woman in the doorway had had dark hair pulled back into a severe bun, lush lips softened only by gloss and lovely blue eyes. He’d detected a trace of challenge in those too-blue eyes, as if his reputation didn’t scare her. She’d been dressed in a knee-length skirt and fitted jacket, both in solid navy, looking every inch the executive assistant.

He’d wanted to groan in despair. It would’ve taken a blind man not to notice that she was stunning. He’d known from experience that if he gave her the slightest encouragement, she’d pull out some undoubtedly beautiful hair from that bun, undo the buttons on her jacket and sashay over.

“I need this dictation typed yesterday,” he’d growled, throwing her a tape.

She’d caught it and left, without commenting on his brusqueness. Dismissing her from his mind, he’d started to race through another piece of work, aware that without a competent secretary, his day was likely to end sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

Less than half an hour later, she’d walked back in. Handing him several typed sheets, she’d picked up his handwritten edits to the contract and returned to her workstation. Wondering at her confidence, he’d turned his eyes to what she’d given him and just about died of shock.

Stalking out, he’d stood over her desk. “Name?”

“Taylor Reid.” Her response had been cool.

“Do you want to be a movie star?”

Blue, blue eyes had widened. “Good God, no.”

He’d grinned at that disgusted statement. It had been the first time that she’d made him smile. “Fine. Good work. Do I have you for the next three months?”

“Yes.”

His delight in having found an extremely efficient secretary hidden beneath the form of a beautiful woman had been borne out. By the end of her first week, she’d organized his office, caught up on the backlog of filing and yelled at him when he’d raised his voice to her.

And somewhere along the way, he’d found himself coming to work just to hear her tart responses to his questions, and bask in her sunny smile. They’d never crossed any line, never even touched, but in his heart he’d known that he wanted to claim her as his woman. Only his promise to himself that he’d be faithful, unlike his philandering father and womanizing half brothers, had kept him from taking her. Or perhaps it had been the fact that Taylor had seen him as honorable and he’d wanted to live up to her expectations.

Now, there were no barriers to what he wanted to do with sweet, sexy Taylor, and his body was demanding he make up for almost three years of abstinence, broken only by that one, bittersweet afternoon with Bonnie. After her death, he’d had plenty of offers and no trouble refusing them all. He’d thought his emotional centre had died with his child, taking with it his need for a woman’s soft touch. But his reaction to Taylor told him that his body hadn’t shut down, it had merely gone into hibernation, waiting for the one woman who could bring him back to life.

Taylor.

The shower shut off. Shaking his head, he pushed off the wall and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. After her assault tonight, Taylor would hardly be reassured if she found him waiting for her outside the bathroom, blatantly aroused and more than ready to peel off her single layer of clothing. He didn’t know if he could control himself around skin pink from heat, body naked and touchable under the robe. His robe.

Then, minutes later, she walked into the kitchen, wrapped in that damn robe. “Is that coffee I smell?”

He’d kicked off his shoes in the living room and saw that she was barefoot, too. “You’ll get cold on the tiles. I’ll find you some socks.” He didn’t even to try to fight his protective instincts toward her.

She came to stand next to him, holding out a hand for the cup of coffee he held. “Coffee first.”

“This is…mine,” he finished, as she stole the cup and took a big gulp. He watched her swallow, heard her sigh in appreciation and felt all sorts of things harden in his body. Her fresh, womanly scent made him want to strip her down to her glowing skin and crush her body under his, while his hands stroked and kneaded. Frowning, he backed off a couple of steps. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She turned, cradling the cup in her palms. “Donald didn’t really scare me—I guess I just felt betrayed.” Disappointment edged her tone.

He understood. “You’re safe here.”

Her smile was glorious. “I know. I trust you.”

Dio! he thought. No way in hell could he seduce her now. “I’ll get you those socks.”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s go in the living room instead.” She put down the now empty cup. “Are you coming?”

Bemused, he followed her into the spacious room. A small music system was arranged in wall brackets on the left, while a large sofa upholstered in blue sat against the opposite wall. However, the main feature was the floor-to-ceiling window immediately in front. Stretching from one end of the room to the other, it looked out over the sea to the dormant island volcano of Rangitoto. Tonight, the weather obscured most of the view, allowing only a glimpse of crashing breakers.

“It’s so open.” She walked across the plush dove-grey carpet to spread her palm against the glass.

He came to stand beside her. “It’s reflective. No one can see inside, even if they get into the grounds.”

Next to him, Taylor’s profile was clean and pure. The curling hair around her face looked like it would be incredibly soft to the touch. The urge to reach out and test his theory was so strong that he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and clenched them tight.

“Your home’s very tidy.”

To him, it looked barren. “I don’t live with a kid.”

She smiled fondly. “He is a tad messy but I suppose muddy sneakers come with little boys.”

“I’m surprised you let him go on the camp.”

Her eyes moved from contemplating the turbulent sea to fix on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He raised a brow. “You’re very protective of Nick.”

“I’m his only family.” Her defensiveness was clear. “I can be protective if I want.”

He left the topic for now, aware how touchy she was about her brother. He’d tried to broach the subject with her while she’d worked for him, but she’d frozen him out. At the time, he’d been frustrated at having to accept that he didn’t have any rights over her brother…or over her.

Yet.

He wouldn’t touch her tonight, because he’d promised her safety and he would never renege on that assurance. But, after tonight, all bets were off, because he wanted rights over Taylor. All sorts of rights.