Читать книгу The Dare Collection April 2019 - Christy McKellen, Nicola Marsh - Страница 17

I LEANED IN to the suit that hung from the rail in front of me and sniffed, the warm scent of sandalwood and cedar filling my senses.

It was such a delicious smell. I wanted to bury my nose in the lapels of Ajax’s jacket and spend the rest of the evening breathing it in.

Okay, so it was a little weird, me being in his closet and sniffing his clothing, and I did feel bad about poking around in his private space.

It was only that after two days of being alone with nothing to do I was going stir-crazy.

After he’d left me that morning, I’d decided that the only way to figure out how to get him on board with the whole losing my virginity thing was to explore as much of his house as I could, see what I could discover about him. And then perhaps use it to my advantage.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to discover. He had an industrial, minimalist aesthetic which seemed to involve no clutter anywhere and absolutely nothing personal, including no knick-knacks or family photographs.

So I’d asked what I could of his housekeeper, Mrs Jacobs, but she wouldn’t give me any answers, getting annoyed when I attempted to press the issue.

So I’d tried to wait him out.

I swam in the pool. I walked around the gardens. I watched TV and a few movies. I peered through his library and the bookshelves full of books.

But I couldn’t settle. Every passing hour was another hour of my freedom gone. Another hour closer to going back to my father and a life of no choices about anything.

It put me in a foul mood.

This wasn’t just about sex and my stupid hymen. Or even revenge against my dad. This was about life. My life. And what was missing from it. Choice. That was what was missing.

And I wanted the very first choice that I made to be about Ajax. Learning more of his secrets. Discovering more of his touch, more of him. And the longer he stayed away, the hungrier for him I became.

That’s why I was up here on the forbidden second level of his house. Because my curiosity had morphed into frustration and I hadn’t been able to contain it. I couldn’t stop obsessing about what was up there, thinking that if he’d told me to stay away, it must mean that there was something he didn’t want me to see.

So on the third day I’d crept up the stairs.

The second level had been quiet, with the same kind of uncluttered, minimalist vibe that the downstairs had.

There was an office and a bedroom that both faced the ocean and made the most of the awesome view.

His office was a plain white room with a polished wooden floor and a huge slab of black wood that served as a desk, with a sleek silver computer on it. Bookshelves lined two walls, all stacked with business texts and filing boxes. But, unlike downstairs, there was a piece of art on the wall above his desk: a painting of a yacht on the ocean, sailing towards the horizon. The picture was simple and clean and beautifully done. I could almost smell the salt coming from it, feel the wind in my hair.

Why had he hung this picture here? What was it that he liked about it?

I was tempted to look at his books or have a nosey at his computer, but I did have a few scruples and decided not to in the end, moving into his bedroom instead.

That was a nice space, the only furniture a massive bed that faced the wall of glass and a dresser. There were two photos on it, who I assumed were his brothers, Leon and Xander.

There wasn’t much else in the bedroom but, since the door to the closet was open, I put my head in and had a quick look inside. That’s when his scent hit me and that’s when I stepped inside, moving to where one of his suits hung, wanting more of it and the warm feeling it gave me.

Yes, I was an idiot and sniffing his clothes was ridiculous. But that scent reminded me of how he’d made me feel the night he’d kidnapped me. Safe. Peaceful. Yet excited too.

You should probably leave before he catches you here.

I straightened reluctantly. I really didn’t want him to catch me on the second level, especially not in his closet with my nose in his suit.

Abruptly, fingers closed around my upper arm.

I froze, a burst of panic exploding through me.

The fingers tightened in an irresistible grip and I found myself being pulled gently but firmly out of the closet then pushed with the same irresistible gentleness against the closet door.

An expanse of white cotton was in front of me, a T-shirt pulled tight over a broad, muscled chest.

Oh, hell.

I went from panic to excitement in seconds as it slowly penetrated whose fingers were wrapped around my upper arm. And the scent that I’d been inhaling only moments before was now coming direct from the source.

‘Little one,’ Ajax rumbled. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my closet?’

Embarrassment set fire to my cheeks and I wanted to sink straight through the floor.

Going through his things had turned out to be a really stupid idea.

‘I’m sorry.’ I stared at his chest because I couldn’t bear to look up at him. ‘I was just...uh...bored.’

‘Bored,’ he echoed. ‘So bored that you had to come upstairs, where I explicitly told you not to go, and start looking around my fucking closet?’

He sounded pissed and he had every right to be. Being found intruding on his privacy didn’t exactly reflect well on me.

‘I... I’m sorry,’ I repeated. ‘I know I shouldn’t have. But there wasn’t anything else to do. I swam in the pool and watched all the movies. And I don’t have a computer, and I—’

‘Look at me when you’re speaking to me.’

I didn’t want to, but staring at his chest was stupid so I gritted my teeth and looked up.

His electric-blue gaze slammed into mine and all the air vanished from my lungs, sending my heartbeat tumbling over itself.

In the two days he’d been away, I’d told myself that surely I’d overstated his attractiveness; that he couldn’t possibly have been as gorgeous and compelling as I’d made him in my head.

But I was wrong. If anything, I’d understated it.

He stood very close, looking down at me, and his fingers on my skin were warm, sensitising all the places that he wasn’t touching.

Bloody man.

‘That doesn’t explain what you’re doing up here.’ He said each word very quietly, anger gleaming in his eyes. ‘After I told you not to.’

My own anger rose, fuelled by my helpless response to him, not to mention a fair amount of embarrassment.

I should have locked it down, but I couldn’t. I’d been trapped in his house for two days, with the timer on my brief window of freedom from Dad slowly ticking down, and I didn’t have the emotional resources to get myself under control.

‘I was curious,’ I snapped, lifting my chin. ‘And look, if you leave me alone for two days, you’re going to have to give me something to do or else I’ll find something on my own that you may not like.’

‘What are you, a toddler?’ His expression turned thunderous. ‘This area is private and I told you it was out of bounds. What made you think you could just come up here and start looking around?’

Another wave of defensive anger went through me, his tone reminding me of the way Dad would berate me for my behaviour, telling me I was an insult to my mother’s memory.

It never failed to hurt me.

‘You patronising asshole,’ I said, stung. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘I’ll call you anything I damn well please. Especially if you’re poking about in places that don’t concern you.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I shot back. ‘I said I was sorry. I was just curious about you, okay?’

He went quite still, like a big predator spotting prey, a kind of electricity gathering around him that made something inside me pulse with excitement despite my anger. ‘Curious about me?’

My mouth had gone dry, my quicksilver emotions changing in response, the anger beginning to fade, excitement building. ‘I wanted to find out more about you.’

‘What more?’

‘I don’t know.’ Another blush heated my cheeks. ‘Anything really.’

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his astonishing blue eyes filling my vision. And I could smell his scent again, warm and sexy and masculine. ‘If you’ve gone through my stuff, there’ll be hell to pay.’ He moved his muscled body closer, his heat surrounding me. ‘I’m sorry about the toddler thing, but understand me: I wouldn’t allow my brothers up here, let alone the daughter of my enemy.’

My breath hitched.

He was so beautiful and I stared, my anger forgotten.

The sharp angle of his jaw was made even sharper by the faint black line of his beard and his cheekbones were to die for. The blade of his nose was straight, though I could see a few faint scars bisecting one eyebrow, scar tissue pulling at the corner of one eye.

It was a fascinating face. One that contained secrets and mysteries.

His black lashes were thick, a perfect frame for those startling pale blue eyes and the anger glowing in the depths of them.

I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. ‘I didn’t go into your things, I promise.’ God, I wanted to touch him again. To feel his hot skin and the prickle of his beard against my fingertips. ‘I only looked and then I...had to go smell your clothes a little.’

He blinked. ‘Smell my clothes?’

I wasn’t embarrassed any more, not now he was right in front of me, overwhelming me with his physical nearness. A bomb could have gone off behind him and I wouldn’t have noticed. ‘What can I say? You smell nice.’ Somehow, without my conscious control, my hand was lifting, my fingers brushing along his jaw, the delicious prickle of his whiskers against my fingertips. ‘And...you feel nice too.’

Ajax became statue-still. You’d think I’d shot him rather than simply touched him.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I should control myself better, especially when I’d already made him angry by intruding on his privacy.

But I couldn’t make myself stop. My fingertips grazed the sharp plane of his jaw, the feel of his skin sending short, intense pulses of excitement through me. This was so new, so different. It was wondrous.

The anger in his eyes changed, becoming something hotter. Brighter. ‘What are you doing?’ His voice was strange, deep and oddly husky.

‘Touching you.’ Helplessly, my gaze dropped to his fascinating mouth and I brushed the curve of his bottom lip. My God. It was so soft. Who knew there could be something soft about Ajax King? ‘Is that okay?’

He was so still and he was staring at me so fixedly.

Perhaps he didn’t want this. Perhaps he didn’t like it.

Control yourself, girl. You’re an embarrassment.

Dad’s voice echoed in my head like a warning and a part of me curled up in shame. Yet that wasn’t enough for me to take my hand away.

He was fascinating, addictive. A temptation too great for me to resist and it had been so long since I’d touched another person, so long since I’d had any physical contact with anyone at all, and I ached. I’d been so isolated and I was so lonely.

This was my chance to take something for myself.

Every other woman got to choose their own partner so why couldn’t I?

‘Stop,’ Ajax said in that strange voice.

Remember what happened the last time you made a choice.

Yes, I remembered. Cam.

The shame inside me grew larger. ‘I’m sorry.’ I snatched my hand away and looked at the floor. ‘I didn’t mean to touch you. I should have asked or something. I’m not very good at—’

‘Look at me, Imogen.’

I took a breath and looked, the note of command in his voice irresistible.

The heat in his gaze nearly flattened me.

Desire burned in his eyes. He liked me touching him. I could tell.

My breath caught.

‘It’s not that I don’t want you to touch me,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s that you shouldn’t. And you know why.’

Of course I did. The whole virginity thing.

‘But...you can kiss me, right?’ I stared up at him. ‘Dad wouldn’t know if you did.’

‘No,’ Ajax murmured. ‘No, he wouldn’t.’ His attention drifted, falling to my mouth. ‘But what I want doesn’t matter.’

That puzzled me. Why would he think that what he wanted didn’t matter? And what did he want anyway?

‘Doesn’t it?’ I asked. ‘Why not?’

Somehow he was closer than he had been a moment ago, though I hadn’t seen him move. He still had his hand wrapped around my arm and I was so aware of it I was sure I could feel every line of his fingerprints on my skin.

He didn’t answer, his gaze lifting to clash with mine again.

There was a pressure in the air around us, the relentless build of attraction getting stronger and stronger.

‘Please,’ I heard myself say. ‘I’ve never been kissed before. Not properly. And I... I’d like my first proper kiss to be with someone I want.’

He stared at me another long, aching second.

Then he closed the gap between us and covered my mouth with his.

Shock held me motionless.

I’d thought he wouldn’t do it, but he had, and now Ajax King was kissing me. Those beautiful lips I’d traced with my finger mere moments ago were now on mine and they felt...oh, God, amazing.

He must have been drinking coffee at some point, the taste dark and rich, combining with a heady flavour that was all Ajax. It was delicious. I couldn’t get enough.

The kiss was hard and yet somehow soft at the same time, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth, getting me to open for him. And I shuddered in helpless reaction, lightning striking all over my skin, sending goosebumps racing everywhere, leaving me helpless to do anything but give him what he wanted.

This was nothing like the brief brush of his lips in the car a few days earlier. This was as similar to that as a candle flame was to a forest fire.

His tongue pushed into my mouth, beginning to explore me slowly and deliberately, and with so much heat I began to shake.

I pressed my palms to his hard chest, gripping onto the warm cotton of his T-shirt, holding on tight. A deep moan of pleasure escaped me.

I didn’t know what had made him change his mind, but I didn’t want to question it. I just wanted more.

And he seemed to understand, moving so I was pinned between him and the closet door, deepening the kiss, controlling it with such effortless mastery I nearly swooned.

Correction, actual swooning was already happening, my knees weak, my hands clenching even tighter in the cotton of his shirt just to stay upright.

I couldn’t control myself any more. It had become impossible. I’d been without physical closeness for so long, thinking about him constantly for two days straight, craving his touch so badly I couldn’t stop.

I tipped my head back, opening my mouth to give him greater access, at the same time as I tried to kiss him in return, wanting more of his heat and intoxicating flavour. Wanting more of his touch and his scent and the feel of him against my skin.

But I had no idea how to get it.

I tried to pull him closer, tugging on his T-shirt, but he wouldn’t move, making me groan in frustration.

But then he cupped my jaw in one of his big, warm hands and kissed me harder, deeper, nipping at my bottom lip, changing the angle, turning the kiss into something so unbearably erotic I wondered if it was possible to come from kissing alone.

It wasn’t enough, though. I arched my back against the closet door, trying to press myself into his hard body.

He ignored me, lifting his mouth from mine and, when I tried to follow, his fingers on my jaw tightened, holding me in place.

I was panting and I didn’t care. ‘Don’t stop.’ My mouth felt deliciously swollen and a little bruised from that kiss. ‘Please.’

The electricity in his gaze crackled over my skin, the heat burning in the depths of all that winter blue undeniable. There was a flush to his high cheekbones, a slash of red that told its own story, and I could hear his ragged breathing.

He wanted me. It was obvious.

‘No,’ he said.