Читать книгу The Dreaming Of... Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 38
ОглавлениеJASMINE STARED AT HIM, trying to work out if he was mocking her or not. He wasn’t. That bleak look was deepening and his breathing was growing shallow and choppy as if he was caught in a distressing memory.
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched his arm.
He flinched. Brows clamped together, he stared down at her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You seem a little...lost.’
One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘And you thought you’d rescue me?’ he bit out.
‘Yes. Obviously, I was wrong to do so.’ She turned away, unable to stomach the wildly volatile moods she experienced around this man. One minute she wanted to hurt him for his mockery, the next she wanted to ease whatever emotional pain haunted him.
And it was clear he was suffering. As for his reference to his non-existent heart, the lengths he was willing to go to for his people proved otherwise.
‘You were talking about your stepfather?’
She frowned. ‘I’m not sure that I want to any more.’
‘Because I’m not whimpering with sympathy?’
‘Because you pretend you’re devoid of empathy, but I know that’s not true.’
‘Your dubious powers of deduction at work again?’
She perched on the edge of the table and folded her arms before the temptation to touch him spiralled out of control. Far from being cold as he tried to portray, Reyes was warm, passionate.
Any woman would be lucky to have him as her husband...
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. The stone that had lodged itself in her belly since his announcement in his study grew larger.
Which was ludicrous. All they’d shared was a one-night stand. An incredible one for her, but a brief, meaningless one nonetheless.
She had no right to experience this ongoing bewildering pain in her heart when she thought of what he planned to do. And the idea that he wasn’t looking to marry for the short term, but for ever, shouldn’t make her world darken with despair.
She had no claim on Reyes...
Jasmine started when he lifted his glass and abruptly drained his wine. She jerked upright when he lifted an imperious hand and summoned a guard, who’d been somewhere tucked out of her sight.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Since you’re unwilling to carry on even the semblance of conversation, I’m having you escorted to your suite. We’ll meet at noon tomorrow and you’ll present me with a list of suitable candidates.’
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table at the thought of the task she’d been set. She wanted to refuse; wanted to tell him she’d rather rot in jail than help him find the next woman to warm his bed.
But how could she go back on her word to do whatever was needed to right her wrong?
One of his bodyguards approached. He wasn’t the one who’d accosted her in the gardens this morning. In fact, from being a constant shadow, that other guard seemed to have disappeared.
This guard nodded at whatever Reyes was saying to him.
‘Wait!’
Reyes lifted a bored brow at her.
‘It’s still early.’ At his continued indolent look, she pursed her lips. ‘Fine, I’ll talk. My stepfather is perfect in every sense, except when it comes to his gambling.’
She looked from Reyes to the bodyguard. After several heartbeats, Reyes dismissed the guard with a sharp nod. Walking past where she remained perched, he grabbed the half-finished bottle of wine, frowned at her untouched glass and refilled his own. He sat down, crossing his legs, so his thighs were dangerously close to her knee.
Jasmine pulled stronger on her runaway composure. ‘He’s a kind, gentle man and he cares deeply for my mother.’
A look passed through his eyes, but was gone before she could work out what it meant.
‘Where does your biological father fit into this scenario?’
His voice lacked mockery, a fact for which she was thankful. ‘He left when I was barely out of nappies. And he was the first in a long line of “fathers”,’ she quoted, ‘who came and went before I was a teenager.’
Reyes sipped his wine. Said nothing.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she ventured when the silence stretched.
His eyes gleamed. ‘I sincerely doubt that.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, whether you’re thinking it or not, my past shaped me. I was angry with the world and with a mother who couldn’t see how hopeless the men she dated were. By the time my stepfather came along, I was...in a bad way.’
‘How bad?’
Jasmine didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to see the contempt in his eyes, or relive the bleakest point in her life. She’d been there, done that, and wore the shame underneath her skin and physical scars on her body.
She didn’t want to go there, but Reyes’s steady gaze demanded an answer.
‘A spell in juvenile detention when I was sixteen,’ she found herself confessing.
He froze. ‘Dios...’ he murmured.
Thick mortification crept over her. Struggling to cover it, she laughed. ‘Now you know my deepest, darkest secret. I’m guessing you’ll be holding this over my head, too—’
‘Stop talking, Jasmine.’
She clamped her mouth shut. He watched her with a curious expression, his gaze intensely assessing.
‘How long were you in detention?’
Strangely she couldn’t read any judgement in his tone. She reminded herself that as a prince he was skilled in hiding his true emotion. But then, he hadn’t held back so far—
‘Answer me,’ he bit out roughly.
‘Nine months.’
‘What for?’
She grimaced. ‘I accidentally set fire to a drug dealer’s warehouse.’
‘Is that experience why you found the handcuffs distressing?’
‘You mean there are people who love being handcuffed?’ she threw back.
One brow spiked.
Heat stained her cheeks. ‘Yes, well, I didn’t like it at the time. Still don’t. Those days were the most traumatic of my life. Please don’t force me to relive them.’
He put his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His intensity increased a thousandfold. As did the intoxicating scent of his aftershave and warm skin. Jasmine clenched her thighs to keep from moving closer.
‘What happened after you were released?’
‘My stepfather. And yes, it may sound like a fairy tale, but he saved us. And even with his flaws, he turned out to be better than any man out there, even the man whose blood runs through my veins.’
Grey eyes snagged hers. Still no condemnation in them, just a stark curiosity.
‘But the gambling became a problem, obviously,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘He was married before, but his wife died. That’s when the problem escalated for him. He stopped for a while when he and my mother were dating, but after they married he started again. No matter how much we tried, we couldn’t convince him to give it up. It made me sad. I know it worried him, too, that he couldn’t beat it. But I couldn’t condemn him. No matter what, he was the best father I knew. When Joaquin sank his claws into him, I had no choice. I couldn’t let Stephen suffer.’
‘Where was your mother in all of this?’ The question was framed so tersely, with a bitter underlay that grazed sharply over her senses.
She looked at him. Whatever emotion he was holding had triggered tension in his body, like a predator ready to unleash its base nature should its prey fall within his grasp. Despite her nape tingling in warning, she wanted to move closer, experience that overwhelming danger.
Clearing her throat, she answered, ‘My mother is what a psychologist would term wilfully blind. She means the world to me, but doesn’t see what’s right in front of her. Or she chooses to ignore it in favour of burying her head in the sand.’
The misery that her mother’s attitude to life had brought her before Stephen had fallen in love with her had been a stark warning for Jasmine not to travel down the same path. She understood her mother better now, but it didn’t make the pain of her late teens go away.
She glanced at Reyes and saw grudging understanding. But the look was wiped clean a moment later.
‘Understanding the motive doesn’t negate the crime.’
The unexpected surge of tears shocked Jasmine.
What was wrong with her? He’d told her he didn’t have a heart. If she chose to disbelieve him, any hurt she felt was her own fault.
Blinking rapidly, she started to rise. ‘No, but a little forgiveness goes a long way.’
He clamped a hand on her thigh.
Her heart took a dive, then picked itself up and banged hard against her ribs.
* * *
Reyes questioned his sanity. Except the voice was quickly smothered beneath the headier emotions swimming in his head.
His hand was halfway down her thigh, the soft cotton of her sundress crushing beneath his fingers. He moved his hand lower.
She gasped as they connected, skin to skin. Hers was soft, smooth like the fur of his sister’s pet cat. And as with Sheba’s pelt, he wanted to keep on stroking her.
He watched her struggle, knew the emotions she fought were the same as the ones he battled with. The chemistry that had gripped them the first time he’d set eyes on her flared high, spiking through his blood until he didn’t bother to deny its existence any longer.
‘You dislike me for stating the truth?’
‘I dislike the brutality of it. And the complete absence of sympathy.’
Knowing he’d done a good job of hiding his feelings should’ve pleased Reyes. If his feelings weren’t apparent, they couldn’t be manipulated, used against him. So why did the thought that he’d succeeded send a pulse of discontentment through him? Why did he want to wipe that hurt look from her face? ‘I warned you not to search for feelings that don’t exist—’
‘And I told you I don’t believe that emotion doesn’t exist inside you.’
He surged to his feet. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you,’ he said, not sure whether his agitation stemmed from the Tempranillo he’d consumed or the fact that she challenged him at every turn where no else dared to.
She sucked in a breath and her eyes stayed on his. Daring. Searching. Apprehensive. ‘Nor I you. So this should be fun.’
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Fun...
Another word he’d associated with her that first time. A word he hadn’t let into his life for a very long time.
He started to draw back from the brink of whatever fever gripped him.
She stepped closer. Her hands slid around his waist, holding him in place.
Again her daring floored him...excited him. The women he’d dated in his distant past had been either too overawed with his status to show much spine, or had been so eager to prove they were worthy of his time, they’d overreached. Either way, he’d tended to lose interest long before they were done in the bedroom.
Jasmine Nichols made his senses jump without uttering a word. And when she did speak, he found himself held rapt.
In the last hour, the woman she’d revealed herself to be intrigued him even more. She’d experienced adversity of the worst kind, and come through it.
And with her hand on him and her parted lips so close, all he could see, smell, anticipate, was her.
Drawn into a web he couldn’t shake, he angled his head. ‘I don’t do fun, Jasmine.’
Her back arched, bringing her closer. Her mouth brushed his. He jerked at the zap of electricity. Her hands tightened around him. ‘Sure you do. You just don’t like to admit it.’
The sound that rumbled from inside him emerged harsh and bewildered. ‘Dios...’
He spiked his hand through her hair and kissed her. Hard. Roughly.
He palmed her breasts, gloried in their fullness, and swallowed her jagged gasp of pleasure when his thumb grazed her nipple. The sight and taste of them flashed through his mind. He squeezed the bud. Harder. She made a rougher sound. More demanding. More receptive.
His blood thrummed faster.
Capturing her waist, he pulled her into his body. Her hands drifted up from his torso, up to his shoulders. Every nerve yearned for closer contact. The ultimate contact.
He was fast reaching the point where he would be unable to deny the need to take, the need to reprise the headiness of their encounter in Rio.
Her mouth parted wider, her tongue caressing his. Reyes drove in, tasting her with deep, hungry kisses that robbed them both of breath.
His erection throbbed. Demanded satisfaction.
Dios, this was crazy. Making the same mistake twice was unconscionable. He needed to pull back.
But he couldn’t. His thumb angled her jaw and he claimed another kiss. He didn’t realise he’d bent her backwards until her elbows propped on the table to support herself.
Needing to breathe, he took a beat. Looked at her, spread before him like a banquet.
A tempting, forbidden banquet. He’d given in once and the resulting chaos still echoed through his life. Perhaps he understood her motivations a little now. Perhaps he would even contemplate forgiveness at some distant point in the future.
But he couldn’t revisit the eye of the storm.
Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped back, smashing down on his body’s insistence that he finish what he’d started.
He denied his body, denied his mind. It would’ve been easy to take what he wanted; what he craved. But he knew it would come at a price. A price he couldn’t afford to pay.
