Terms of Engagement Page 4

  Lifting her into his arms, he carried her into his vast bedroom, which was bathed in silver moonlight. Over her shoulder she saw his big, black bed in the middle of an ocean of white marble and Persian carpets.

  He was a driven, successful billionaire, and she was a waitress. Feeling out of her depth, her nerves returned. Not knowing what else to do, she pressed a fingertip to his lips. Gently, shyly, she traced his dimple.

  Feeling her tension, he set her down. She pushed against his chest and then took a step away from him. Watching her, he said, “You can finish undressing in the bathroom if you’d prefer privacy. Or we can stop. I’ll drive you to your car. Your choice.”

  She should have said, “I don’t belong here with you,” and accepted his gallant offer. Instead, without a word, she scampered toward the door he’d indicated. Alone in his beige marble bathroom with golden fixtures and a lovely, compelling etching by another one of her favorite artists, she barely recognized her own flushed face, tousled hair and sparkling eyes.

  The radiant girl in his tall mirror was as beautiful as an enchanted princess. She looked expectant, excited. Maybe she did belong here with him. Maybe he was the beginning of her new life, the first correct step toward the bright future that had so long eluded her.

  When she tiptoed back into the bedroom, wearing nothing but his white robe, he was in bed. She couldn’t help admiring the width of his bronzed shoulders as he leaned back against several plumped pillows. She had never dated anyone half so handsome; she’d never felt anything as powerful as the glorious heady heat that suffused her entire being as his blue eyes studied her hungrily. Still, she was nervy, shaking.

  “I’m no good at sex,” she said. “You’re probably very good… Of course you are. You’re good at everything.”

  “Come here,” he whispered.

  “But…”

  “Just come to me. You could not possibly delight me more. Surely you know that.”

  Did he really feel as much as she did?

  Removing his bathrobe, she flew to him before she lost her nerve, fell into his bed and into his arms, consumed by forces beyond her control. Nothing mattered but sliding against his long body, being held close in his strong arms. Beneath the covers, his heat was delicious and welcoming as she nestled against him.

  He gave her a moment to settle before he rolled on top of her. Bracing himself with his elbows against the mattress, so as not to crush her, he kissed her lips, her cheeks, her brows and then her eyelids with urgent yet featherlike strokes. Slowly, gently, each kiss was driving her mad.

  “Take me,” she whispered, in the grip of a fever such as she’d never experienced before. “I want you inside me. Now.”

  “I know,” he said, laughing. “I’m as ravenous as you are. But have patience, darlin’.”

  “You have a funny way of showing your hunger.”

  “If I do what you ask, it would be over in a heartbeat. This moment, our first time together, is too special to me.”

  Was she special?

  “We must savor it, draw it out, make it last,” he said.

  “Maybe I want it to be over swiftly,” she begged. “Maybe this obsessive need is unbearable.”

  “Exquisite expectation?”

  “I can’t stand it.”

  “And I want to heighten it. Which means we’re at cross-purposes.”

  He didn’t take her. With infinite care and maddening patience he adored her with his clever mouth and skilled hands. His fevered lips skimmed across her soft skin, raising goose bumps in secret places. As she lay beneath him, he licked each nipple until it grew hard, licked her navel until he had all her nerve endings on fire for him. Then he kissed her belly and dived even lower to explore those hidden, honey-sweet lips between her legs. When she felt his tongue dart inside, she gasped and drew back.

  “Relax,” he whispered.

  With slow, hot kisses, he made her gush. All too soon her embarrassment was gone, and she was melting, shivering, whimpering—all but begging him to give her release.

  Until tonight she had been an exile in the world of love. With all other men, not that there had been that many, she had been going through the motions, playing a part, searching always for something meaningful and never finding it.

  Until now, tonight, with him.

  He couldn’t matter this much! She couldn’t let this be more than fierce, wild sex. He, the man, couldn’t matter. But her building emotions told her that he did matter—in ways she’d never imagined possible before.

  He took her breast in his mouth and suckled again. Then his hand entered her heated wetness, making her gasp helplessly and plead. When he stroked her, his fingers sliding against that secret flesh, she arched against his expert touch, while her breath came in hard, tortured pants.

  Just when she didn’t think she could bear it any longer, he dragged her beneath him and slid inside her. He was huge, massive, wonderful. Crying out, she clung to him and pushed her pelvis against his, aching for him to fill her even more deeply. “Yes! Yes!”

  When he sank deeper, ever deeper, she moaned. For a long moment he held her and caressed her. Then he began to plunge in and out, slowly at first. Her rising pleasure carried her and shook her in sharp, hot waves, causing her to climax and scream his name.

  He went crazy when she dug her nails in his shoulder. Then she came again, and again, sobbing. She had no idea how many climaxes she had before she felt his hard loins bunch as he exploded.

  Afterward, sweat dripped off his brow. His whole body was flushed, burning up, and so was hers.

  “Darlin’ Kira,” he whispered in that husky baritone that could still make her shiver even when she was spent. “Darlin’ Kira.”

  For a long time, she lay in his arms, not speaking, feeling too weak to move any part of her body. Then he leaned over and nibbled at her bottom lip.

  The second time he made love to her, he did so with a reverent gentleness that made her weep and hold on to him for a long time afterward. He’d used a condom the second time, causing her to realize belatedly that he hadn’t the first time.

  How could they have been so careless? She had simply been swept away. Maybe he had, too. Well, it was useless to worry about that now. Besides, she was too happy, too relaxed to care about anything except being in his arms. There was no going back.

  For a long time they lay together, facing each other while they talked. He told her about his father’s financial crisis and how her father had turned on him and made things worse. He spoke of his mother’s extravagance and betrayal and his profound hurt that his world had fallen apart so quickly and brutally. She listened as he explained how grief, poverty and helplessness had twisted him and made him hard.

  “Love made me too vulnerable, as it did my father. It was a destructive force. My father loved my mother, and it ruined him. She was greedy and extravagant,” he said. “Love destroys the men in our family.”

  “If you don’t want to love, why did you date all those women I read about?”

  “I wasn’t looking for love, and neither were they.”

  “You were just using them, then?”

  “They were using me, too.”

  “That’s so cynical.”

  “That’s how my life has been. I loved my father so much, and I hurt so much when he died, I gave up on love. He loved my mother, and she broke his heart with her unrelenting demands. When he lost the business, she lost interest in him and began searching for a richer man.”

  “And did she find him?”

  “Several.”

  “Do you ever see her?”

  “No. I was an accident she regretted, I believe. She couldn’t relate to children, and after I was grown, I had no interest in her. Love, no matter what kind, always costs too much. I do write her a monthly check, however.”

  “So, my father was only part of your father’s problem.”

  “But a big part. Losing ownership in Sullivan and Murray Oil made my father feel like he was less th
an nothing. My mother left him because of that loss. She stripped him of what little wealth and self-esteem he had left. Alone, without his company or his wife, he grew depressed. He wouldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. I’d hear the stairs creak as he paced at night.

  “Then early one morning I heard a shot. When I called his name, he didn’t answer. I found him in the shop attached to our garage. In a pool of blood on the floor, dead. I still don’t know if it was an accident or…what I feared it was. He was gone. At first I was frightened. Then I became angry. I wanted to blame someone, to get even, to make his death right. I lived for revenge. But now that I’ve almost achieved my goal of taking back Murray Oil, it’s as if my fever’s burned out.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she teased, touching his damp brow.

  “I mean my fever for revenge, which was what kept me going.”

  “So,” she asked, “what will you live for now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess a lot of people just wake up in the morning and go to work, then come home at night and drink while they flip channels with their remote.”

  “Not you.”

  “Who’s to say? Maybe such people are lucky. At least they’re not driven by hate, as I was.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like for you.” She’d always been driven by the need for love.

  When he stared into her eyes with fierce longing, she pulled him close and ran her hands through his hair. “You are young yet. You’ll find something to give your life meaning,” she said.

  “Well, it won’t be love, because I’ve experienced love’s dark side for too many years. I want you to know that. You are special, but I can’t ever love you, no matter how good we are together. I’m no longer capable of that emotion.”

  “So you keep telling me,” she said, pretending his words didn’t hurt.

  “I just want to be honest.”

  “Do we always know our own truths?”

  “Darlin’,” he whispered. “Forgive me if I sounded too harsh. It’s just that…I don’t want to hurt you by raising your expectations about something I’m incapable of. Other women have become unhappy because of the way I am.”

  “You’re my family’s enemy. Why would I ever want to love you?”

  Wrapping her legs around him, she held him for hours, trying to comfort the boy who’d lost so much as well as the angry man who’d gained a fortune because he’d been consumed by a fierce, if misplaced, hatred.

  “My father had nothing to do with your father’s death,” she whispered. “He didn’t.”

  “You have your view, and I have mine,” he said. “The important thing is that I don’t hold you responsible for your father’s sins any longer.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  After that, he was silent. Soon afterward he let her go and rolled onto his side.

  She lay awake for hours. Where would they go from here? He had hated her family for years. Had he really let go of all those harsh feelings? Had she deluded herself into thinking he wasn’t her enemy?

  What price would she pay for sleeping with a man who probably only saw her as an instrument for revenge?

  Three

  When Kira woke up naked in bed with Quinn, she felt unsettled and very self-conscious. Propping herself on an elbow, she watched him warily in the dim rosy half light of dawn. All her doubts returned a hundredfold.

  How could she have let things go this far? How could she have risked pregnancy?

  What if… No, she couldn’t be that unlucky.

  Besides, it did no good to regret what had happened, she reminded herself again. If she hadn’t slept with him she would never have known such ecstasy was possible.

  Now, at least, she knew. Even if it wasn’t love, it had been so great she felt an immense tenderness well up in her in spite of her renewed doubts.

  He was absurdly handsome with his thick, unruly black hair falling across his brow, with his sharp cheekbones and sculpted mouth. She’d been touched when he’d shown her his vulnerability last night. Just looking at him now was enough to make her stomach flutter with fresh desire.

  She was about to stroke his hair, when, without warning, his obscenely long lashes snapped open, and he met her gaze with that directness that still startled her. Maybe because there were so many imperfections she wanted to keep hidden. In the next instant, his expression softened, disarming her.

  “Good morning, darlin’.” His rough, to-die-for, sexy baritone caressed her.

  A jolt sizzled through her even before he reached out a bronzed hand to pull her face to his so he could kiss her lightly on the lips. Never had she wanted anyone as much as she wanted him.

  “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she warned.

  “Neither the hell have I. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I simply want you. I can’t do without you. You should know that after last night.”

  She was amazed because she felt exactly the same. Still, with those doubts still lingering, she felt she had to protect herself by protesting.

  “Last night was probably a mistake,” she murmured.

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a complication, a challenge. Or a good thing. In any case, it’s too late to worry about it. I want you more now than ever.”

  “But for how long?”

  “Is anything certain?”

  He kissed her hard. Before she could protest again, he rolled on top of her and was inside her, claiming her fiercely, his body piercing her to the bed, his massive erection filling her. When he rode her violently, she bucked like a wild thing, too, her doubts dissolving like mist as primal desire swept her past reason.

  “I’m sorry,” he said afterward. “I wanted you too much.”

  He had, however, at the last second, remembered to use a condom. This time, he didn’t hold her tenderly or make small talk or confide sweet nothings as he had last night. In fact, he seemed hellishly annoyed at himself.

  Was he already tired of her? Would there be a new blonde in his bed tonight? At the thought, a sob caught in her throat.

  “You can have the master bathroom. I’ll make coffee,” he said tersely.

  Just like that, he wanted her gone. Since she’d researched him and had known his habits, she shouldn’t feel shocked or hurt. Hadn’t he warned her he was incapable of feeling close to anyone? She should be grateful for the sublime sexual experience and let the rest go.

  Well, she had her pride. She wasn’t about to cling to him or show that she cared. But she did care. Oh, how she cared. Her family’s worst enemy had quickly gained a curious hold on her heart.

  Without a word, she rose and walked naked across the vast expanse of thick, white carpet, every female cell vividly aware that, bored with her though he might be, he didn’t tear his eyes from her until she reached the bathroom and shut the door. Once inside she turned the lock and leaned heavily against the wall in a state of collapse.

  She took a deep breath and stared at her pale, guilt-stricken reflection, so different from the glowing wanton of last night.

  She’d known the kind of guy he was, in spite of his seductive words. How could she have opened herself to such a hard man? Her father’s implacable enemy?

  What had she done?

  By the time she’d showered, brushed her hair and dressed, he was in the kitchen, looking no worse for wear. Indeed, he seemed energized by what they had shared. Freshly showered, he wore a white shirt and crisply pressed dark slacks. He’d shaved, and his glossy black hair was combed. He looked so civilized, she felt the crazy urge to run her hands through his hair, just to muss it up and leave her mark.

  The television was on, and he was watching the latest stock market report while he held his cell phone against his ear. Behind him, a freshly made pot of aromatic coffee sat on the gleaming white counter.

  She was about to step inside when he flicked the remote, killing the sound of the television. She heard his voice, as sharp and hard as it had been with the caller
yesterday in his office.

  “Habib, business is business,” he snapped. “I know I have to convince the shareholders and the public I’m some shining white knight. That’s why I agreed to marry a Murray daughter and why her parents, especially her father, who wants an easy transition of power, suggested Jacinda and persuaded her to accept me. However, if the older Murray sister agrees to marry me instead, why should it matter to you or to anyone else…other than to Jacinda, who will no doubt be delighted to have her life back?”

  Habib, whoever he was, must have argued, because Quinn’s next response was much angrier. “Yes, I know the family history and why you consider Jacinda the preferable choice, but since nobody else knows, apparently not even Kira, it’s of no consequence. So, if I’ve decided to marry the older sister instead of the younger, and this decision will make the shareholders and employees just as happy, why the hell should you care?”

  The man must have countered again, because Quinn’s low tone was even more cutting. “No, I haven’t asked her yet. It’s too soon. But when I do, I’ll remind her that I told her yesterday I’d demand a price for freeing her sister. She’ll have to pay it, that’s all. She’ll have no choice but to do what’s best for her family and her sister. Hell, she’ll do anything for their approval.”

  One sister or the other—and he didn’t care which one. That he could speak of marrying her instead of Jaycee as a cold business deal before he’d even bothered to propose made Kira’s tender heart swell with hurt and outrage. That he would use her desire for her family’s love and acceptance to his own advantage was too horrible to endure.

  Obviously, she was that insignificant to him. But hadn’t she known that? So why did it hurt so much?

  He’d said she was special. Nobody had ever made her feel so cherished before.

  Thinking herself a needy, romantic fool, she shut her eyes. Unready to face him or confess what she’d overheard and how much it bothered her, Kira backed out of the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. In her present state she was incapable of acting rationally and simply demanding an explanation.

  He was a planner. Her seduction must have been a calculated move. No longer could she believe he’d been swept off his feet by her as she had by him. She was skinny and plain. He’d known she desired him, and he was using that to manipulate her.