‘Dios!’ His voice throbbed with stress. She had made him feel a heel, guilty and ashamed of himself. Which was precisely what she had intended, ever since she’d realised he’d got her motives for being up here all twisted in his head!
That he must have a shred of decency in him somewhere, or he would never have felt the remotest pang of anxiety on her behalf, wasn’t going to cut any ice with her because surely he richly deserved all the guilt she could manage to heap on his arrogant, much too handsome head, she decided very firmly as she closed her ears to his soft words of earnest reassurance.
But she couldn’t ignore the way he swept her up into his arms and strode over the roof to the head of the stairway. How could she when he was cradling her close to that superbly made body? Especially as he wasn’t wearing a stitch and every movement he made sent something that was a terrifying mix of fear and excitement scudding through her flesh, permeating her bones, weakening her. Moreover, if she breathed at all she could almost taste the elusive male muskiness of him, and she wasn’t acting at all when she told him, panicking, ‘Put me down. Please! I’m not an invalid. I can walk, you know!’
‘Yes, I do know.’ He held her even more tightly, if that were possible, as he descended the stairs; a furtively assessing upward glance revealed his set and sober features, the bones taut beneath the skin, and she quickly forgot to panic because she had just proved that she could handle him perfectly and rapidly suppressed a smile of total satisfaction.
She had got him worried, really worried, and, hopefully, very ashamed of himself. And that was just fine by her because he deserved every bit of sobering anxiety coming in his direction after the high-handed, careless, not to mention thoroughly insulting way he had mistreated and manipulated her!
So she would continue in her act as a nearhysterical neurotic with the tendencies of a lemming just for the immense satisfaction of seeing him grovel, make a fool of himself as he had tried to make a fool of her when he had dismissed her body with a look in his eyes that had said, Offer away, only I don’t want it.
For that insult alone she would make him pay! And the day would soon dawn when he’d be unlocking doors, begging her to go, happy to release his hostage because he couldn’t stand the guilt, would keep wondering when she would be driven to leap from the battlements again, or strangle herself with the bedsheets! His nerves would never be able to stand it!
She hoped she would give him a deep-rooted, lifelong guilt complex.
Descending to the bedroom, he closed the door to the stairway with his foot and carried her over to the bed, settling her gently back against the pillows, brushing her hair back out of her eyes with a tender sweep of his hand. The prickle of searing heat from the touch of his skin against hers made her flinch and he sucked in his sensual lower lip and murmured deeply, ‘Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t break promises.’
She hadn’t imagined he was about to. Somehow, she had always known he wouldn’t do anything to cause her physical harm. The fear she had started to feel came from another direction entirely. She wasn’t sure yet which direction that actually was. It was enough for now that his slightest touch did strange and unwelcome things to her.
But she wasn’t about to enlighten him; she wasn’t that much of a fool. Besides, she had her act to consider. So she gave a wobbly sigh, feebly closed her eyes and, after a long moment fraught with something that felt like deep consideration, sensed him move away. She risked a glance between her fluttering lashes.
He was pulling a pair of pyjama bottoms from a drawer in an antique chest and she swiftly closed her eyes again. The sight of all that virile manly nakedness was decidedly unsettling.
Tense moments later her heart jumped up into her throat as she felt the mattress dip and she opened her eyes in a wild tangle of lashes, her worst suspicions allayed because he was merely sitting beside her, marginally decent in pyjama bottoms that rode a little too low for her liking on his spare, lean hips. But that was better than before. Before…
‘Drink this.’ He was holding a generously curved crystal glass and she looked doubtfully at the amber liquid and hauled the bedsheet right up to her chin. ‘Brandy, purely for medicinal purposes,’ he added smoothly. He held the glass to her lips but she clamped her jaws together. He could feel as guilty as he liked because that, as far as she was concerned, was a wonderful bonus, but she refused to have him ministering to her.
He sighed, black eyes probing her wide aquamarine stare as if he was trying to solve some knotty problem or other, a tiny frown drawing the dark wings of his brows together. And then a flicker of amusement softened the sexy corners of his mouth and he practically purred, ‘You didn’t touch the meal I brought earlier.’ He shook his head regretfully, one midnight lock of hair tumbling appealingly over his eyes. ‘You were too frightened, too anxious?’ he suggested sympathetically, and she nodded, laughing inside because he was picking up all the right ideas, letting him think what it suited her to have him believe when in reality she’d been too darned incensed to swallow anything.
Though, in hindsight, if she’d gulped down that bottle of wine she would, at least, have been able to sleep. But if she’d been snoring away in a drunken stupor she wouldn’t have gone up on the roof and been able to take his mistaken apprehensions and use them to her own very distinct advantage.
‘There’s no need for you to be either,’ he went on cajolingly. ‘And your blood sugar must be low. So drink this up like a good girl. It will do you good, relax you, help you to sleep.’
The sleep bit sounded good to her, so good. It had been a long, tiring, traumatic day and waves of exhaustion were sweeping darkly over her.
She heaved herself into a sitting position, too tired now to bother about keeping the sheet firmly tucked beneath her chin, and grasped the glass he was offering with fingers that were numb with fatigue.
No worries, she thought as she sipped at the fiery liquid, hoping it would deaden her over-active brain and allow her body the rest it craved. Not a single one, now she came to think of it. Thanks to that episode on the roof and her own subsequent acting—playing the part of a feeble female possessed of a character as weak as water—his sense of shame and guilt would have him unlocking doors in the morning, driving her back to the airport himself and, in all likelihood, forgetting his threat to pound her father into the ground.
It was truly wonderful the way things had worked out, she congratulated herself as she gave him back the empty glass and settled herself comfortably into the bed, sighing with sheer pleasure because the best bit, the bit she liked most, was the fact that she had him in the palm of her hand now. He’d been completely, utterly fooled by her quick thinking, the way she had taken advantage of the situation that had presented itself!
But her wits made a protesting leap when he joined her, sliding beneath the sheets and flicking out the light, his big male body only an inch away from hers. And before she could g
ive voice to a strangled protest he twisted over on his side, cuddling her into the curve of his body, murmuring softly, ‘Sleep now, poor little baby. There’s no need to be frightened, is there? See how safely I hold you?’ As if to emphasise that particular point, the arm that was holding her tightened, the palm of his hand curving against her tummy.
‘You don’t need to hold me,’ she managed thickly, physically having to force the objection out through the heavy tide of melting sensation that had its enervating source directly beneath his hand. And she wished, how she wished, she hadn’t swallowed all that brandy so quickly. That, coupled with her mental and physical exhaustion, was making it impossible for her to find the resources to get herself smartly out of here and back into the adjoining sitting-room.
His long legs tucked more closely in behind hers as he contradicted smoothly, ‘I have every need. I can’t risk you running up to the roof and leaping out into the void again, can I?’ He wriggled a little, as if thoroughly enjoying the feel of her neatly rounded bottom pressed up, as it unavoidably was, against his—well, she wouldn’t let herself think of that.
She suggested on a highly suspect gasp, ‘You could lock the door to the stairs and hide the key. That way you wouldn’t have to worry!’
‘Now how could I do that,’ he questioned softly, ‘when you have so graphically told me how the very thought of being locked in anywhere gives you hysterics? There will be no more locks to keep you in, only my arms to hold you, my body close to yours to give you all the reassurance you need.’
Reassurance? She had her doubts about that, she thought hazily, fighting now to stay wide awake and fully alert as his breathing settled down to a drowsy rhythm.
He had got her where he had intended her to be all along: cuddled up beside him in this sinfully luxurious bed.
But his reasons weren’t the same as they had undoubtedly been before. No, of course they weren’t. Then he had big-headedly expected her to buy her freedom with her body. Now his motives were entirely different, weren’t they?