Yet he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her.
Antonio turned and walked to the window. It was ridiculous. He’d been working long hours lately, what with flying back and forth between the States and South America while he tied up half a dozen deals that involved not just his shipping company but his real-estate holdings, too.
Was that why he was behaving with something less than his usual logic? Of course it was. The realization came as a relief.
All right, then. He had made a mistake. Tomorrow, he would rectify it. He would take her back to the mainland, set in motion the arrangements necessary to get her out of his life once and for all.
With a smile of relief, he turned and looked at her.
“I have reached a decision, Kyra.”
“So have I!”
“Let me finish, please,” he said calmly. “Tomorrow, I intend to—”
“I don’t care what your intentions are, Antonio.” Kyra’s eyes flashed as she got to her feet. “I’ve changed my mind about our bargain. Take me back to Caracas.”
She kept her eyes on his face and waited, her heart pounding. All the time he’d been standing here, brooding over her fate like some medieval tyrant, she’d been working up to this moment.
What she’d agreed to was stupid. Dealing with her brothers was one thing; giving in to the demands of Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey was quite another.
There was only one way to deal with men like him. You had to stand up to them and tell them what you wanted. If you didn’t, they’d roll over you without a second thought.
“Well?” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed. “Did you hear me? I demand—”
“I told you once, Kyra.” His voice was sharp. Who did she think she was? Who did she think he was, a boy to take her orders? “Watch how you speak to me.”
“Why? Because you own this island?” Kyra flung out her arms. “Because you think you can force everybody to do your bidding?” She shot to her feet and stalked toward him. “You’re so used to playing tin god that you can’t imagine anyone standing up to you!”
Antonio fought to contain his temper, which was edging up toward the danger level.
“You try to blame your situation on me,” he said coldly, “but you are in a mess of your own making. You have made foolish, even childish, decisions.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me!”
“I am simply saying—”
“I know what you’re saying! That the world should shut up and salute when you give an order! Well, I’m not saluting. And I’m not staying here another minute!”
The last vestige of Antonio’s control snapped. “I will not be spoken to like that by anyone, Kyra, least of all you!”
“And I will not take orders,” Kyra said, her breathing rapid, ”especially from a man like you!”
His hands whipped out and clasped her shoulders, hard.
“Be careful,” he said between his teeth. “Be very careful of what you say.”
“Let go of me, you—you bully!”
His hands bit into her flesh. “Kyra, I warn you—”
“Don’t you warn me, you—you no-good bastard!”
Antonio flung her from him. “Dolores will awaken you in the morning,” he said, his voice sharp as a razor, “and assign you your duties. I promise you, Kyra, you are going to spend a week on this island that you will never forget!”
The door slammed shut after him. Kyra stood absolutely still, fists clenched at her sides, and then she gave a little shriek of pure fury, flew to the door, and threw the lock.
“The same goes for you, Señor Dictator,” she yelled.
She put her ear to the door, listening as Antonio’s footsteps receded.
Then, at last, she let the tears come.
CHAPTER SIX
KYRA had no intention of waiting for the housekeeper to wake her the next morning
She might have signed on to be Antonio’s servant-of-the-week, she thought grimly as she sat up in bed, but she would not let him make her feel like a prisoner. She didn’t need a wake-up call or a matron to escort her downstairs
Her bedroom glowed with the soft, golden light of the Caribbean morning. It was, she had to admit, a handsome room, furnished in a dazzling pastiche of periods and styles that somehow came together with a breathtaking beauty.
Kyra walked to the window and looked out at the view. Her room overlooked a garden at the back of the house, which blazed with the lush colors of the tropics. Beyond, an emerald lawn stretched toward the azure sea visible in the distance.
A man was walking slowly through the gardens toward the house. Kyra stepped quickly back behind the curtains. It was Antonio; she knew it instantly, even though she had never seen him dressed so casually before. But even in denim cutoffs, a white T-shirt and tennis shoes, he looked…Her pulse gave an erratic little flutter. There was ony one word to describe how he looked
Magnificent.
He paused, tucked his hands into his rear pockets, and turned to look out over the rolling green lawn to the sea. The breeze ruffled his dark hair and he lifted one hand to push it impatiently back from his forehead Kyra’s gaze flickered over him. The seams of his T-shirt strained across his wide shoulders as he stood there, hands on his narrow hips, his muscular legs planted firmly in a stance that emphasized the overwhelming power of his masculinity.
Kyra touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. If only they had met some other way. If only they’d met in a setting like this, relaxed and easy and…
Was she losing her mind completely? The setting wouldn’t change the facts. Antonio Rodrigo Cordoba del Rey was like his name: aristocratic, imperious, unforgiving. He was an inflexible, cold-blooded tyrant.
Cold-blooded? No. He was hardly cold-blooded. He had held her in his arms and kissed her with a fiery Latin passion that had stolen her breath and melted her will. Kyra’s throat tightened. Was it a talent he’d been born with—or had he refined the art of seduction on more women than any man had the right to possess?
Impatiently, she swung away from the window.
Who cared how many women had trooped through his life? She didn’t, that was certain. All she cared about was getting through the next few days with as little contact with Señor del Rey as possible.
Her stride was swift and determined as she made her way across the bedroom to the bath, detouring past the shards of porcelain that lay on the tile floor, all that remained of the clock she’d hurled at Antonio the night before.
Let it lie there, she thought with a toss of her head. Antonio’s poor wretch of a housekeeper could deal with cleaning it up. She’d be damned if she would!
Briskly, she stripped off the bra and panties she’d slept in, tossed them onto a chair outside the bathroom, and stepped into the shower.
Sleeping in the underwear she’d worn all day—and would have to wear again, she thought, her nose wrinkling with distaste—had not been appealing But it was
better than sleeping in the raw.
She knew it was silly. After all, there’d been a locked door between her and Antonio all night. And she hadn’t really feared he’d try to force himself on her. Oh, she’d taunted him about kidnapping, sure, but even while she’d done it, she’d known without question that for a man like him, the very thought was ridiculous.
Antonio del Rey had a list of faults as long as her arm, but he’d never take a woman against her will. He wouldn’t have to when he had a much more effective method of guaranteeing surrender. He’d used it on her, kissing her until she’d felt as if she were drowning in a torrent of passion.
“Dammit,” she said sharply, and blanked out the shameful memory. He’d never have gotten anywhere if she’d been herself. The incident was over and done with; there was no sense dwelling on it.
Kyra shut off the water. The bathroom, a huge marbleand-glass affair, had every convenience She’d been too weary and upset to notice last night, but now, wrapped in an oversize bath sheet, she poked and sniffed among the glass vials and jars of lotions, powders and creams.
Evidently, women guests were not a rarity in this house—though she could not imagine a woman staying here. Antonio would want her in his room, in his bed. It was what the woman would want, too, to lie beside him through the long, dark night, to awaken in his arms with the heat of the sun and the heat of his kisses stirring her to arousal…
What nonsense! Kyra glared at her reflection in the mirrored wall.
“You are in desperate need of a caffeine fix,” she said grimly. Her reflection nodded in agreement and Kyra grinned, scooped a white velour robe from the back of the door, and slipped it on. Still smiling, she fluffed her damp hair and walked into the bedroom.
“Good morning.”
Antonio was sitting on the unmade bed, his back propped against the headboard, his hands laced lazily behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.
The sight of him stunned her. She gaped at him as if he’d materialized from a magician’s hat.
“I trust you slept well?”