Robyn Donald - His Most Exquisite Conquest - A Delicious Deception / The Girl He'd Overlooked / Stepping out of the Shadows

‘Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t even know you,’ she prevaricated with colour suffusing her cheeks as the car growled through the gates towards the exclusive villa standing in its prominent position, high in the hills.

‘Maybe not,’ he agreed, pulling up outside and cutting the engine, then making every nerve in her body zing as he threw his door open and added with nerve-racking purpose, ‘But I think the time has come to change all that.’

‘YOU’VE got it all wrong!’ Rayne threw over her shoulder, flying ahead of him into the villa. Her blood was pounding in her ears, her racing heart making her sound as though she’d just run five miles.

‘Have I?’ King demanded grimly, the strength of his own hormones putting a flush across his high cheekbones. ‘I’m not a callow youth, Rayne, and if your story holds any water—as I’d like to believe it does—I can’t think of any other reason why you constantly feel the need to antagonise me.’

Oh, dear heaven …! She stopped dead, breathing hard, her lashes coming down over her eyes, because he could see it, even though she was refusing to. But how could it be this strong, she wondered hopelessly, when she despised him as much as she despised Mitchell Clayborne? It was as if all of her pent-up teenage frustrations about him had rushed back and were screaming to be dealt with. But how could he be so astute? How could he tell?

Dry-mouthed, she touched her tongue to her top lip as he turned her round to face him.

‘You terrify me,’ she said, startling herself, because surely that was Lorri speaking. The hapless kid who had adored him from a distance, and who would have died for him, given half the chance. Not the mature twenty-five-year-old who knew him for what he was and hated him with every trembling bone in her body.

‘I know,’ he acknowledged sagaciously. ‘But it’s yourself you’re afraid of, Rayne. The fear of an involvement that wasn’t in your plans. Well, believe me, my beautiful girl, the thought of what you’ve been doing to me since I got here—and what you can still do to me—terrifies me, too.’

She laughed, but her throat felt clogged. ‘You? Terrified?’

‘Does that seem so strange?’

‘No, just inconceivable,’ she responded, wishing her credit cards were sorted so she could tell him where to go and just get the hell out of there. As it was, she felt like a butterfly caught in a fly-trap whose promise of the sweetest pleasure only hid danger beneath. Her head was spinning and her legs felt weak, while every organ in between was throbbing with the almost uncontrollable need to reach for him, pull him down to her and drown beneath the pleasure of his ravaging mouth, breathe in his heady, far too tantalizing cologne.

‘Why? Because I’m a man? And obviously a very experienced one at that?’

‘Something like that.’ She didn’t know what she was saying any more. Couldn’t seem to tell him where to go, or drag herself away from him—even if she’d wanted to. Because that was just it, she realised suddenly. She didn’t.

‘I might be a man of the world, but I’m willing to bet you could give me a run for my money.’

Was that what he thought? Rayne swallowed, guessing that he would probably laugh if she told him how few sexual encounters she had had in her lifetime.

‘And that’s your experience speaking, of course.’

‘Of course.’

Well, that’s where you’re wrong! she wanted to fling at him, wishing she had the nerve to play along with him and do what some other women in her position might do. Flatter his ego and enjoy a brief spell of the pleasure he could give her, then watch his anger explode when he found out who she really was and realised she’d made a fool of him. Oh, to hurt him as he’d hurt her! Hurt her father when he’d joined Mitch in taking what had never been theirs to take! But common sense warned her that men of King Clayborne’s character couldn’t be hurt, and that even to entertain such a tempting idea was no less than crazy.

Instead she said, ‘Well, dream on, King. I didn’t come here to have a fling with you or anybody else, and you’re very much mistaken if you think I did!’

‘Not intentionally, no.’

Pulling herself out of his disturbing sphere, she viewed him warily from under her lashes. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she challenged shakily.

‘I’m sure you didn’t intend to charm your way in here only to find yourself fighting an attraction that is bigger than you are. Bigger than both of us, if I’m honest. But you’re giving off pheromones, Rayne, that no man this side of ninety could possibly ignore. And quite simply, darling, I wouldn’t dream of insulting you by pretending to ignore them. And if you refuse to accept the effect you’re having on me, I’m sure you’re way too experienced not to acknowledge this.’

It was inevitable what was going to happen. But even that acknowledgement couldn’t have prepared her for the onslaught on her senses when his head dipped and his hard masculine mouth finally covered hers.

It was like two universes colliding. A barrage of riotous emotions and sensations that rocked her to the very core of her femininity, driving everything from her mind but the need to be kissed and stroked and caressed by this man and this man alone—because she still wanted him, much, much more than she had ever wanted him before, and with a hunger that excited and thrilled her even as it appalled.

And he wanted her too …

She didn’t have to be experienced to recognise the rock-hard evidence of just how much as his arm tightened around her, locking her to him, and shamelessly she realised that that was what he had been referring to a moment ago, rather than just the inevitable joining of their hungry, ravenous mouths.

With a small murmur, which was half-need, half-despair, she wound her arms around his neck, glorying in the sensations that his six-feet-plus of power-packed masculinity sent coursing through her as she moved convulsively against his hard warmth.

‘Can you deny it now, Rayne?’ His voice was hoarse, a ragged whisper against the softness of her cheek. ‘What is there to lose in admitting that you want me every bit as much as you’ve made me want you?’

And just how much he hadn’t even realised until now. He’d had women in his time who’d given him pleasure and to whom he’d given pleasure in return. But that was all it had been. Pleasure. This girl, however, had a way about her that excited him and made his anatomy harden to such an extent that it hurt.

But why? Why, when to seduce her had been a cold, calculated plan? When he’d intended to remain detached and—if he was honest with himself—to have her begging, virtually down on her knees, for him to take her?

Well, that just showed him, he thought, mocking himself for his lack of immunity, his inability to stay unaffected, when all he wanted to do right now was rip off her clothes and carry her up to the nearest bed and feel her warm softness closing in around him, her body bucking beneath his as he drove into her.

Steady on, King …

He was breathing raggedly as he lifted his head.

‘So what’s it to be, Rayne? Your bed or mine?’ He was amazed at how cool—how indifferent—he managed to sound.

There was nothing cool, though, or indifferent, about the hand that was suddenly making contact with his left cheek, taking him so unawares he nearly overbalanced.

‘How dare you!’ Rayne found she was trembling so much she could hardly get her words out, realising that it wasn’t just his effrontery that was responsible for her impulsive action. It was also aggravated by the knowledge that she had invited what had happened between them every inch of the way, so that her anger was directed more at herself and her abandoned response to his kiss rather than at him.