Kathryn Ross - Tycoon's Choice - Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal

No, she couldn’t let herself think that way. There was only tonight to get through.

Only?

Then tomorrow morning she would find some way of leaving, she promised herself, even if she had to abandon her cases and walk…

‘Planning your escape?’

She jumped, and as her colour started to rise he laughed. ‘I’ve hit the nail on the head if that blush is anything to go by.’

How could he walk in and out of her mind like that? she wondered agitatedly as she accepted the cup of coffee he handed her.

He sat down beside her and, as though answering her question, went on, ‘You have a very expressive face. Just then you looked fiercely determined…

‘But I remember when you used to look eager and expectant, full of anticipation, hungry with desire and passion. Then afterwards, soft and dreamy, sated with love…’

‘Stop it!’ she cried.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Does the remembrance make you uncomfortable? As you profess to have loved Noel, do you regret two-timing him?’

‘I regret ever meeting you,’ she cried.

‘Life’s full of regrets. When we were in bed together, did you ever think of him? Regret that he wasn’t the one holding you, making love to you?’

‘Many times,’ she flashed and, seeing the way his mouth tightened, realised with a feeling of triumph that she’d scored a hit, even if it was only his pride that was hurt.

‘Was Alan a good lover?’

Rattled by the unexpected question, she answered sharply, ‘That’s nothing to do with you.’

‘How many other men have you had apart from him?’

‘How many other women have you had apart from—?’ About to say ‘Fiona’, she brought herself up short.

‘Apart from…?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.

When she said nothing, he suggested, ‘You? Well, I—’

She shook her head violently. ‘I don’t want to know. I really don’t care.’

In truth, the idea of him making love to another woman still had the power to hurt. But his question had smacked far too much of the pot calling the kettle black.

Slowly, he said, ‘I can’t say I’ve lived like a monk, Madeleine, but neither am I any Casanova. One woman in my life is enough…’

You could have fooled me, she thought bleakly.

‘But not just any woman will do. In fact my bed’s been empty for quite a while…’

If that was the truth, where was Fiona? Unless she was once again in some clinic?

‘The only thing I’ve had to warm it has been the dream of having you there…’

Though she knew now how faithless he was, her heart seemed to turn over in her breast.

Unable to stand any more, she put her coffee-cup down so that it rattled in the saucer and jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going up to the flat.’

‘Not just yet.’ He caught her wrist and, before she could brace herself, pulled her onto his lap and held her there, both hands encircling her waist.

After a moment’s useless struggle she sat stiff and straight, her head turned away.

‘Relax,’ he said, looking at the pure curve of her cheek. ‘At one time you used to enjoy sitting on my lap in front of the fire…Especially if I—’

‘Well, now I’d hate it!’ she flashed.

‘If I weren’t a perfect gentleman I might move my hands a few inches higher and see whether or not that’s the truth.’

Alarm made her heart race with suffocating speed. Her voice hoarse, she said, ‘You’d be wasting your time. As far as you’re concerned, I’m immune.’

‘I’m not sure I believe you. Your heart’s already beating faster, which, as you swore you weren’t afraid of me, suggests that you want me.’

‘I don’t want you. I don’t love you.’

‘You didn’t love me then, but you’re a very passionate woman and your body always responded to mine without reservations.’

As she made to shake her head, he said, ‘Don’t bother to deny it. There are certain signs that couldn’t be faked. It’s something I’m sure of, and I don’t believe that’s altered. I could easily make you want me…give you a lot of pleasure…’

Boldly, she rejoined, ‘My body possibly …but not my mind…and you once told me that a lot of sexual pleasure is generated in the mind…

‘Now I’d like to go to bed.’

‘Exactly where I want you.’ Taking the pins from her hair, so that it tumbled round her shoulders in a pale cloud, he added softly, ‘It’s high time you made some reparation.’

Jolted, she asked through stiff lips, ‘What is there to make reparation for?’

‘No man likes to be made a fool of, to be taken for a ride then shrugged off—’

‘I didn’t—’ she began.

‘Oh, come! When your long-term lover returned to England you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I have to say it rankled…Now I expect you to make up for it…’

So he was out for revenge, out to satisfy his wounded pride.

Her voice choked, she said, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. I won’t go to bed with you.’ Then in desperation, ‘You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do.’

‘I’ve no intention of using force. It won’t be necessary.’ He sounded so sure of himself.

Shudders running through her, she begged, ‘Oh, please, Rafe, don’t do this to me. I want to sleep in my own bed…alone…’

When he released her, hardly daring to believe she’d won, Madeleine struggled to her feet.

Rising at the same time, he put a light hand at her waist. ‘I’ll see you up.’

Very conscious of his hand in the small of her back, she was partway across the hall when he stopped her, and said quizzically, ‘I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to kiss Mary, and it’s a shame to waste it.’

As he turned her into his arms and tilted her chin, she caught sight of the mistletoe hanging over them. A second later everything was wiped from her mind as his mouth covered hers.

Though his kiss was light to begin with, it had a devastating effect on her, and, shaken to the very core, she parted her lips beneath his the way a flower opened to the sun.

He made a sound almost like a groan and, running his fingers into her hair, deepened the kiss, taking his own sweet time, until her head was spinning.

There was nothing in the world but this man, his lips, his arms, the warmth and strength of his body, the memories of how it had been, and what he’d once meant to her.

When he finally freed her mouth, blind and dizzy, she swayed and clung to him.

He steadied her, then, lifting her high in his arms, carried her up the stairs. It was like something that was happening in a dream, something she was experiencing, yet not quite real.

When he set her down and flicked on the light she saw that she was in a strange room, a masculine room with a dark blue and white decor, a central chandelier and a king-sized four-poster bed with a blue and silver canopy.

‘You told me you wanted to sleep alone in your own bed. If you still want that, you’re free to go.’

Her whole body crying out for him, she could feel the heat running through her, the passionate hunger, the overwhelming need.

She knew with blinding clarity that she was still in love with him, and no matter that he didn’t love her, no matter that he just wanted to use her, he was the only man she would ever love. She was forever tied to him.

‘Do you still want that?’ he repeated.

No!

She wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken the word aloud, or whether he’d read her surrender, but, his eyes never leaving her face, he began to strip off his clothes.

Her throat dry, her heart beating fast, she stood wide-eyed and defenceless, as if bewitched, and watched him.

He discarded his shoes and socks before taking off and tossing aside the black sweater. Then slowly he unfastened the belt of his trousers, dealt with the clip and zip, slid them down over lean hips and stepped out of them. A moment later his dark silk boxer shorts followed.