The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress Page 13
Sable, who’d that very evening endured an extremely uncomfortable meeting with Brent’s formidable mother, sent him a wry, amused glance. ‘Moments only, I’ll bet.’
What would it be like to have a family—possibly irritating, even infuriating, but always there?
Well, she wasn’t ever likely to know. And this was far too intimate a conversation.
She walked across to the edge of the terrace and said, ‘Thank you for everything. You’ll be getting a proper letter of thanks from the Foundation, of course.’
‘I don’t need one.’ His sounded abstracted, but when he turned her around his face was hard and honed, the eyes narrow and burnished.
Sable swallowed, and the excitement she’d managed to keep under control for the past days slipped its leash.
His hands on her shoulders tightened. ‘There are other, more interesting ways of thanking someone.’
Sable knew she should fight, knew this was dangerous, but she wanted him—no, needed him—wrung by a hunger greater than the warnings of self-preservation.
Sighing, she yielded to that inner voice that told her this was right, that whatever happened she would never regret surrendering.
The kiss opened the floodgates of emotion; in that moment of painful revelation she knew this wasn’t a facile lust, a mere animal attraction. No matter what he was, what he’d done, she loved Kain Gerard. And she would always love him.
As his mouth explored hers, she accepted her fate.
His arms hardened around her. He lifted his head and looked down at her from beneath half-closed eyelids. Lips barely moving, he said in a raw growl, ‘I want you. Now.’
Wanting was safe. Wanting wasn’t love. ‘I want you too,’ she whispered like a vow.
He picked her up and carried her into the house. In the dim haven of her bedroom he lowered her to her feet, letting her feel the fierce heat and purpose of his big, aroused body. She needed to say something—anything—but the only sound that emerged was an inarticulate murmur, soon lost against his kiss.
When he raised his head again his voice was several tones deeper. ‘Much as I’d like to tear this pretty thing off you, I assume it needs to be treated with care?’
‘Yes.’ Desire might be clouding her brain but the dress wasn’t hers. She eased herself out of the clinging silk and set it down on the blanket chest at the base of the bed.
Something wild and erotic inside her burst into flame when she heard the harsh change to his breathing. In nothing more than sleek little bra and pants, she slipped off her high-heeled sandals.
‘My turn,’ he said, and bent his head to kiss her shoulder.
Oh, he was so used to this; she banished the bleak little thought as one deft movement of his hands unclipped her bra. And when his teeth grazed the skin he’d kissed, little shudders of anticipation snaked down her spine.
In a smoky voice, she said, ‘Take off your shirt.’
When he’d shrugged free of it she reached out to touch him, flattening her palm over the place where his heart beat heavily. His skin was hot, slightly roughened by hair—infinitely sensuous to her roaming fingertips.
Intent on what she was doing, she searched out the smooth, taut swell of muscle in one strong shoulder, then the other, following the scroll of hair that narrowed into a line pointing to the waistband of his black trousers.
‘Look at me,’ he commanded.
She lifted her head, and his smile thinned as he pulled her against him and took her mouth in a kiss that was both challenge and claim, a kiss that demanded everything she had to give him—and promised the same to her.
A lying kiss, because he despised her…
All conscious thought was flooded by urgent signals from Sable’s body, and she sank into the turbulent seas of desire, lost to everything but the heat of Kain’s passion and her own wildfire response.
Somehow she found herself on the four-poster bed watching him shuck off the rest of his clothes, her breath catching at the sight of him in the moonlight that poured through the open French doors, a sheen of silver over his shoulders and down the lean, powerful lines of his body. Her blood sang through her in a wild, siren song, and when he came down onto the bed she held out her arms to him and gave herself up to this dangerous, desperate pleasure.
Slumbrous eyes almost covered by heavy lashes, she watched the bent black head as he found her breasts with his mouth and his hands. Excitement shortened her breath, set her heart pounding in an erratic rhythm. She ran a shaking hand across his shoulders, exulting in the subtle coil and flow of the muscles beneath the sleek skin.
Already she knew this would be the last time; even if he wanted more, she’d have to reject him. Too much of his overwhelming passion, she thought with a voluptuous shudder as his lips closed around one jutting nipple, and she’d be addicted.
He lifted his head. ‘Are you cold? Shall I close the doors?’
If she were any hotter she’d burst into flames. ‘No,’ she said drowsily, and kissed his shoulder. ‘You just make me feel…so much.’
He smiled, the subtle sensation of his lips against her skin so erotic she had to catch back an involuntary groan. ‘Good. Because that’s how I feel too.’
He girdled her waist with a sash of kisses, then found the soft mound between her legs. Sable stiffened, but his exploration sent more excited little shudders through her. He knew what to do—how to make her feel as though she was dying of pleasure, and then, as though it wasn’t enough, she needed more…
She moaned, the sudden pleading thrust of her hips taking her by surprise.
‘Kain,’ she whispered hoarsely, the single syllable almost broken.
‘Not yet,’ he told her.
Frustrated, importunate, she grabbed him and tugged him towards her.
For charged seconds they froze, staring at each other in a silent, fierce battle of wills. Then Kain said something under his breath and moved over her, thrusting into her eager body. She arched high to take him, hands linking behind his back to pull him closer, to take him inside and never ever let him go…
In perfect unison, giving and accepting at the same time, they soared through waves of ecstasy to finally reach an incandescent, rapturous climax together.
And then it was spent. Locked in his arms, Sable felt tears gather in aching intensity behind her lashes, tears of loss and longing for something that would never happen.
If only he’d stay the night with her…
But what she really wanted was for him to love her with honesty and sincerity, with everything he had and was.
As his chest stopped heaving, she thought bitterly, Ask for him to believe your innocence, why don’t you?
It wasn’t going to happen.
When he rolled over onto his back beside her she shivered, and without speaking he looped an arm around her and held her close to him. Face pressed against his shoulder, she warmed to the heat of him, the mysterious male scent that seemed to be his essence, the complete security that enveloped her.
Even as her eyes closed and the moon rode high and serene in the dark sky, she cuddled against him and sank into a voracious, draining sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
IN THE morning he was gone. Sable woke and groped for him, then gave a muffled sob and sat up. She must have slept like the dead.
She lay back onto the pillows and stared up at the elaborate plaster rose in the ceiling. Tiredly she tried to work out what to do now.
Probably the simplest way of dealing with this situation would be to tell Kain she’d fallen in love with him and wanted their affair be permanent, she thought with a bitter little smile. If she did, he’d get her out of his life so fast she’d suffer burn marks.
Or he might use her until he got tired of her and then dump her.
No, she thought wearily. He was ruthless, but she understood at some deep level that he wasn’t an exploiter—not like Derek Frensham. So he wanted her, but before he embarked on satisfying that itch, he’d make sure she understood exactly
what she was getting into—just like an employment contract, no doubt with a generous severance payment. Shuddering, she turned and buried her hot face into the pillow.
A loveless liaison would kill something vital in her. After her ill-fated affair with Derek it had taken her a long time to recover her self-respect—and her feelings for Kain were so much more intense, so much more overwhelming.
Of course she could always run away. She discarded that idea swiftly. It was damned difficult to hide in New Zealand, and Kain had the power to find her quickly. Besides, the thought of retreating hurt her pride.
It was that same steely pride that got her out of bed, under the shower and into a sleek little sundress she’d found in her favourite second-hand shop.
Wincing, she looked into the mirror in the luxurious bathroom. Her mouth was fuller and more sultry than normal; her usual lipstick would emphasise those too-lush contours. After some rummaging in her make-up bag she found a gloss that offered some protection without proclaiming that she’d been well and truly loved the night before.
The house seemed silent and empty when she finally emerged, and she was greeted by the housekeeper. ‘Kain’s out riding,’ Helen Dawson told her after one shrewd glance. ‘He’ll be back soon, but he said to start your breakfast without him.’
‘I don’t normally sleep in,’ Sable said. Colour stole into her skin; was she being absurdly sensitive?
‘You deserve it,’ Helen said comfortably. ‘You’ve been working really hard. It’s such a gorgeous morning I set the table out on the verandah, but if you want to eat inside—’
‘Oh, no—the verandah will be perfect, thank you.’
Sable went with her to the table, sheltered from the already fierce sun by a canopy of wisteria leaves. The estuary shimmered like a swathe of silk, and the sombre domes of the ancient pohutukawa trees were subtly sheened with a rusty tinge, the first indication that in a week they’d be covered in fringed flowers, cloaks of crimson and scarlet, carmine and cinnabar and vermilion—the colours of summer in this northern part of the country.
The sound of hooves turned both heads and Helen said, ‘Ah, there he is—see?’
No need to ask who he was—the housekeeper’s voice said it all. Kain rode a big chestnut with the effortless ease of someone who’d been born to the saddle.
‘Can you ride?’ the older woman asked conversationally.
Sable nodded. ‘Not like that, however,’ she said with wry honesty. ‘My riding was done bareback on a neighbour’s retired racehorse.’
‘Kain was in the saddle before he could walk.’ His housekeeper watched Kain and the horse disappear behind another clump of huge old trees. ‘I’ll bring you some juice.’
Sable leaned against the verandah rail, looking around. This was the more private part of the house and grounds; just through a wrought-iron fence she could see the glimmer of a swimming pool and wondered at the irony of that, with the sea only a hundred metres or so away.
She admired the huge, glossy paddles of a tree found on the offshore islands of Northland. It made a lush background to a fountain in the shape of a scallop shell. Heavy, exotic perfume from a bed of low-growing gardenias around the base of the fountain teased her nostrils; on impulse she picked one white flower and tucked it behind her ear.
Kain saw it the moment he walked out onto the verandah. She hadn’t heard him, and she was standing by one of the verandah posts looking out across the estuary, so he had a good view of the white bloom glimmering in the smooth crown of her black hair.
Something about the way she leaned against the post drew his brows together. She looked too fine-drawn, almost exhausted. A fierce protectiveness weakened him; he had to stop himself from going across to slide his arms around her and lend her his strength.
Perhaps she owed that air of frailty to the scarlet-and-white sundress; it certainly showed off her slender figure to full advantage. More likely she was simply tired after weeks of hard work and frequent frustration, followed by an evening of acute tension.
Not only her work ethic impressed him. She’d showed calm competence and good humour in dealing with florists who threw nervous tantrums because they couldn’t find the flowers they needed, and artists who all insisted their work be hung in the best place. She’d eased Poppy into confidence, praising her, pointing out her mistakes without humiliating her. And she’d won Helen Dawson completely over.
No wonder she was tired. When it was all over, they’d made love like tigers, her swift surrender surprising him, but not as much as her generosity and the sweet aftermath when she’d slept in his arms and he’d lain for hours, cradling her against him, reminding himself that she was a blackmailer. He’d tried to find excuses for her behaviour; she’d been young and poor, she’d had no moral upbringing…
But blackmail indicated a cold, scheming, callous mind in action.
Yet when his eyes lingered on the curve of breasts, the narrow waist and long legs, the graceful lines of her throat, all he could feel was that relentless tug of desire, an urge to forget everything he’d learned about her and take her at face value.
Some instinct must have warned her she was being watched. She turned abruptly and saw him, and he watched colour heat those sculpted cheekbones as she stayed where she was, wary eyes scanning his face.
Kain made a decision. God knows where it would lead him. With any luck to some sort of sane resolution. But he’d heard this morning that his security men had been contacted by a victim of the blackmail attempt. Very old—and possibly too frail to be of any help, he thought grimly—Miss Popham was in a nursing home in Napier.
And now, for the first time in his life, he was torn between two courses.
‘You should have slept longer,’ he said and came towards her.
Sable had thought she couldn’t love him any more than she already did, but she’d been wrong. He looked younger somehow in jodhpurs—still the authoritative man she loved as well as feared, but less implacable.
To her surprise, when he reached her he drew her to him and kissed her, a brief touch to her forehead that was oddly almost tender.
Stunned, she said, ‘Once I wake up I can never go back to sleep so I might just as well get up.’ Her voice sounded soft and husky. She hoped her skin didn’t show the sensations running riot through her, summoned by that swift, almost chaste kiss.
‘Did you sleep well?’ He laughed softly, almost with affectionate mockery at her hot-cheeked nod. ‘So did I. Come on, some breakfast will give you more energy.’
‘Coffee is more likely to do the trick,’ she said, stepping away from him because she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but remember, and those memories were too intrusive, too potent—and so hopeless she didn’t want to face them.
‘Do you want me to change?’ he asked. ‘I imagine I still smell of horse.’
Smiling, she let her eyes roam his powerful body. ‘Not much. Besides, I like it and you look great in jodhpurs.’
After breakfast he took her sailing to a lonely island off the coast where the wind played with the cottontail grass and the waves lapped against a beach that was pink as a quiet dawn.
They swam ashore and there, beneath the welcoming arms of a pohutukawa, they made love again. Sable knew she was riding into danger, but if this was all there was to be for her then she would take it eagerly. Her life for the past eight years seemed empty and cold in comparison; it would be so again, but she’d always have this—memories of passion from a man who couldn’t love her.
Memories wouldn’t keep her warm at night, or tease her or make her laugh, or intrigue her into hotly arguing as she’d done with Kain more times than was sensible, but memories were more than she’d ever expected to have.
That night they drove back to Auckland. He waited until she’d unpacked before opening a bottle of champagne.
Only the best, she thought ironically with a glance at the label. ‘What is this for—the successful auction? We drank to that last night.’
An irrational hope tore at Sable. Harshly she said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘It’s quite simple,’ Kain told her, his eyes cool as they scanned her face. ‘You want me. I want you. Together we’re amazingly compatible. It makes sense for you to stay with me.’
Her heart broke, shattered by the calm pragmatism of his words. If she did what she wanted to—throw a screaming, raging tantrum to hide her bitter desolation—he’d realise how hurt she was by his callous assumption that she could be bought so easily.
‘Just like that?’ she asked in a brittle voice. ‘The sex is good so we stay together? And when we get bored with each other we say goodbye and go our separate ways, no bones broken?’
His brows rose. ‘Of course, I would look after you,’ he said, a note of steel beneath the courteous tone.
Pride overrode everything else. This time she’d try for some dignity. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not good mistress material.’
He smiled. ‘You’re far too modest,’ he drawled. ‘You’re superb mistress material—wanton, sexy as hell, a generous lover. You look superb on my arm. You’re intelligent, have excellent manners, and you throw brilliant parties. And you’re never boring. What more could any man want?’
His taunts stung, but they stiffened her resolve. ‘I don’t know what men want, unless it’s just a warm body in a bed. But I haven’t heard anything in your comprehensive list that I might want.’ She cast a scathing glance at the bottle of champagne. ‘So you’ll have to drink that by yourself.’
‘I don’t drink alone.’ He sounded reflective, and she wondered what was going on behind that arrogantly handsome face. ‘As for what men want—I’ve already detailed it, but perhaps I missed something. As well as all the rest, I want a lover who turns to fire in my arms. And you do that too.’
‘No!’ This time there was a note of panic in her voice, but when she looked up he hadn’t moved. She tried to feel relieved—she was relieved—but she hadn’t realised until that moment how much she’d wanted to be wooed into surrender.