Craving His Forbidden Innocent

by Louise Fuller

  ‘Finally we have something in common,’ he said,

  Her eyes widened, her smile shifting into a scowl. ‘You and I have nothing in common, Basa. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way you treat people.’

  Basa stared at her in silence, his jaw clenching. He could hardly believe that Mimi Miller—Mimi Miller, of all people—was saying this to him.

  ‘And how exactly do I treat people? Actually, forget about me—let’s just look at how you treat people. How you present yourself as someone to be trusted when all the time you’re playing out your own agenda.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, here we go again. You do realise I’m actually a completely separate person from my stepfather and uncle?’

  ‘I do—and I wasn’t talking about them. But since you’ve brought them up...’ His mouth twisted. ‘What is it they say? The apple never falls far from the tree? But even if it did, you also had Charlie as a role model. You probably learned how to grift before you could walk.’

  ‘If you would just listen to me for five minutes I could explain—’

  ‘You mean lie.’ Shaking his head, he dragged his eyes away from the three sopping wet triangles of fabric masquerading as her swimwear. ‘What did you think? That if you sashayed out of the pool in your itsy-bitsy bikini I’d be too busy drooling to listen to what came out of your mouth?’

  He watched the colour spread over her cheeks. She was staring at him open-mouthed, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, and he couldn’t say that he blamed her. His accusation had been harsh and gratuitous, but with her body so tantalisingly close to his, and his own body acting as if it had only recently woken from hibernation, he needed to remind himself of the kind of woman she was beneath that delectable skin.

  And he was still smarting over her remark about how he treated people. How he treated people! She might have conveniently forgotten her behaviour, but he hadn’t, even though part of him wanted to forget everything about that night.

  But he could still remember every second.

  Her soft, teasing laugh when she’d taken his phone and switched it off...the feverish, almost clumsy way she had kissed and caressed him, as if she was nervous about something. And, of course, the cherry on the cake: the fact that she hadn’t given any thought to protection. She should have told him she wasn’t on the pill and didn’t have any condoms with her.

  His shoulders stiffened. If he hadn’t double-checked, who knew what might have happened? The media would have had a field-day. His body tensed as he imagined the gleeful, screaming headlines and, worse, his father’s devastated expression as the news spread around the world that his son had impregnated the stepdaughter of the man who had almost destroyed his family.

  She took a step forward, shoving her hands on her hips and unintentionally pulling the edges of her robe apart. He breathed in sharply, his anger forgotten as he caught a glimpse of her marvellous body. He gritted his teeth. It was beyond his comprehension why he should still feel like this. It had been two years. So much had happened in that time—so many good and amazing things, with good and amazing people—so why was he endlessly reliving a moment that should never have happened in the first place with a woman he didn’t trust or like?

  ‘I’m guessing you don’t suffer from vertigo, do you, Basa?’

  Her words caught him off-guard and he frowned. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just that it must be so very high, up there on your horse, sitting in judgement over everyone, making assumptions about who they are based on nothing more than your own prejudices.’ Her gaze rested scornfully on his face. ‘It’s a good job you gave up law. You clearly haven’t mastered the basic principle of innocent until proved guilty.’

  Wrong, he thought silently. He understood innocence, and there was nothing innocent about how Mimi had acted that night.

  He shook his head. ‘I was interested in corporate law, not criminal law, but I don’t need to be a barrister to know that there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who need the judgement of a court to know whether they’re guilty of a crime, and those who have a conscience. I think we both know that you fall into the former.’

  She lifted her chin, her hands clenched into fists, and he knew that she was itching to thump him.

  ‘I do have a conscience, and I don’t feel guilty about anything I’ve done.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

  He took a step forward, almost enjoying the flare of fear and anger in her blue eyes as she backed away unsteadily. That was why he’d invited her here, wasn’t it? To let her know where she stood and to demonstrate his complete and utter contempt for her.

  ‘But let’s forget about the past for the moment. I want to talk about the present, and how you’re going to behave for the next few months.’

  ‘I know how to behave.’ She glared at him.

  ‘Good. Make sure you keep it that way. Because I’m only interested in two things, sweetheart: my sister’s happiness and my family’s reputation. And if you do anything—anything at all—to jeopardise either of those, you will wish you had never crossed my path.’

  ‘I wish that already,’ she snapped.

  They were so close he could see her flawless skin and the flecks of green and gold in the blue of her eyes. As he took another step forward he heard her breath catch, and instantly his blood was beating a path to his groin. For a split second he forgot everything—his anger, her family’s crimes. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to slide his hands over the damp skin of her waist and pull her against his tense, overheated body...how desperately he wanted to kiss her.

  ‘Tough,’ he said coolly. ‘I’m going to be your shadow at this wedding, Ms Miller, so get used to it.’ Pushing back the cuff of his suit jacket, he glanced at his watch. ‘Antonia has prepared lunch. We eat at one. Make sure you’re on time.’

  He let his gaze drift over her damp skin.

  ‘And make sure you’re properly dressed. Or I might accidentally confuse you with dessert.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAVING SHOWERED AND CHANGED, Mimi made her way down to the dining room at exactly one minute past one o’clock. She would have liked to make Basa wait longer, as a sort of tit-for-tat for making her wait for him at Fairbourne, but even if he made the connection it would only make her look petty.

  Lunch was somewhat strained. She was itching to tell Basa exactly what she thought of him, and only by constantly reminding herself that she was here for Alicia did she hold back her indignant words.

  Obviously she got it that he hated her stepfather and her uncle. They weren’t exactly top of her Christmas card list either. But it wasn’t as if you got to choose your family, and his constant sniping was getting on her nerves. Besides, what gave him the right to have a go at her anyway? It wasn’t as though his actions had been beyond reproach.

  Picking up her glass of water, she took a sip, concentrating on the chill of the liquid and not on the heat that always accompanied her memories of that night at Fairbourne. Memories of the heat of a passion that had left her breathless, swiftly followed by a different kind of heat—the warm, sticky flush of shame at knowing that Basa would rather disinherit himself than tangle with the woman whose family had brought scandal to his doorstep.

  And, judging by his comments earlier, and at that lunch with Alicia and Philip, he still felt the same way. No doubt this lunch was just another opportunity for him to lay down the law. But could he not just be civil for five minutes, given that this stupid weekend had been his idea anyway?

  She felt another wave of irritation rise up inside her. It wasn’t as if he was the only one who had a reason to lash out. She could just as easily be giving him a hard time—and about his actual behaviour, not the actions of some of his relatives.

  It was so tempting to tell him some home truths, and for a few highly enjoyable
moments she imagined telling Basa exactly what she thought of him—with a crushing eloquence she didn’t actually possess. But for now she was just going to have to think it, not say it. Getting into some kind of slanging match with him might be gratifying in the short term, but she would end up hurting Alicia.

  Her shoulders tensed. These next two days were going to be a very challenging exercise in self-restraint, but thankfully there were some positives, she thought, glancing down at her starter of smoked aubergine in a criolla sauce.

  Picturing what she would be eating if she was at home, she almost smiled. Her lunch was usually some kind of panini, bolted down with a bottle of water. Clearly, though, people like Basa didn’t have toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch.

  It was just a shame he had to be here, casting a cloud over her with his cool, assessing gaze, but at least now that she had swapped her bikini for a denim shirt dress and ankle-high western boots she felt far less exposed.

  However, compared to Basa’s minimalist dark suit and perfectly knotted Windsor tie, she still felt a little underdressed. Did he dress like that out of habit? Or was it a conscious choice? A sort of modern armour designed to intimidate and inspire respect using French cuffs and hand-sewn buttonholes instead of steel plates?

  She glanced furtively over to where he was discussing wine options for the evening meal with Antonia. Not that it would matter what he wore. To add to his already overflowing list of advantages in life, he had the kind of beauty that elevated him above the ordinary.

  Fortunately, she had plenty to look at other than his annoyingly handsome face. Like the rest of the house, the dining room was effervescently decorated, with walls sheathed in shimmering green silk, not one but five chandeliers, and a huge transparent acrylic table that looked as though it was made of moving water. But it was the two vast Basquiat canvases that dominated the room, their striking skulls and hieroglyphics making her forget to eat.

  ‘Do you like Basquiat?’ he asked suddenly.

  She nodded, her face stiffening automatically into an expression she’d perfected during her stepfather and uncle’s trial.

  In the restaurant and outside in the pool, she’d been so stunned to see him that it had been hard to do anything but gape. Now, though, the fact that she was fully prepared, and fully dressed, meant that she could compose her features, for she’d learned the hard way that self-preservation required composure.

  In the beginning, when Charlie and Raymond had been arrested, she’d tried to hide her face as the photographers rushed forward, shouting her and her mother’s names, but she’d quickly realised that there was nowhere to hide. So she’d learned to school her features, to blank her gaze and give nothing away.

  It was just a pity that she hadn’t been equipped with that skill on the night of Alicia’s birthday—the night when she’d stripped, both literally and metaphorically, for Basa.

  Pushing the memories aside, she glanced up at the Basquiats.

  ‘They’re incredible. But I would have thought they were a little too edgy for your taste.’

  His level gaze rested on her face. ‘Perhaps. But art is like dining. If you always eat the same food, you never expand your palate. Besides...’ he smiled slowly, his dark eyes drifting down over her dress ‘...I like sampling new flavours.’

  Her heart jerked inside her chest. Was that what had happened that night? Was that how he had seen her? As a ‘new flavour’? She thought back to his parting remark by the pool, and the ache in her chest solidified into a hard ball of anger.

  He was so entitled and arrogant. Lumping her in with every other woman in his sexual back catalogue. But she would see if he liked having the same treatment himself.

  Lifting her chin, she held his gaze. ‘I like sampling new things too.’

  The lie made her heart race faster, but what did it matter? She’d tried telling him the truth, and it had done nothing to change his low opinion of her, so frankly he didn’t deserve the truth. She watched his eyes darken, felt a pulse of satisfaction and unease bumping over her skin.

  For a moment he didn’t reply and then, laying his cutlery down, he said softly, ‘I’m sure you do. Just make sure you don’t sample any at my sister’s wedding.’

  Mimi stared at him in silence, trying to remember her private promise to Alicia, but as she looked up into his face something inside her snapped. Thanks to his careless treatment of her she hadn’t had the confidence to so much as kiss a man, much less have sex with him, for two years, and now he was warning her off.

  ‘It’s none of your business what I do or who I do it with,’ she snarled. ‘You are not my keeper.’

  It was the wrong answer—she knew that even before he leaned forward, his gaze narrowing as though he was tracking her with a long-range rifle.

  ‘It is my business if you start hitting on my guests.’

  Her heart was beating so hard she could feel her ribs quivering. Was he for real?

  ‘If anyone’s going to start hitting on the guests it will probably be you,’ she snapped, the words spilling from her mouth like milk boiling over in a pan. ‘Or have you forgotten what happened at Alicia’s party?’

  He stared at her in silence and she felt her pulse accelerate, the palms of her hands grow damp. It was like being in some horrible nightmare when you couldn’t wake yourself up. Only she wasn’t asleep, and this conversation was going nowhere—unless reliving the humiliation of that night was her goal.

  But what would be the point of rehashing the past? It was history, fixed for ever in time. What mattered was what was happening here and now—or rather, what wasn’t happening. Not any more anyway.

  ‘You know, I’d have thought a busy man like yourself wouldn’t have time for playing games,’ she said, leaning back in her chair, wanting more distance between herself and his unsettling dark gaze.

  ‘I’m not playing games,’ he said softly.

  ‘Oh, but you are. Nasty, horrible, bullying games.’

  He laughed, the sound echoing harshly around the beautiful room, and her heart began to thump hard inside her chest.

  ‘How exactly am I bullying you, Mimi? Please, I’m curious. Was it your first-class flight? Did you find that too oppressive?’ he said mockingly. ‘Or does coming here to my beautiful home and being waited on by my staff make you feel threatened?’

  She glared at him. ‘I didn’t want to come out to Argentina. You made me feel like I had to.’

  ‘You did have to,’ he said coolly. ‘I have—’

  ‘Rules. Yes, I know.’ She spat the words at him dismissively. ‘You told me. And I believe you. A stuffed shirt like you probably has a library of rule books—but surely none that required me to come out here in person.’ Meeting his eyes, she shook her head. ‘No, there’s only one reason you dragged me out here, and it’s got nothing to do with how I conduct myself in your Patagonian home.’

  His face didn’t alter, but something shifted in his eyes, and she felt her breathing lose its rhythm as she realised that her hunch was correct.

  ‘You hate it, don’t you? The fact that Alicia is my friend. And you can’t bear it that you haven’t been able to change her mind. That’s why you want me out here—so you can spend two days trying to make me walk away from our friendship. To make me look like the bad girl. Well, it’s not going to happen.’

  She breathed in sharply, her pulse accelerating, as without warning he scraped back his chair against the marble floor. The force of his action nearly tipped it over and then, with swift, purposeful intent, he strode around the table until he was standing in front of her.

  ‘It already has,’ he snarled. ‘You might look like an angel but you’re just like the rest of your family: rotten to the core. Unfortunately, my gentle, big-hearted sister has yet to discover the real Mimi Miller, so I thought I’d speed up the process a little.’

  Her chair rasped backwards
as she stood up too, her hands curling into fists, shocked by his admission, shocked too by how desolate it made her feel to know that there was nothing she could do, much less say, to sway his mind from the view that she was just as corrupt and manipulative as her stepfather and uncle.

  But it shouldn’t hurt this much. After all, it wasn’t as if he was the only person who believed in the no-smoke-without-fire argument. Even before the guilty verdict many of her friends and acquaintances had vowed never to speak to her again. Yet for some reason his judgement hurt more than anyone else’s.

  ‘That’s the difference between you and Lissy. You. Don’t. Have. A. Heart.’ Lifting her hand, she punctuated each word with a jab to the taut muscles of his chest.

  She gasped when he caught her hand and jerked her closer—so close she could feel the heat of his body and his anger pulsing under his skin in time with hers. Only it wasn’t his anger that was scaring her. It was what lay beneath...the curling, confusing pull of desire that was quickening her pulse and making her legs shake.

  Her heart jumped. He felt it too. She could see it in the sudden shrinking of his pupils. For a few quivering seconds she stared at him dazedly. They were close enough that if she tilted her head just a fraction her lips would brush against his, and she felt her body lean forward even as her mind rebelled at the thought.

  She jerked her eyes up to his face as he took a step closer, his grip tightening, his beautiful curving mouth distorted into a sneer.

  ‘My heart doesn’t need to get involved when I’m dealing with a self-serving little witch like you—just my instincts. And they tell me that sooner or later you won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll see something you want, something bright and shiny, and you’ll throw my sister under a bus to get it.’

  She shook her hand free. ‘That’s not true. I love Alicia and I would never do anything to hurt her.’

  ‘An admirable sentiment, I’m sure. Unfortunately,’ he said slowly, ‘you already have.’ His eyes held hers, their dark pupils relentless and unforgiving. ‘And that’s the worst thing about people like you and your stepfather and your uncle. You don’t understand love and loyalty, so you don’t know what it feels like to have it thrown in your face.’