by Annie West
Damn. He planted his feet wider, needing to ground himself, assert control over his wayward, yearning body.
He’d avoided her all week, telling himself his fascination with her would fade.
That had been a spectacular miscalculation. Every time she entered a room he lost his train of thought. He found himself staring blankly at the computer screen while she traded banter with Stephen, and his PA, still inexperienced in the ways of women, lapped up the attention.
Jonas’ mouth set grimly and he yanked his gaze away, turning to the giant desk in the centre of the room. Anything other than Ravenna’s distracting body.
‘What have you got here?’ He grabbed the first book he saw, opening it at random.
As the pages came in focus the world eclipsed.
His skin tightened. A curious ripple raced down his spine as he recognised the handwriting and the import of the words at the top of the page.
He hadn’t known she’d kept a diary.
His mother had never struck him as the sort to pen her thoughts. In later years she’d found solace and company in alcohol. But then—his gaze flicked to the date—this was an old book. Almost as old as him.
His gaze fixed on the line that had caught his eye.
Now I know it’s true. Piers is having an affair.
How can he when I love him so?
Jonas couldn’t help but read on, scanning the pages where the young woman who’d been his mother had poured out her despair at finding Piers with another woman. A woman who was vivacious, beautiful and confident. All the things Jennifer Deveson felt she lacked.
Jonas’ stomach churned. So early in the marriage? He’d thought at least there’d been a honeymoon period. But as he read he realised Piers had had no compunction about pretending affection once the knot that bound him to his wife’s money was tied.
Bile soured Jonas’ tongue as he read, unable to stop. A pattern emerged. Of Piers seeking out the most gorgeous women and flaunting them. Of his wife retreating into her shell, only emerging to row with her faithless spouse.
Memories rushed back. Scenes he’d witnessed and pretended to forget. The raised voices, the threats, the undercurrent of despair. Despair so profound his mother hadn’t wanted to live once Piers left her for good. What sort of sick love was that, clinging on even when it was rejected?
He’d been conceived in such a relationship?
His gut wrenched. His one dream had always been the same. To turn Deveson Hall into what it had never been in his time—a true family home. He’d fantasised about family, a real family, all his life. One that cared and shared and gathered together to celebrate the important things in life. The things his family never did.
Since he was a kid he’d imagined the Hall filled with laughter and companionship. Filled with the family he’d never had but had vowed to acquire. The gorgeous, supportive wife, the brood of happy kids. A generous-hearted matron like Mrs Roberts presiding over the kitchen. A muddle of pets, like the ones he’d never been allowed, to complete the picture.
His lips stretched mirthlessly. His imagination was as corny as a greeting card ad. Yet wasn’t that why he was here? Overseeing the refurbishment ready to marry and start that family? Piers’ death had been a wake-up call.
Tradition was important to Jonas in a way it could never be to a child who’d known love. He’d absorbed the legends of the house and the Devesons with an enthusiasm honed by his determination to escape the emptiness of real life. He needed heirs to fill that vacuum and share those traditions.
Now, reading his mother’s despair, he felt again the helpless emptiness of his childhood.
He hadn’t been important enough for her then. Nor had he been able to save her at the end.
Who was he fooling, thinking he could achieve the impossible and create a genuine family? That he could rise above the past that had moulded him? With his family history he was a foreigner to the softer things in life like love and caring. The truth smashed his long-held illusions.
‘Jonas?’ A hand touched his and he realised the book had fallen from his hold. He watched slim fingers mesh with his. Hers felt warm, roughened by work, but supple and capable. Feminine. She smelt of cinnamon and honey, mouth-watering. ‘Are you all right?’
He opened his mouth but no sound emerged.
What could he say? That Jonas Deveson, the man who ran a multibillion-dollar business, whose views were canvassed by investors and leaders worldwide, who lived a life envied by many, was a hollow shell?
There’d been such pain in his mother’s words. It pierced him in a place that even after all this time was raw and vulnerable.
Guilt swamped him. He hadn’t been able to make things right for her. For all his skill and corporate savvy, he’d never been good at that. He’d failed her.
‘Jonas!’
His head whipped up and he saw Ravenna’s concern.
He must look as bad as he felt if she worried about him!
Her touch was gentle as she hunkered before him. He swallowed, feeling something unravel within. Some of the tightness binding his chest slackened.
‘What’s wrong?’ She leaned closer and he lost himself in the dark gold glow of her eyes. He focused on that rather than the darkness within.
‘Nothing.’ His tongue was thick and his speech slurred. ‘Just an old book.’
‘It’s obviously upset you.’ She looked down as if to reach for it and he snapped his hands around her wrists.
‘Leave it. It’s just history.’ He couldn’t believe his reaction—how long-buried emotions had rushed to engulf him as if he were some callow youth.
‘I’ve never seen a history book affect someone like that. You look...ill.’
He felt it. Though the swirling nausea had abated a little with her touch. His hold tightened.
‘I really think—’
‘No!’ He yanked her close, bringing her to her knees before him so she couldn’t delve for the book.
‘It’s my mother’s diary.’ The words shot out, harsh and uncompromising. ‘About Piers’ first extra-marital affair. And the next. And so on.’ He paused, listening to his blood hammer in his ears. ‘Not a book I’d recommend.’ He tried for casual but his voice betrayed him, emerging gruff and uneven.
Her eyes widened. ‘I see.’ And she did, damn her. She read him as easily as he’d read those pages for there was more than sympathy in her eyes now. There was pity.
Pity for him!
Everything in Jonas revolted at the idea. He’d spent a lifetime taking on the world and winning, proving himself stronger, better, triumphant. His name was synonymous with success. He didn’t need her pity.
Fury sparked, rising in a searing, seething flood.
There she was, kneeling between his legs, her expression solemn, her lips soft and desirable, the perfume of her skin tantalising and her nipples dark smudges of promise budding against her thin T-shirt. Anticipation was so strong he could almost taste her.
Lust swooped, tightening his groin, urging his legs in hard to trap her where she knelt. He welcomed it, a distraction from emotion.
This he could handle. This he welcomed.
Ravenna froze, her expression morphing into disbelief.
‘I think I’d better get up.’ Her voice was husky.
‘I thought you wanted to make me feel better.’ He leaned close, meeting those huge sherry-gold eyes.
He didn’t want her looking at him like that, as if she could read his secrets.
‘I don’t think that’s possible.’
‘Oh, but it is.’ Triumph coloured his voice as he cupped her jaw and felt her pulse hammer. Yes! That was what he wanted. Not pity or sympathy. He’d settle for something simpler and far more satisfying. And when they were done he’d feel whole again. Not like some path
etic, wounded...victim.
He slipped his hand round the back of her neck and tugged her to him, planting his mouth on hers before she could speak. And there it was, that raw spiral of heated need, spinning between them, dragging them under.
Her lips were soft as he’d known they’d be. Yet despite a week of anticipation he wasn’t prepared for the delicate taste of her. Delicious. Addictive. Perfect.
Using both hands, he pulled her close, locking his thighs against her hips, imagining how it would be with her legs wrapped around his waist.
Heat shot through him and his groin was in agony, constricted by too-tight denim.
He needed her. Now.
* * *
Ravenna’s head spun as Jonas dragged her into his arms with a ruthless economy of movement that spoke of practice. If she’d been in any doubt about his experience with women, his fierce certainty abolished it.
He knew women. The graze of his hard palm over her budding nipple told her that.
Yet nothing could hide his uneven breathing, or erase the pain she’d read in his face. It was his pain that had lured her close, casting aside caution.
But it was something else that kept her here. Not the taut clench of his thighs that stoked delicious awareness of his masculine strength. Nor the arm wrapped possessively around her back.
Despite the overwhelming sense of Jonas’ superior size and power, despite the implacable hunger she’d read in his face as he plastered his mouth over hers, Ravenna had no fear he’d force her. Instinct, and the knowledge she’d gleaned of his pride and self-possession, told her she was safe. If she wanted to be.
Her mind whirled as her body responded to his urgent demands.
The truth struck her like a flare of lightning, illuminating what she’d tried to hide.
She didn’t want safety. Not with his mouth reducing her to willing compliance, his body flush against hers and that heady rush of arousal in her veins. It didn’t matter that they were enemies.
Maybe her response was an outlet for pent up emotions that had weighed on her too long.
Maybe she needed this rush of life-affirming pleasure after coming so close to death mere months before. She felt so alive in his arms.
Or perhaps she simply responded to the sheer wanton thrill of being desired by such a man: devastatingly attractive and potently charismatic, if you forgot that cutting tongue.
Right now his tongue was doing things that turned Ravenna’s bones to butter.
She clawed at his shirt, relishing the taut, hot muscle beneath, and kissed him back. He tasted like last night’s erotic dreams: spicy, delicious and unique. No matter how she worked she’d never create a dish with such a wonderful flavour.
Large hands slid below the drawstring of her trousers, beneath her panties to splay over her buttocks and brand her with his searing touch. He tugged and Ravenna found herself plastered against a solid ridge of denim and rampant male.
For a dizzying moment caution vied with pleasure. But her need was too strong. She thrust her hands through his hair, tugging glossy dark locks then clamping hard on his skull as she ground her hips against his.
Fire shot through her veins and the world juddered.
‘Again.’ The word was a hoarse rasp in her ear.
Ravenna obliged. How could she not, when the stranger who’d taken possession of her body craved Jonas as if her life depended on it?
Again she tilted her hips. They came together in a move that would have left her impaled on him but for their clothes. Light burst in the darkness of her closed eyes and she shivered at the myriad sensations bombarding her. His body, his touch, the clean smell of aroused male, even the friction of their clothes was erotic.
Ravenna tugged at his shirt buttons, whimpering with frustration when she couldn’t get her fingers to work. She needed her skin against his.
‘Yes, touch me.’ Did she hear the words or just taste them in her mouth?
His shirt disappeared, ripped by strong hands, leaving her free to palm his torso. Blindly she traced the contours of Jonas’ chest, the broad weight of hair-fuzzed pectorals, the smoother planes and ridges lower down.
She’d just reached a barrier of taut denim when abrupt movement widened her eyes. She was falling. No, not falling—Jonas’ strong arm was at her back, cushioning her as she landed on the floor.
She lay on the rich antique rug as Jonas ripped open the drawstring at her waist and tugged her trousers and underwear down.
A surge of indignant anger would have given her the strength to slap his face and cover herself. But it wasn’t anger she felt.
It was excitement.
Her breath came in raw gasps as she watched him wrestle the clothes off her feet and toss them aside. His eyes glowed pure silver, almost molten, and his gaze, raking her from top to toe, was incendiary. Rivers of fire ignited in her blood, searing through anything like caution.
The way he looked at her, as if there were no one and nothing else in the world, as if he’d die if he didn’t possess her...she revelled in it. For she felt the same.
She traced his powerful frame with possessive eyes, rejoicing in the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the pulse hammering out of control at his throat.
‘Jonas.’ His name was an aphrodisiac on her tongue. ‘Come here.’ She reached out and he planted a brief, fervent kiss on her palm then turned aside.
Ravenna opened her mouth to protest then realised he was tearing open a small packet he’d grabbed from his wallet. Undoing his jeans with the other hand, he moved swiftly, economically. A glimpse of his erection made her inner muscles tighten in a mix of anticipation and doubt. She was tall but—
The weight of his half-naked body on hers obliterated any doubts. He was big, his bare torso burning up, and she revelled in the way he imprisoned her, propped on his elbows to protect her from his weight.
He lowered his head, suckling her nipple through her T-shirt and she arched high, a moan of pleasure throbbing in her throat. The movement produced friction lower, where he waited at the juncture of her thighs, and lower still where her calves slid against the jeans he still wore.
Ravenna clutched his head, holding him to her breast. ‘Please.’ It was all she could manage, words failing her. She wanted his mouth on her but she wanted far more. She needed—
He must have understood for with one quick movement he centred himself and thrust hard and fast, right to the core of her. It was shockingly perfect, the feel of them joined so completely. For a trembling moment Ravenna felt she hung suspended from the stars, quivering in awe.
Then one large hand pushed her T-shirt up and cupped her breast. Jonas sucked on her other breast, hard and insistent, as he withdrew then surged in again, higher this time.
As easily as that she shattered. Not in delicate ripples of delight but in a cataclysmic upheaval that made her buck and scream beneath him, hands clinging and voice hoarse as she rode out a storm of pleasure so exquisite, so intense, it must change her for ever.
She was floating in ecstasy when he said her name in a voice so deep it rumbled through her, right to her bones.
Eyes snapping open, she was snared by Jonas’ hot, silver gaze. In her confused state she wondered if she’d wear the brand of that intense look for life. She felt it like a touch, heavy and erotic, strong enough to mark her.
His face was austere, pared to bone and taut flesh. Then he moved, short, sharp thrusts that sent shock waves through her, re-igniting desire though it should be impossible now. It was his look that held her captive, that intense connection, the throb and push of his body in perfect sync with hers, the raw pleasure and something more, something huge and full of emotion.
Ravenna slid her hands around his hot, damp torso and down, clamping hard on the taut muscle of his backside, pulling him in, needing to share.
‘Ravenna!’ His voice was a roar, his eyes shocked as he bucked hard, pulsing frantically and she shattered again. This time she wasn’t alone. They rode the whirlwind together, gazes enmeshed. His ecstasy was hers. Every throb and quake of delight was shared. Every gasp and groan. Every delicious shudder and squeeze of loosening muscle.
Still he held her gaze and Ravenna held him close. She reached up to those wide shoulders, tugging.
‘I’m heavy.’ His voice wasn’t the clipped, sure one she knew. It burred soft enough to make what was left of her insides melt.
‘I know.’ She tugged again. ‘Come here.’
He let her pull him down so they lay chest to chest, his heart pounding against hers. It felt so right, as if she’d waited all her life for this.
She’d known a man before. Just one. He’d been attractive, fun, nice. Yet she hadn’t experienced anything like this feeling of completion with him. As if all was right with the world and at long last she’d found her place in it, not an outsider any more. It was as if with Jonas she was home.
Ravenna took a shallow breath, inhaling the musky scent of sex and the sharp tang of Jonas’ flesh. She was barely aware of the trickle of tears down her cheek as she hugged him close.
* * *
Ravenna was limp in his arms as he carried her upstairs.
For a tall woman she didn’t weigh much. There was a delicacy about her that tugged at him, made him want to keep her close.
His stride lengthened as he marched to his bedroom. Still she didn’t stir. The cynical side of him wanted to assert she was playing him, trying to stir protectiveness. But he’d seen her stunned expression as she’d climaxed not once, but twice. He’d felt her convulse around him in great waves of pleasure that shook him to the core.
Jonas had never experienced anything so intense. It was as if her passion had turned him molten and forged him into someone new. He felt...different.
His arms tightened. Was it like this with her every time?
