The Tycoon’s Ultimate Conquest

by Cathy Williams

  ‘I mean it. Look at the women here.’ She was holding onto him for dear life, very much aware that they were being stared at. ‘I recognise some of them from fashion magazines.’

  ‘And I thought that you never read anything as frivolous as a fashion magazine.’

  ‘But thank you for pretending that I look okay,’ Rose said distractedly.

  ‘Where’s this sudden attack of modesty sprung from?’ They’d left the paparazzi outside; there was still a sea of people but without the gawping of the public and the reporters. Art drew her to the side and looked down at her. ‘You’re the most self-confident woman I’ve ever met.’

  ‘When it comes to work...’

  ‘You knock spots off every woman in this place.’

  Rose burst out laughing. If he wanted to put her at ease, then he was doing a good job of it. ‘I don’t. But thanks.’

  ‘You’re fishing.’

  ‘Of course I’m not!’

  ‘You know how I feel about you. The only thing I want to do right now is get you out of here and into a bed so that I can make love to you until we’re both too exhausted to carry on. I want to peel that dress off your luscious body and touch you in all the places I know you like being touched. So when I tell you that you put every other woman in the shade here, then trust me. I’m not kidding.’

  ‘Stop!’ Her blood was boiling and she was so very aware of him that she could barely think. ‘You know I don’t want you saying things like that...to me.’

  ‘Say that like you mean it.’

  ‘I do mean it. I’m just a little...nervous.’

  * * *

  ‘No need. Look around you. If you were hoping to attract some glances, then you’ve succeeded.’ Art heard the edge in his voice and knew that it was a few degrees off the light, amused tone he had intended. She might not have noticed, but he had seen the way men had turned to have a second look. Most women were dressed to kill in black. Rose was a splash of exotic colour, a bird of paradise with her long wild hair and her strong intelligent face. She announced to the world that she was different and that was a very sexy trait. And not just to him.

  Halfway through the evening, he realised that she had disappeared into the crowd. The man who was accustomed to a high level of irritation with women clinging like limpets to him at functions like this found that his irritation level was skyrocketing now and for a different reason.

  Where the hell was she now? And why was he having to hunt for her?

  It got on his nerves. She was a flash of red but, before he could pin her down, she was gone. Nursing a whisky while a blonde tried to get his attention, Art decided that, for Rose’s own good, he would take her back to the hotel.

  ‘Got to go.’ He interrupted the blonde abruptly. Pushing himself away from the wall, against which he had been leaning, he ignored a couple of MPs who had been trying to gain his attention.

  Rose was laughing at something some guy was telling her. Art wasn’t born yesterday. He could recognise a man on the make a mile away.

  He came to an abrupt towering halt in front of them and Rose blinked and frowned at him.

  ‘Mind if I interrupt?’ Art interrupted anyway. ‘I’ve barely seen you all evening...’

  ‘That’s because I’ve been chatting to all the interesting people here,’ Rose returned gaily, swiping a glass of wine from a passing waitress. ‘For instance, this is Steve and he does some amazing work for the UN.’

  Steve reddened and straightened and stuck out his hand, clearly awed by Art, who felt ancient and cynical beyond his years in comparison. He politely asked a couple of interested questions but his attention was focused on Rose and his body language dismissed the young fair-haired man, who duly evaporated into the crowd after boldly exchanging phone numbers with Rose.

  Which made Art’s teeth snap together with annoyance.

  ‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said without preamble.

  ‘But I’m not ready to leave yet.’

  ‘Tough. It’s been over four hours, which is two hours longer than I usually stay at these things.’

  ‘I’m having fun. There’s no need for us to leave together, is there?’ Rose squinted at his darkly disapproving expression. ‘I know,’ she pressed on, ‘we came together, in a manner of speaking, but it’s not as though we’re on a date and there are so many more interesting people I still want to meet.’

  ‘Repeat. Tough. Anyway, don’t you think you’ve had your fill of interesting people? Or is the entire room interesting after a few glasses of Chablis?’

  ‘Not fair.’

  Art shifted uncomfortably, recognising that she had a point. He raked his fingers through his hair and shot her a frowning glance. ‘I apologise.’ He tugged and undid the bow tie. ‘But you’ve had a few drinks and you’re not accustomed to that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here on your own to get on with the rest of what remains of the evening.’

  ‘Do you think the poor little country girl might end up making a fool of herself? These shoes are killing me, by the way. Are there any chairs around here?’

  ‘I think the poor little country girl might end up finding herself in slightly more hot water than she bargained for. And not many chairs, no. The expectation is for networking, not falling asleep in an armchair.’

  ‘What do you mean about me finding myself in hot water?’

  ‘You’re sexy when you get angry.’

  Rose blushed and pouted. ‘Don’t try to change the subject. What do you mean? I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing it most of my life.’

  ‘This isn’t a quiet, sleepy village in the middle of nowhere.’ Art didn’t care how this sounded. There was no way he was going to leave her here on her own. The thought of predators circling her, moving in for the kill, made him see red. She was stunning and part of her appeal was the fact that she was so natural, so utterly without pretence, so patently open and honest. Aligned to her intelligence and her dramatic looks...well, it was a recipe for disaster in the big, bad city. If she didn’t see that, then it was just as well that she had him around to see it on her behalf.

  ‘I’d noticed, now that you mention it.’

  ‘Have you paid any attention to the number of lechers who have been hanging around you all evening?’

  ‘Have you?’

  Art flushed. ‘You came with me. I can’t be blamed for wanting to look out for you.’

  Rose’s mouth twitched.

  Art noted the way her pupils dilated and her eyes widened. He clocked the way her breath hitched and was suddenly turned on in a way that shocked him in its ferocity.

  ‘Should I be grateful?’ Rose breathed huskily.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’ The entire roomful of people could have evaporated. There was just the two of them, locked in a bubble in which he was acutely sensitive to every fleeting expression on her face, to the rasping of her breath and the deep, deep longing in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t look at me as though you want to touch me. Do that and you’re playing with fire.’

  ‘I started playing with fire the minute you came into my life,’ Rose said in a tone of complete honesty.

  ‘We should go,’ Art told her roughly, leading the way, his hand cupping her elbow.

  She was coming on to him. He felt it and, much as he would have liked nothing better than to have followed up on those hot little signals she was giving off, a tipsy Rose wasn’t going to do. He wanted her sober and desperate for him, the way he was desperate for her. Nothing else would do.

  It was cool and crisp outside and his car was waiting. Art propelled her into it and slid alongside her in the back seat.

  ‘Do you think you have to show me to my door just in case I get waylaid by some of those lecherous men you seem to think are waiting around every corner for a country bumpkin like me?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘It’s the dress. It stands out. When you said that it was going to
be smart I had no idea what to buy. I didn’t think that everyone would show up in black.’

  ‘I could have warned you. Those functions are usually deadly. Black is an appropriate colour. Anyway, it’s not the dress.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Their eyes tangled and she didn’t look away. She licked her lips, shivering in the burning intensity of his stare.

  ‘We’re here,’ Art murmured, relieved.

  ‘So we are. And just when I was beginning to enjoy the car ride.’

  ‘I take it you’re enjoying yourself,’ he responded once they were out of the car and making their way up to her suite.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Enjoying playing with me.’ Art shot her a wry smile. ‘You must know what you’re doing to me... I don’t play games when it comes to sex...’

  ‘You played a game with me when you slept with me.’ She slid the card key into the slot and pushed open the door to her room. When she walked in she didn’t push it shut behind her and she didn’t tell him that it was fine for him to leave now that he had done the gentlemanly thing and seen her safely to her door. She looked over her shoulder, face serious.

  ‘No game,’ Art muttered in a strangled voice. ‘The sex was for real. Stop looking at me like that... I’m not going to do anything, Rose. You...you’ve had a bit to drink. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know what you’re playing with.’

  ‘Fire. You’ve told me that already. I’m playing with fire.’ The bed beckoned, oversized, draped in the finest Egyptian cottons and silk.

  Rose turned to face him. The lighting in the room was mellow and forgiving. ‘I’ve had a bit to drink,’ she admitted without skipping a beat, ‘but I’m not the worse for wear. I’ve been drinking a lot of water in between the wine and I’ve also eaten for England. Those canapés were to die for.’ She walked towards him, kicking off the heels on the way. ‘Want me to walk a straight line for you?’

  ‘There’s a lot I want you to do for me and walking a straight line doesn’t figure.’

  ‘What? What would you like me to do for you? What about this?’ She reached down to cup the bulge between his legs and felt his swift intake of breath. Now or never.

  Art pressed his hand over hers. He had to because, if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what his body was going to do at the pressure she was exerting on his arousal.

  ‘I want you.’ Rose maintained eye contact. She’d never seemed more sober. ‘When you told me who you really were I felt betrayed and deceived and I never, ever wanted to see you again.’ She moved her hand and reached up to link fingers behind his neck. It was as if she’d given herself permission to touch and it was all she wanted to do now. ‘I thought that it would be easy to put you behind me. How could I carry on wanting a guy who had used me?’

  ‘Rose...’

  ‘I know you’re going to go into a long spiel about why you did what you did but that doesn’t matter. What matters is I couldn’t put you behind me. It didn’t matter what you’d done, you’d still managed to get to me in ways...in ways I just never thought possible.’

  ‘You underestimated the power of sex,’ Art murmured, resting his hands on her narrow waist.

  ‘I thought that if I saw the real you, the unscrupulous billionaire, then I would be so turned off that this stupid attraction would wither and die.’

  Art inclined his head and knew that he had felt something similar, that if he saw her out of her surroundings and in his own terrain then common sense would reassert itself. ‘No luck?’ He ran his fingers along her back then over her ribcage, leaving them tantalisingly close to her breasts, close enough for her to shiver and half close her eyes.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Rose practically wailed.

  ‘Some things don’t.’ Art hadn’t planned on taking her to bed, not tonight. But this wasn’t a Rose who was not in control of her faculties. This was a Rose who was so in control that she could vocalise why she was doing what she was doing. This was the Rose he knew—open, honest, forthright and willing to confront a difficult decision head-on.

  She couldn’t have been a bigger turn-on.

  Sex. The power of it. Never more than now was he forced to recognise the strength of body over mind. For someone always in control, this was like being thrown into a raging current without the benefit of a lifebelt. He looked forward to the challenge of battling against that current and emerging the victor.

  He hooked his fingers beneath the straps of the sexy red dress and slid them down. She was wearing a silky bra that cupped her breasts like a film of gauze. Art groaned at the sight. The circular discs of her nipples were clearly visible, as was the stiffened bud tipping each pink sphere.

  ‘You gave your phone number to another man,’ he said illogically.

  ‘Were you jealous?’

  ‘I wanted to punch him straight into another continent.’

  ‘But you told me I should network...’

  ‘I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you.’

  ‘Take me,’ she breathed, reaching behind her to unhook the bra, which she shrugged off, stepping back then to unzip the dress at the side and then wriggling out of it so that she was standing in front of him in just her lacy panties.

  ‘Is this the wine talking?’ Art was close to the point of no return. She wasn’t tripping over her feet but there was no way he was going to get up close and personal with her, only to find himself pushed to one side because she’d fallen asleep on him. He intended to hear groans of pleasure as opposed to the snores of someone who’d had a glass too many.

  He smiled at the image because if there was one woman alive who would fall asleep on him it was Rose.

  ‘You’re grinning.’ Rose began undressing him, clearly trying her best not to rush.

  ‘I’m grinning because I’m busy picturing you falling asleep on me and snoring like a trooper, leaving me with the consolation prize of a cold shower.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ Rose said huskily. ‘You don’t have to worry that I’m under the influence.’ She shot him a wicked look from under her lashes. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re so lacking in self-confidence that you think a woman will only sleep with you if she’s had one too many.’

  ‘Wench...’ But he burst out laughing and propelled her gently back in the direction of the bed, simultaneously completing the job she had begun of getting rid of his clothes. ‘Shall I show you how timid and lacking in confidence I am when it comes to pleasuring a woman?’

  Rose hit the bed and flopped back onto it, laughing and pulling him down towards her.

  ‘Please,’ she breathed, arching up to kiss him. ‘Please, please, please... That’s exactly what I want...’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROSE HAD FANTASISED about those nights when she and Art had made love. She’d delved deep into her memory banks and closed her eyes and tasted, in the emptiness of her bed after he’d disappeared in a puff of treacherous smoke, the touch of his mouth on hers, the feel of his hands tracing the contours of her body, the heavy weight of him on top of her and the way her legs had parted for him, welcoming him into the very core of her.

  Now, touching him again, she realised that no amount of recall could ever have done justice to the reality of him.

  Running her hands over his lean, hard body was like tasting nectar after a diet of vinegar.

  He felt so good.

  She traced the corded muscles of his back and then squirmed so that she was taking charge of proceedings, flattening him against the bed and angling her body in such a way that she could devote all her attention to his vibrant arousal whilst, at the same time, he could pleasure her between her legs.

  She’d forgotten how well their bodies meshed, as though created to fit one against the other. She moved against his questing tongue, her breathing fast and furious, making little guttural noises as she licked and tasted him, feasting on his hardness and playing with his erection while she explored it with her mouth.

 
Her long hair was everywhere and she flipped it over her shoulder and then arched up, her whole body quivering as ripples of an orgasm began coursing slowly through her.

  ‘Art...’ she gasped, not wanting to come.

  Not yet.

  This time it was Art who took control. With one easy move, he flipped her so that she was now facing him and he edged her up so that there was next to no pause in his ministrations.

  She was sitting over him, allowing him the greatest intimacy as he continued to flick his tongue over the stiffened bud of her core. Hands firmly on her waist so that he was keeping her in position, he teased her with his mouth and when her breathing quickened and her body began to stiffen he concentrated on bringing her to a shuddering explosive orgasm.

  * * *

  She spasmed against his mouth and he revelled in the honeyed moistness of her orgasm.

  He’d missed this.

  He’d missed more than this. It felt so good that he had to reach down and hold his own erection firm because he felt on the very edge of tipping over even though he wasn’t inside her, which was where he wanted to be.

  Rose subsided, temporarily spent. She lay down next to him and wrapped her legs over his and, as one, they turned to one another so that their naked bodies were pressed up tight, hot and perspiring.

  ‘Not fair,’ she said shakily, but there was a smile in her voice as she wriggled against him, nudging her wetness against his arousal.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Art murmured indistinctly. Decidedly unfair that she had this dramatic effect on him, that she was capable of derailing his life the way she had. Just as well that he was putting it back on track. ‘Dump the hotel,’ he heard himself say, ‘and move in with me for the rest of your stay in London.’

  ‘Dump the hotel?’

  ‘It’s inconvenient.’ He’d never asked any woman to stay in his penthouse apartment but he was comfortable with this decision because a precedent had already been set. He’d shared her space with her so no big deal if she were to share his space with him.

  He wanted to be able to reach out and touch her in the middle of the night. He wanted to feel her, warm and aroused, lying next to him. He curved his hand between her thighs and stroked her soft, silky skin, nudging up to feel her wetness graze his knuckles.