Imprisoned by a Vow

by Annie West

  He preferred curvaceous, accommodating blondes. Not underfed, sharp-tongued brunettes who questioned and prodded.

  Yet heat danced in his belly as he watched her chin notch higher and her eyes flash emerald fire. The pendant throbbed with her every breath, drawing his gaze again to that demure bodice, which did such a poor job of concealing her firm, high breasts. Thank God she hadn’t dieted hard enough to be skin and bone there.

  Those breasts had pressed against him as he’d carried her, reminding him that despite what their contract said his wife was all woman.

  ‘And if I decline to act as your hostess?’ Her question ambushed him as he lingered over thoughts of how Leila’s breasts would look minus the beige silk.

  ‘Why would you?’ He sat forward a fraction, intrigued despite himself. Why did she make so much of such a small thing, coming back to it yet again?

  Most women would love helping him host exclusive parties or being escorted to A-list events.

  Leila shrugged and played with her bracelet, exuding an air of nonchalance that almost fooled him, till he saw her other hand locked in a tight fist. Curiosity deepened.

  ‘It’s the one thing I want from you.’ Apart from the land he’d secured. ‘If you don’t honour our agreement, I’ll sever it. You’ll return to Bakhara immediately.’

  Her breath hissed. Stormy eyes clashed with his. He read emotion there, strong emotion. Then there was a clattering sound and she tore her gaze away, long lashes veiling her eyes.

  Around her feet precious black pearls bounced and rolled. Yet Leila sat as if frozen, one hand fisted in her lap and the other grasping the broken catch of her bracelet so hard it shook.

  ‘Leila?’ Joss half rose to go to her, till he realised what he was doing and subsided.

  She didn’t notice, her gaze was fixed on the floor.

  ‘Leila, what is it?’

  Damn it! She infuriated him. One moment she was sassy and challenging and the next... He couldn’t put his finger on it but the word ‘vulnerable’ came to mind.

  Hah! She was as vulnerable as an icebreaker, cruising through life. Witness her casual attitude to reading important legal documents. She was used to stepdaddy looking out for her and no doubt bailing her out financially.

  Leila had grown up with all the advantages of wealth. Gamil said she’d even finished her education privately rather than trouble herself attending classes with the hoi polloi.

  ‘I don’t know my own strength.’ She gestured to the pearls spinning on the high-gloss wood floor. Her lips curved in a familiar cool smile that this time wasn’t convincing.

  To his amazement Joss realised her husky tone revealed stress. This wasn’t a game after all. But what was it?

  She shuffled forward in her seat as if to go down on her knees and collect the pearls.

  ‘You don’t want to go home?’

  Instantly she stilled. She shrugged but tellingly didn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’ve lived all over the world. Bakhara isn’t necessarily home.’

  Did she think he hadn’t noticed her evasion?

  Did she take him for a fool?

  He reminded himself it didn’t matter what Leila’s personal hang-ups were, so long as she fulfilled their bargain. He had more pressing matters to attend to. But he found himself persisting.

  ‘You didn’t answer me, Leila. Why don’t you want to return to Bakhara?’

  Her shoulders hunched high, her hands clenching in her lap. Then with a deep breath she deliberately opened her hands and placed them on the wide arms of her chair, sinking back as if at ease. She looked the epitome of relaxed nonchalance. Almost.

  Joss could read people. In Leila he found a challenge, a woman who hid more than she revealed. But he saw tension cloak every line of her slim form.

  ‘I’ve lived there for years. It’s time for a change. I’m used to moving every few years.’

  She waved a hand airily and a mark caught his eye. A bluish line ringing her slender arm. The double row of massive pearls at her wrist had concealed it today, and yesterday a fortune in gold bangles had hidden the spot. The intricate henna decoration on her hands and wrists obscured it, but the underside of her arm was definitely marked, and not in henna.

  It was an encircling bruise.

  Tension churned deep in his belly and with it sickening doubt.

  He recalled the way she’d looked over her shoulder the day they’d first met, as if worried someone would overhear or seeking cues from a hidden bystander. He’d been so intent on pushing through the deal he hadn’t bothered to consider what it meant. Now he did and the possibilities hollowed his gut.

  Guilt, an emotion he barely remembered, surfaced.

  Had she been coerced into marrying him?

  * * *

  Leila reeled from the discovery she was trapped. Horror filled her.

  Gamil had already bragged of stealing the money her parents had left her. ‘Investing’ it, he’d said. Investing it in his own schemes for self-promotion! Without her money Leila had relied on the allowance she’d get from marriage to fund her independence.

  Except that allowance was tied to her living with Joss! Unless she wanted to be packed off back to her stepfather. She shuddered as her dreams crumbled around her. She’d do anything to avoid going back.

  Joss surged to his feet. The violence of his movement made her flinch, the tang of fear sharp on her tongue, till she conquered the response instilled by years with Gamil and forced her muscles to relax.

  Warily she looked up.

  Joss didn’t approach but stalked to the windows, tall and imposing against the late-afternoon light. She watched, fascinated by the restrained energy of his long-legged stride.

  He looked as if he should be out conquering mountains or striding the deck of an oil rig, the wind in his hair and his eyes narrowed against the harsh sun. He was dynamic and strong. Even his business clothes couldn’t hide the breadth of those shoulders or the power in his thighs.

  Joss had a potent, masculine air of purpose she’d never seen in any man. Or was it just that she’d been cloistered too long? His sheer magnetism drew her gaze and did strange things to her insides.

  She remembered him carrying her. How wonderfully secure she’d felt for the first time in years. She’d had to remind herself security came from independence, not a solid chest and strong arms.

  ‘Tell me.’ He swung round abruptly, his voice harsh. ‘Were you forced into this marriage?’

  Leila’s eyes widened.

  ‘Answer me!’ His voice was terse, his stance rigid. Then, as if realising he’d barked the command, his tone softened. ‘Leila?’

  Stunned, she shook her head. ‘Would you care if I was?’ He’d wanted the marriage and what Joss Carmody wanted he got. Her agreement was a mere formality to the arrangements agreed between him and Gamil. That still galled her. She was sick of being manipulated.

  ‘It’s true, then?’ Even with the light behind him, Leila saw he looked shaken. Gone was the expression of complete confidence. His strong features were stark with shock.

  ‘No.’ Annoyed though she was, Leila couldn’t lie. ‘It’s not true.’

  Joss took a stride towards her then stopped, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. For the first time since they’d met he looked uncertain.

  ‘You can tell me if your stepfather forced you into marriage.’ There was a note in his voice that sounded like sympathy, despite its gruff edge.

  ‘What makes you think he did?’ Leila blinked, wondering what she’d said to make him think so. Determined to put the past behind her, and with her expertise in concealing her thoughts, she couldn’t believe she’d revealed Gamil’s hold over her.

  Joss paced closer, heedless of the pearls skidding from his polished shoes. He reached out and took her h
and, his long fingers firm and warm against her flesh.

  Fine wires of heat spun through her veins and drew her skin tight. Leila had never known anything like the gossamer net of warmth raying from his touch.

  She tugged but instead of releasing her he turned her hand over.

  There, on the pale underside of her arm, she saw telling marks. The imprint of Gamil’s fingers.

  It was rare for Gamil to touch her. If anything he’d always seemed to dislike physical contact. But his anger had reached fever pitch at what he had deemed Leila’s insolence. Gamil had grabbed her while he spat his fury at her.

  Shivering, she thrust the memory aside, focusing on the present. On her wrist. On the way Joss’s bronzed hand cradled hers so gently.

  The sight brought a skewed smile to her lips.

  How long since she’d known gentleness?

  Hard on the thought came the realisation it could be a ruse. Her stepfather had been a master at mind games; waiting till the precise moment she was most vulnerable to wreak vengeance for supposed misdemeanours.

  Was Joss luring her into dropping her defences?

  A tiny protest rose—that Joss, for all his faults, wasn’t Gamil. But how could she be sure? She didn’t want to put it to the test.

  ‘Leila?’ His voice was low.

  Slowly she raised her head to find he’d bent close. Those dark eyes remained unreadable yet his look sent warmth shuddering through her.

  ‘Gamil got agitated about something and held me too tightly.’ Pride, the need to keep her past weakness hidden, prevented her revealing what Gamil had done. The last thing she needed was for her new husband to learn she could be cowed and browbeaten. Even though she assured herself that here in Britain even a husband didn’t have the power over her that her guardian had wielded in Bakhara.

  ‘Did he hurt you often?’ Joss’s voice was a soft growl. His fingers tightened. Not painfully, but...supportively.

  It felt so real. But was it?

  Confusion filled her. The desire to trust warring with caution learned at the mercy of a vicious, dangerous brute.

  Leila looked away. ‘This is the only time he bruised me. It’s not his way.’ She drew a deep breath, knowing she should pull back but unable to sever the contact. The only friendly touch she’d known since her mother died was Joss’s. It was all she could do not to curl her fingers around his and beg him to hold her as he had yesterday.

  The wayward thought horrified her. How easily he breached her defences!

  ‘I wasn’t forced into marriage.’ Leila kept her gaze on their hands. Hers slender and feminine with its temporary henna patterns of flowers and birds. His sinewy and squarish, with fingers long enough to wrap around her wrist. ‘I agreed to the wedding. There was no coercion.’

  Strange how those words sounded different when her hand rested in his. She was so aware of him, the spicy scent of his skin, his breath grazing her face, his frame, taller and broader, less than an arm’s length away.

  Would she react like this to any man?

  ‘You’re sure? Now is the time to tell me.’

  ‘It’s true. I wanted to marry you.’ How could she not? Anything was preferable to the life she’d led.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

  Joss lifted her hand. Her gaze rose till she met eyes of deepest indigo.

  To her amazement he lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips grazing a whisper-soft caress against her skin.

  Leila’s eyes widened. She’d never been kissed before. The contact sent sensation zinging through her. Dazedly she wondered how a kiss on the mouth felt.

  As she watched Joss pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her wrist, right over the fading bruise.

  Leila’s breath escaped in a whoosh of air. His lips caressed in a way that made her shiver as sensations she’d never known ran riot through her body. Her mouth dried and her nipples drew tight and hard.

  Joss Carmody was dangerous. One touch, just a hint of gentleness, and she was completely out of her depth.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HELL! WHAT HAD got into him?

  Joss had been away almost two weeks, dealing with an oil-rig fire and its aftermath in the Timor Sea. Days of crisis management and too little sleep. Yet his thoughts had strayed continually to Leila. His wife. To the taste of her soft skin, the promise of delight in her dazed eyes and parted lips. To that hint of vulnerability, quickly hidden.

  Since when had any woman created such havoc?

  She was a business asset, no more. Acquired in a deal that allowed him the challenge of new enterprises—drilling for oil as well as developing the perfect site for a radical alternative power plant. The Sheikh of Bakhara himself was interested in that scheme, if Joss could bring it together.

  Leila was a means to an end.

  So why did she invade his thoughts when he should have been snatching precious sleep or, worse, when he was working?

  Had this marriage been an error of judgement?

  Joss didn’t make errors of judgement. He sized up each situation, determined what needed to be done, then followed through: swiftly, effectively and unemotionally.

  But this marriage of convenience wasn’t as convenient as he’d thought.

  Leila distracted him from his goals. Why this consuming curiosity to know more about her?

  She evoked protective instincts he hadn’t experienced since Joanna had succumbed to an illness that no one, least of all a ten-year-old brother, had been able to stop.

  Joss told himself that was why Leila had snagged his interest. She roused fears of the same happening to her.

  But it was more than that.

  With her tantalising anomalies, contradictory hauteur and vulnerability, Leila disturbed his equilibrium. He told himself no one as grounded as she could be anorexic, but she’d definitely been far too thin. She was feisty yet reserved. She was bright but she hadn’t bothered to read their prenup. Above all she was secretive.

  Perhaps that was it. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on. Once he understood her he could put her from his mind.

  Soon, he hoped! He’d been back in London only a few hours, in the apartment just long enough to shower and change, and already he was eager to see her.

  Joss wrenched off his bow tie and threw it down, annoyed that anticipation prickled his spine at the thought of seeing Leila again.

  He grabbed a fresh tie and looped it round his neck, tying a perfect bow. His mouth twisted. His mother would have approved. She’d set such store by appearances. Wrangling formal dress was something he’d learned almost in infancy. His father, on the other hand, had taught him to look beyond the surface. To learn a man’s weakness...and exploit it.

  Joss grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. He’d rather do business in a boardroom or an outback shed than at a society party, but needs must.

  He strode from the room.

  Leila was waiting in the larger sitting room. The sight of her slammed him to a stop.

  ‘What are you wearing?’ Disbelief turned the question into a bark of accusation.

  Slowly she turned from examining a modern sculpture. He had time to note the steel in her spine as well as the delicacy of her slender frame. At least she didn’t look quite so underweight now.

  Relief eased his muscles. He told himself it was purely impersonal. He needed her healthy enough to be at his side on demand. That was why he’d instructed Mrs Draycott to ensure Leila ate in his absence.

  ‘Clearly that’s a rhetorical question. Unless something has happened to your eyesight?’

  The colour in her cheeks and the flash of temper in her eyes almost distracted him from the catastrophe of her clothes. They hinted that behind her poise and superior air lurked a woman of fire and passion, which piqued all so
rts of inappropriate thoughts.

  That annoyed him even more than what she’d chosen to wear for their first public appearance. Did she want to make a laughing-stock of him?

  ‘Poor eyesight would be preferable.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘What possessed you? I want my wife looking glamorous, not like a bag lady.’

  Leila lifted her chin high in a move he realised now was characteristic. It bared her long, delicate throat and made him want to reach out and see if the flesh there was as exquisitely fine as it appeared.

  ‘It’s from a leading couture house.’ Her eyes snapped but her voice was calm. ‘I doubt they get many bag ladies.’

  ‘I don’t care where it’s from.’ Joss took in the fussy design that concealed her natural assets. ‘That navy makes you look washed out and it hangs like a sack.’ He shook his head, appalled. ‘Take it off. Now!’

  * * *

  For a horrified moment Leila could only stare up into his dark scowl. Surely he didn’t want her to strip for him?

  Belatedly logic seeped into her brain and she drew a shaky breath. That fire in Joss’s eyes made her imagine the stupidest things. As if he’d want to see her naked!

  She ignored as impossible the tiny splinter of disappointment that grazed her.

  The shameful truth was that she was completely off balance. All because she feared she’d give herself away when the time came to leave the apartment. Every day she tried to go out, till a wave of panic engulfed her and sent her reeling, her head spinning and stomach heaving.

  She had to get control of herself for her own sanity! She refused to be a prisoner in this plush apartment as she’d been Gamil’s prisoner for so long. It was no consolation realising it was probably his maltreatment, the way he’d locked her up, that created her fear.

  She was determined to conquer it. But she didn’t want Joss witnessing her struggle.

  ‘You want me to change?’

  ‘Got it in one.’ His laconic words sounded patronising to her sensitive ears, stiffening her spine. ‘Something with colour. Something eye-catching.’

  Leila doubted there was anything like that in her vast walk-in robe. She’d had no say in the clothes bought for her trousseau. Her only involvement had been to stand while her measurements were taken. But even that had been a pointless exercise as whoever had ordered the new wardrobe had chosen clothes a size too large.