by Annie West
His mouth moved again and now it was different. His tongue thrust into her mouth: conquering, demanding and giving no quarter.
Leila shuddered as a riptide of unfamiliar sensations flooded her. There was no allowance for inexperience. No concession for the thrill of fear skimming her spine, only a demanding caress that felt like invasion.
Except that a tiny part of her responded to his uncompromising demand.
A tingle shot to her breasts, shivered lower still, at the sensations evoked by Joss’s sweeping tongue. His mouth pressed like a challenge against her lips. Her eyes flickered closed on welcoming darkness.
His fingers splayed over her cheek, slipping into her hair.
Then somehow, without deciding to, Leila was kissing him back, ravenously, clumsily, as the dregs of fear morphed into angry hunger.
She wanted so much to live. Experience. To be free.
For years she’d been thwarted by her stepfather and now, on the brink of freedom, by fear and a husband who wouldn’t let her be.
Gloriously, furiously angry, Leila clutched the satin lapels of Joss’s dinner jacket. She stretched up, bringing the kiss to him, delving daringly into his hot velvet mouth. Pressing against him with a surging need for something: sensation, validation, pleasure, she didn’t know which.
He tasted mysterious. Perilously addictive.
Part of her stunned brain, the minuscule part still working, catalogued that this was how a man tasted. How he felt. Joss’s iron-hard frame against hers was more exciting than anything she’d known. Except the way their tongues thrust and tangled. Rivulets of molten sensation poured into her bloodstream. Sparking shards of fire cascaded through her.
She wanted more.
More of the luscious heat. The heady thrill of unleashed emotion in such delicious counterpoint to that leashed masculine power.
For, despite the ravaging intensity of the kiss, she sensed Joss restrained himself. He was rock solid, unmoving, except for his mouth and the hand caressing her scalp in seductively slow circles, drawing the fear and anger away. Yet it did nothing to lessen the tension building inside. A different sort of tension.
Pleasure ignited. It burned brighter than the fear that had crowded her or the fury born of frustration that had catapulted her into responding.
Her hands slid up Joss’s chest, past the quick thud of his heart. Her fingers grazed the hot skin of his neck, his jaw, before tunnelling into thick locks of silk.
Leila heard a low growl. A growl of need and satisfaction, and had no idea if it came from her or him. She simply wanted more of this magic.
With her arms over his shoulders her body stretched against his. Hot shivers of delight racked her. Her breasts grazed silk and the heavy friction of Joss’s chest, drawing her nipples into hard little nubs.
Could he feel them?
The thought excited her unbearably.
The arm around her slid up and a large palm curved round her, burrowing beneath her coat. She’d swear it branded her through the gossamer silk of her top. Long fingers swirled lazily at her side, skimmed higher, brushing the side of her breast in a teasing, deliberate move that sent a jolt of response through her.
Leila sagged, clutching Joss’s thick hair, waiting for his next touch.
This time it was heavier, moulding to the side of her breast before sliding down to her waist.
She moaned, holding Joss’s head in a fierce embrace as she poured out her need into a kiss that grew slow and lush despite the urgency escalating inside her. A pulse throbbed low between her legs.
His hand circled her waist then slid down her bottom, fingers splayed. With a jerk he tugged her close and high till she was pressed to the length of him. Solid thighs supported hers. She moulded to that broad chest and hard belly, and to the long, hot ridge of arousal that even a woman as inexperienced as Leila couldn’t mistake.
She gasped at his blatant need. Fire poured through her, pooling low as she gave in to temptation and rubbed against him. He felt glorious.
Their kiss grew sumptuous, heavy with promise.
Ribbons of heat unravelled through her, weighting her limbs. Leila pressed closer.
Joss’s hands clamped hard on her buttocks, drawing her higher so their bodies aligned perfectly.
Bliss beckoned.
Something vibrated against her chest. A low buzz of sound penetrated the syrupy haze of bliss.
There was stillness but for the beat of hearts pounding in unison and the heated pulse of Joss’s breath in her mouth—and that low buzzing.
Then his hands were on her upper arms as his mouth lifted. She gasped for air, her breath raw and loud.
Did he realise she was in danger of slumping boneless at his feet? Was that why he held her so hard?
Dazed, she catalogued his rumpled hair and the smear of lipstick at the corner of his mouth.
She wanted to lean back in and taste his mouth again. Till she lifted her gaze and saw the glint in his eyes.
At last Leila found the presence of mind to stumble back, away from that knowing scrutiny. She grasped the rail on the lift wall to keep herself upright since her legs had dissolved into quivering jelly.
She blinked, taking in the fact the lift had stopped moving. They’d reached the basement without her realising!
Joss reached for his phone and Leila could only stare. She hadn’t even connected the buzzing vibrations with anything as prosaic as a mobile phone. She’d been on another plane entirely.
A strange hollow ache engulfed her, as if Joss had scooped out her insides.
Her lips throbbed, tingling in the aftermath of that punishing kiss. No, not punishing, not after that first moment. Thrilling. Exciting. Soul-destroying.
Her fingers tightened on the rail as he turned away and spoke into the phone. Leila concentrated on deep breaths, trying to slow her galloping pulse. And all the while she felt as if she’d stepped off a precipice into a world she didn’t recognise.
It was only as silence filled her ears that she realised she’d shut her eyes, trying to gather the tattered remnants of control.
Gathering her strength Leila opened her eyes. A crisp white shirt faced her. A tuxedo, unbuttoned. She lifted her gaze to a bow tie half undone and rakishly trailing.
She forced herself to look up past that firm chin, past compressed lips that mere moments ago had taken her by storm, to glittering midnight-blue eyes that seared straight into her soul.
Tension screamed through her as she fought for strength to deal with him. Leila’s brows knitted as her brain supplied the words she’d been avoiding.
Her husband.
He was her husband and he’d kissed her as if there were no tomorrow! As if nothing mattered but the combustible desire that had engulfed them.
Where had that come from?
And more importantly, would he now expect—
‘After you.’
Leila frowned, then saw he held the door open.
Automatically she stepped forward, careful not to brush against him lest that shocking heat, that need, swamp her again.
It was only much later that she realised she’d faced the cavernous underground car park then the open streets of London without a tremor of the fear that had haunted her since the wedding.
She’d been so wrapped in shock over her response to Joss Carmody’s sizzling kiss, so aware of his even breathing, his tall frame so near, his seductive power, there’d been no room for anything else.
* * *
Leila stood out from the throng like a diamond of the first water among overbright imitations.
Joss had sensed it from the first—her innate class. Not class in the way his snobbish mother, granddaughter of an earl and weighed down by her expectation of privilege, had used the word. But class in the s
ense of unmistakeable quality.
Even underdressed by the standards around her, Leila shone. Joss had to force his gaze from the tempting high thrust of her breasts, naked beneath thin silk.
Knowing precisely how underdressed she was made the evening a trial. He had no time to be bored with the social flim-flam because most of his brain was engaged in remembering how she’d felt in his arms.
And imagining how she’d feel naked beneath him as he thrust between her lissom thighs.
Heat poured across his skin as it tightened in arousal.
This wasn’t supposed to happen, not with her.
Joss wasn’t interested in a relationship with any woman that lasted more than a night. He wouldn’t destroy his peace, and his plans to use Leila to further his commercial interests, by having sex. She’d want more—of his time or attention or, God help him, his emotions. It had happened before. Women always wanted more of him, not understanding he had nothing more to give.
And they hadn’t been married to him! How much higher Leila’s expectations if he succumbed to the lure of carnal satisfaction that brewed potent and dark in his veins?
He gave a huff of self-disgust and tried to tune in to Leila charming Boris Tevchenko, key investor in a major consortium with interests in Bakhara.
Instead Joss’s focus lingered on her lips, now turned up from their natural sultry pout into a smile.
Joss recognised it as the polite smile she wore as easily as make-up, part of her repertoire of charm. Not as breathtaking as the no-holds-barred grin she’d given him when he’d taken her onto his plane, but enough to bedazzle most men.
Boris looked dazzled.
Joss wondered at his surge of discontent. Leila had the Russian eating out of her palm. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
Yet Joss felt edgy, aware of the buzz of interest Leila had stirred, not liking the hungry glances sent her way.
He’d never felt possessive of a woman.
He’d never been married before. That had to be it.
Joss slid his arm through Leila’s, drawing her to him. Her start of surprise was natural since she hadn’t seen him move closer. But the stiff way she held herself, as if repelling more intimacies, sent anger surging through him.
He was her husband and she’d have to get used to his touch in public.
‘So, Boris, you’re interested in my plans for the Bakhari plain?’
The other man shrugged, his eyes flicking back to Leila. ‘Possibly. Though right now your lovely wife interests me more.’
Her laugh was light and musical. It was only the second time Joss had heard it, and it arrested him. Like some moonstruck kid! ‘Boris, I appreciate the compliment—’ she leaned in conspiratorially ‘—but you’re an astute businessman. How could you not be interested in the last, vast untapped oil reserves in the Middle East?’
‘How, indeed?’ A harsh baritone made Joss turn to meet the shrewd eyes of Asad Murat as he joined them.
Excellent. London-based Murat was one of the men he’d come to meet and one of the reasons Leila would be valuable, because of her family connections with Murat. No doubt that was why Murat had approached after proving elusive earlier.
Everything was coming together nicely. Attending this function had been worth it after all.
‘Tevchenko. Carmody.’ The newcomer nodded to the men before flashing a glance at Leila, but to Joss’s surprise offered her no greeting.
Beside him Leila stood rigid. Annoyance stirred as Joss felt tension hum through her. Clearly she disdained his touch.
How could she object to his hand on her arm after she’d wrapped herself around him an hour ago? She’d been all over him. They’d have had sex up against the lift wall if it hadn’t been for that phone call.
Heat spiked and his groin tightened uncomfortably. He hadn’t been thinking with his head when he’d kissed Leila.
Hadn’t he known a wife would bring complications?
Murat turned to Joss. ‘Aren’t you concerned about overextending yourself with this new venture? You’ve had oil-rig trouble and didn’t I hear about unrest in that African gold mine? Labour problems?’
* * *
Leila lifted her glass of sparkling mineral water to parched lips. Casually she glanced around the room as if her heart hadn’t dived at the sight of her stepfather Gamil’s crony.
She had herself in hand now. When Asad Murat had looked at her as if she were some insect he planned to skewer with a pin, she’d wanted to dash her drink in his face.
She was proud she’d kept her poise. No matter that Murat had approved and encouraged Gamil’s maltreatment of her. He’d been a regular visitor to the house and she’d seen enough to know he and Gamil were two of a kind.
He hated being ignored by her. Even now he darted curious glances her way while in discussion with Joss.
Leila had no intention of talking to her husband about the past. She wanted to believe Joss wasn’t like Gamil. He was bossy and accustomed to getting what he wanted, but she hadn’t seen a sadistic streak.
Yet she wouldn’t put it to the test. Revealing how she’d been dominated in the past was revealing a weakness.
Her husband was dangerous enough. Look at the way he’d kissed her in the lift. The way he’d made her feel. She couldn’t believe she’d unravelled in his arms. She didn’t even like him.
A tremor rippled through her, arrowing between her thighs, as she remembered their bodies locked together.
As if he was responding to her thoughts, Joss’s grip tightened and he drew her close.
Her traitorous body wanted to melt against him. Only the memory of that kiss stopped her. And the sight of Asad Murat watching through narrowed eyes.
Revulsion filled her. If this was the sort of man Joss associated with, she needed to be on her guard.
* * *
‘I’ll fetch Mrs Carmody to the phone, sir.’
‘She’s at home, then?’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’ His housekeeper paused. ‘She’s always home.’
Joss opened his mouth to query further, then realised it was no business of his what Leila did with her time. He wasn’t interested. So long as she was discreet and fulfilled the function he required as his hostess.
Though the idea of Leila being discreet with another man gnawed at him. Maybe because the men at last night’s reception had all but salivated over her.
He yanked at his tie as he waited for his wife to pick up.
His wife.
Damn it. He’d spent last night trying not to think about her as his wife. That according to custom she should have spent the night in his bed, finishing what they’d begun with that kiss. That he wanted her more than he could remember wanting any woman.
After one taste!
‘Joss?’ Her voice was husky, making heat spool low in his groin.
He cleared his throat. ‘Leila. I’m glad I caught you.’
‘Yes?’ Her tone was wary. Why? What had she been up to? Ruthlessly Joss crushed a surge of jealous curiosity.
‘I have plans for tonight and thought I’d better warn you.’ He paused but she said nothing.
What did he expect? That she’d gush and chatter? She’d been silent on the trip home last night, withdrawn in her corner of the limo and distant even as they made their way up to the penthouse. If he hadn’t been busy calculating some new business connections, he’d have been annoyed at her abstraction. She hadn’t even looked at him—had been lost in reverie.
‘We’re going to dinner tonight with some associates and then, if things go well, I’ll continue the discussions in the penthouse over port and coffee. I thought you’d need notice to prepare.’
‘To look the part of a tycoon’s wife, you mean?’ Was that a huff of amusement?
‘Well, y
ou can’t wear anything currently in your wardrobe. I want you looking chic and sophisticated.’ He paused but again she said nothing. He wished he could see her face and know what she was thinking. Then he caught the direction of his thoughts and annoyance stirred. ‘You know how, I presume?’
‘I told you, I didn’t choose those clothes.’ Was that anger in her voice? Why did her reaction, any reaction, feel like a victory?
‘Yet you did nothing to replace them.’
‘Because I didn’t have the money.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, Joss. I’ve been waiting for the first of the payments you’re supposed to provide.’
He frowned. ‘I’ve been away, you know that. Tied up.’
What did a week or so matter? He’d had more urgent matters on his mind than her allowance. ‘Couldn’t you have used your own money in the interim?’ Was she trying to make him feel guilty?
‘According to the prenuptial agreement that money is mine. I earned it when I married you, remember?’
He stiffened. She made it sound as if he were some undesirable who had to pay a woman to marry him! He recalled the number of women who’d angled for permanency in his life. It was ironic that the bride he’d tied himself to viewed him as a necessary burden.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Her voice was suspicious.
‘Nothing. But I don’t understand why you haven’t been shopping. You’ve got all London at your disposal.’
‘I told you.’ This time her voice was low, as if the words were drawn out unwillingly. ‘I don’t have any money.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Joss paused, waiting for her to contradict him. She said nothing. ‘Leila? How is that possible?’
‘I inherited land, not money. And you now have the land, remember?’ Her clipped tone warned him off further questions.
Joss ignored it. ‘What about the money you already had? Surely there was plenty to cover a new wardrobe?’ She was an heiress. Her stepfather was wealthy in his own right and her family was one of Bakhara’s oldest. ‘Leila?’
