Enthralled: A Box Set

by Pamela Ann

  “She caused a lot of complications in his life…” Julien’s words flittered through my mind, wandering towards the woman in question. I wondered how he had handled his ex-lover.

  Approximately twenty minutes later, I was taken aback when he drove us into the marina, parking right at the dock’s entrance before my eyes caught the sight of the floating palace, alit with sleek elegance.

  “Is this another party?” He’d never said anything apart from the auction we had missed.

  “No,” he curtly replied as he slid out of his Trojan of a car before opening my door and offering his hand to help me out. “We’re having dinner.”

  “Oh.” I was quite dumbfounded since we had left in haste while he brooded in silence, and then, only twenty minutes later, he was on to dinner. Color me confused.

  We went aboard the mega yacht and were greeted by a butler before he ushered us towards the dining area that was purposely and elaborately done on deck, near the huge Jacuzzi set at the very end of the bow. Apparently, a hot tub on the opposite side wouldn’t suffice.

  Apart from the intimidating air of opulence that surrounded us, I was quite enthralled to dine alone with him. He didn’t make all these detailed, extravagant efforts, but it was he who’d requested it, so I felt quite honored to be the woman sitting opposite him. I was sure these situations occurred to him on a daily basis, but to me, it meant something. With Damen’s limited funds due to the sour turn of the Greek economy and my father’s exorbitant lifestyle, though our families were known to be well-off, we actually lived a life on a budget.

  “It’s beautiful tonight.” My eyes took in the stars above as I breathed in the crisp air and the magical aura that surrounded us. The moon hung high, brightly lit as it cast its brilliance on the Mediterranean, basking it with his pulling beauty, painting a picturesque magnificence I had barely appreciated until tonight.

  Watching appreciatively as the server carefully poured me a glass of red wine, Hugo didn’t address me until his steward was out of earshot. “You mentioned a brother. What about your mother? Is she around?”

  This was a start to a grueling interrogation about my life. I supposed it was bound to happen given the circumstances.

  Pressing my lips together, I gazed into the darkness of his eyes. “My mother is in Athens. She’s originally from Cornwall, but when she met my dad, she moved to Greece to be his wife.”

  “Must’ve been quite the culture shock for her.”

  The server was back with our first course of cream of watercress soup with a dollop of heavy cream and a quarter size dollop of caviar sitting atop it.

  I didn’t respond to him until the server left and we’d both started to eat leisurely—an alien word I wouldn’t have used to describe Hugo, but tonight, it was fitting.

  Remembering my mother’s gentle, loving face, I somberly pictured her with a pained heart as I rehashed what had happened to my once vibrant, full of life, beautiful mother.

  “She said the culture shock came in the beginning. She used to proudly say that her love for my father made her overcome her fears…” How sad to have fallen in love with a toxic man like my father.

  “Does she know of his habit?”

  “She does, but my father does as he pleases.” My mother’s opinion never swayed him to think twice before delving into action. My father was a spoilt, only child. The golden son. Oh, but what a joke he had become.

  “My mother had a miscarriage, and after that, she hasn’t spoken much. She still has the ability to speak, but only chooses to do so when it’s needed. Most of the time, she wallows in her agony of losing the baby, and my father does what he does best.” Breaking my mother’s heart over and over again. Yet there she was, timidly waiting for the man she’d married to come back to her in order to welcome him with open arms.

  “What a great parenting example,” he huffed with a biting tone, upfront in his disapproval. “Have you spoken to your father since?”

  “No.” He never made the effort. I didn’t expect him to.

  He nodded, deep in thought. “Très bien.”

  Quietly placing my spoon down, I glanced towards him, hoping we could clear a misunderstanding that had left me boggled. “About earlier… I’m not sure if I should apologize for what happened or not because I’m quite sure I’m not the cause of your awful mood.” I paused, brows furrowing. “I feel compelled to press this subject with you since we’re still getting used to each other, and I don’t want this issue to cause a rift between us.”

  He paused, setting his utensil down as he stared at me before he languidly rested his back against the white leather, wingback chair. “You’re quite sure you weren’t the reason?”

  “Yes.” Quite so.

  Hugo remained in silent consideration as he kept staring at me, as if trying to figure me out. “And may I ask why, ma belle?”

  Well, this question was easy. Might as well tell him the truth. I hoped he’d appreciate my honest opinion. “Because you had no grounds to be acting like Tarzan.”

  The end of his top lip lifted. “I acted like Tarzan?”

  Did he have any idea who the character was? I’d take my chances.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure what was said between you and Julien because you both exchanged in French…” I shrugged before making my point. “You’re a man with three women living with you, ready at your disposal, jealousy couldn’t be the reason.”

  “You’re very rational for your age,” he observed, eyes still penetrating me.

  “I have to be.” I met his gaze, feeling this tug of war between us. As if there was a magnetic pull telling me to run away, yet I couldn’t fathom looking away and breaking contact. His dark eyes sought, gauging me as it effectively lulled me into its trap. Dark, angelic beauty, or dark, devilish appeal? I hadn’t decided which suited him yet. However, one couldn’t deny it any longer. That this—whatever this was—it affected me greatly.

  Furthermore, as exhilarating as it was to get his undivided attention, my mother was a prime example of being charmed by a snake. I’d be damned if I’d walk in her shoes, too.

  Once was enough in our family.

  Seventy-One

  Isobel

  “We’re sleeping here tonight,” Hugo announced the moment all plates had been cleared away by the staff and we were both lounging with our drinks in hand, getting my full attention.

  “But your hotel is close to here?” And the villa merely a little over half an hour ride away. Sleeping here tonight meant only one thing. Did he purposely wait a full seven days to get what he’d bargained for?

  “It is.” He waited a beat or two, making me fully aware of him, before he crushed any hopes I had to go back to dry land. “But tonight, we are sleeping here.”

  “As you wish,” I conceded, hoping I hadn’t sounded too tense. Being out here in the night, mooring off the coast, felt like I was at his mercy; as if I had nowhere to hide and couldn’t run away from him. Maybe that had been his intention after all—to wickedly disguise this dinner with an elaborate setting, simply distracting me from the main purpose he had in mind all along. My body.

  “Let’s unwind and relax before we turn in for the night. You look too tense, ma belle.” He cocked his head towards the lounge area, a large u-shaped leather cushion with black and white pillows in different designs and patterns.

  Taking his lead, I followed him towards the area before we sat side by side, facing the moon. The fresh breeze, the illicit whispers of the night air, and Hugo’s potent, unrivaled hunger were heady.

  Though he may come off as if he had all the time in the world, the way his eyes hovered around my cleavage and how it lingered on my skin as if he couldn’t wait to brand me—searing me with his possession—gave away the façade he’d so carefully attempted to play down. Deep down, I was grateful he wasn’t going all about aggressive on me and was taking his time dancing to my tune. However, was I ready for this? No, of course I wasn’t. But this was my duty to my family—for my mo
ther and brother. And though I despised my situation, I couldn’t very well hate the man who’d agreed to my father’s bartering tactics. Hugo was, after all, a businessman—with a healthy dose of sexual needs and conquests.

  “More wine, chérie?”

  I needed it more than ever. “Yes, I’d love some more, please.”

  We enjoyed a silent moment as he poured my refill, but I was knotted in anticipation. Mind you, I felt like maybe I should rethink that clause I had adamantly demanded about no vaginal intercourse. Truly, the thought of anything going in my behind was mystifying. At that time, I had truly felt compelled to save something of myself in this twisted madness—giving myself away yet not everything of me. I was saving that part of myself because I believed making love was meant for two people in love, and Hugo and I were in no way involved in that sense. Mustering up the courage to go through the process was quite a bit more difficult than I had imagined.

  “It’s tonight, isn’t it?”

  A breath…

  A pause…

  Then, gasping for another heave as we eyed each other, him with that look—the look that told me my suspicions were not far off base. Nervously, I gulped half of my wine down before I froze whilst sipping my drink the moment his warmth brushed my skin. The back of his forefinger caressed the side of my arm, teasing. Provoking… antagonizing…

  “We’ll take it slow. However slow you want it to be…” he murmured closely towards my face.

  Animalistic wasn’t the word I’d describe how he looked. Maybe a little more like a refined, carnal way of letting a woman know you were going to be his, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. In the subtlest yet succinct manner, of course.

  My gaze shifting from his lips then to his eyes, each stroke of his caress seemed like a potion to something unhinged. Even though I tried to dispel his irresistible charms and sensual advances, I could only hang on to his words, hoping he meant them because, if the time came and I couldn’t say no, I would count on him to save us both from the tricky predicament.

  “Going slow would be a good start.”

  “I give you my word, ma belle.” He paused before he brushed his lip against my ear, making my nipples hurt from this profound awareness of him and the intoxicating way he was speaking to me—with that sexy, accented English merely drowning me more in his sexual powers. “But,” he gave me a deadpan look, “I want something from you tonight.”

  All this lavishness hadn’t been spurred out of nowhere. I wasn’t naïve enough not to understand what it all had been about from the moment his eyes zeroed in on me, bearing seduction in their depths. Ready or not, I had to do my duty.

  “I know,” I whispered as I met his gaze, unwavering from the promise I had signed a measly week ago.

  “Très bien.” He traced the outline of the fabric of my dress, leaving my skin feverish while I tried to rein in my body’s overactive response. “Show me what you’ve hidden from me, Isobel. Strip for me—every single fabric off your body.”

  Did he mean in the bedroom, or right this instant , out in the open where anyone could just walk in on us?

  “Right here? Right now?” Was he bluffing?

  “Exactement.” (Exactly.)

  Oh, dear me. I knew he was a sensual man, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever thought he would want me to do something so reckless… so wanton… so vulgar. And even though my mind was protesting, my body’s reaction had just escalated from excited to inflamed.

  I watched how he lounged back in the cushions, toying with his drink as he gazed at me, waiting for me to do his bidding. I was half British, even though I had been raised Greek through and through. My beliefs and all the protestations of saving my sanctity had to be set aside to cater to this man. And I knew, once I went through this process, the next time would be bearable. One other thing that tugged at the back of my hesitation was my hoping Hugo would find my body satisfying enough to please him.

  Sherry was voluptuous and sensual. She oozed sex each time she sashayed her hips. Chantel’s confidence—her brazenness and exceeding amount of confidence and, not to mention, her gorgeous, fit body—would bring any male in a one mile radius to his knees. Then there was me. Pretty yet dull as I had once been described by my peers. Isobel Callas, slender with little to no experience except for Damen about sex, hoping this wouldn’t dent my already slim sexual confidence.

  Pushing myself up on my feet, I slowly walked a few steps away, enough for Hugo to see my entirety before I spun around to face the very man himself, knotted with such nervousness I felt nauseous.

  “Unzip your dress… slowly,” he breathed out succinctly. “And when I say, slowly, I want an agonizing, unhurried display of sensuality.”

  Hell. Were all men past twenty-five like this? God help me. I had never been commanded in such a fashion.

  “Make me want you, ma belle. Make my cock so hard I can’t think of anything else but you.”

  Seventy-Two

  Hugo

  Isobel’s little gasps and shallow breathing, which begged for my eyes to note her smooth cleavage, didn’t help at all to save my sanity. Everything she did tonight made me want her. From her smiles to the way she smelled. Or how she looked sexy, and yet, she had that air of innocence about her. She was lethal to my health the moment I laid eyes on her this evening. Even her nervousness only added to my already combustible body.

  For a man like me, who wasn’t capable of denying himself anything, it had been a hardship to harness this perfervid need to have her on the spot, which meant the driveway and with all of my security detail waiting patiently on us. However, all I had been able to think about was to devour her lips that reminded me of soft, pink petals and her body that was covered in a sexy gown that accentuated her best features. I had wanted to press her against the side of the car, nestle myself in between the warm crevice of her thighs before I hooked her leg above my hips and plundered into her wet, succulent depths. I wanted her moaning my name, begging me never to stop until I came inside of her and was drained to the last drop.

  My passions were known across country, yet I always liked to preserve a little privacy for my mistresses, thus displaying them out in the open wasn’t something I enjoyed. At the end of the day, I was a hot-blooded French man who admired beauty, but most of all, I was a possessive lover. I didn’t like to share what was mine, even if it was for onlookers. Yet the desire to take her against my car, to hell with the rest of the people watching, had dimmed my mood.

  I was a man in control, and when I felt this control being threatened by my passions, it became bothersome. I even found it ludicrous. However, my body demanded what it wanted, and as much as I wanted to put a wedge between us and keep her at arm’s length, I knew I had to remedy this need soon or I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.

  I needed her, in any way I could. Period.

  With my sour mood and a flighty business deal, it had worsened when I saw her laugh and gaze those mesmerizing eyes towards Julien. My limits were sorely tested.

  Julien was one of my closest friends, and though I knew he was a serial flirt and wouldn’t dare take a woman of mine, it didn’t escape my notice that Isobel had a welcoming look on her, like an open invitation for him to take her. A look she hadn’t even dared give me, much to my disapproval.

  There was no way Julien and I ever became competitive when it came to women. In the business arena? Sure, most men were. But never with women. There was a silent, honorable understanding between us, one that was respected just as much as we valued ourselves as business partners as well as rivals. Yet, there I was tonight—contemplating if I should rip his throat out just to wipe off that shoddy smile he had for Isobel.

  I couldn’t pinpoint the reason why she made me feel so volatile towards my friend. However, I was betting this odd hankering for her would dissipate once I’d had my fill of her.

  Six months, day in and day out, she was mine. I was quite certain that, by the end of the fifth month, I woul
d be counting down the hours until we would be free of each other. These affairs always tended to go sour after the third month; subsequently, I knew I shouldn’t bother pondering about such trivial feelings because my time was valuable.

  “Ma belle, are you ready?”

  She nodded, though her eyes told me she had reservations. In the back recesses of my mind, I had convinced myself she would come out of this bargain a better lover for her next conquest—skillful and knowing the value of seducing your lover. Moreover, when the time came, she would effortlessly surrender herself to me. The contract be damned.

  Appearing relaxed, as if I had all the time in the world lounging here as I watched her with intensity, was becoming difficult every second that ticked by. Isobel stood with feminine grace, though evidently lacking in confidence, as she lowered the zipper on the side of her dress. This needed to change. She was a beautiful woman who had no idea the kind of power she possessed in her beauty itself. Her tantalizing eyes alone could hypnotize any human being. Her fire and sass came to life when she was in public, but in the bedroom, she was the total opposite. She would be confident in her own skin, dressed or sans clothing. I would make sure of it.

  “Lentement.” (Slowly.) “Don’t take off your dress with abandonment. Let my eyes savor every inch of your skin.”

  Her skin was perfectly tanned. The shade wasn’t too dark nor was it pale. It seemed to glow, and when she gradually lowered her dress to reveal her perky breasts, my cock pulsed so badly that instead of pouring myself another glass of whiskey, I simply went straight to the bottle, helping myself until I felt the fiery sting burning in my stomach.