“You’re disgusting.”
He pushed himself away from the window and began walking toward her. “No. Just truthful.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking coming here.”
“You were thinking exactly what I am thinking now. I want to have wild sex with this person until I can’t move and I’m dripping with sweat. And then I want to start all over again.” He tossed Clinton’s paperweight on the leather armchair, holding her prisoner with his gaze.
“You want me to kiss you.” He stopped directly in front of her. “Be truthful. As much as you despise everything I stand for, you want to kiss me.”
She drew a ragged breath, her teeth catching her bottom lip.
“Don’t you.” Christ, he’d never wanted to hear the word “yes” more.
A soft breath fell from her, part confused, part frustrated. “I do. God help me, I do.”
Heat and relief and delight crashed through him. Keeping his movement slow, modulated, he slid his hand around the dip of her waist, splayed his fingers over the small of her back, and drew her against his body.
“This is crazy,” she whispered.
“It is,” he whispered back.
She gasped at his admission. He caught the soft sound with his mouth, pulling her closer to him as he surrendered to the exquisite perfection of her lips. Her heat seeped into his, invaded him. A low groan threatened to escape him. How in the name of God was he to carry out his plan when he could think of nothing but how good she tasted, how good she felt? How good he felt when he was with her?
She deepened the kiss, her lips parting against his for a brief moment, filling him with warmth he didn’t want to analyze, and then she pulled away, moving with such haste she slipped from his grasp before he could stop her.
“No.” She didn’t look at him. “No.”
Anguish tore at him. His body reacted to their loss of physical contact. His heart…
She lifted her head to meet his gaze, fighting to control her breath, her expression guarded. “It’s not that easy. I’m not that easy. There’s something I want from you.”
He forced a smirk to his lips. “I think I’ve figured that out already.”
Pink tinged her cheeks again and the tight heat in his groin throbbed. She looked damn sexy when she blushed. Sexy and completely—
“That’s not what I meant.” Ramming her fists to her hips, she glared at him, angry once again. “I want something else.”
“Other than sex? And that is?”
“I want to enter your portrait into the Barton Prize.”
“Agreed.”
A slight widening of her green eyes was the only indication she was surprised by his response. Unlike his father, he shunned public exposure, and while Harvey’s scowling countenance had appeared in the National Portrait Prize more than once, he had refused every request by other artists, some far more famous and illustrious than her. His father and Lindsey could fill the social pages as much as they liked, but in his opinion, the Dysons gained public exposure via other people’s lives, not their own.
He studied her. What was she going to do next?
Did she know her fiery hair brought out the green chips in her eyes? Or that her eyebrows dipped in a serious frown as she tried to decide what to say? Did she know how goddamn sexy it made her look?
Did she know how much she affected him? “Is there more?”
“You have to pay the entry fee.” She tilted her chin at him, as if she expected him to argue. “And I have complete creative and artistic control of the work. You do not get to dictate how I paint you.”
“Done.”
Her frown deepened. He chuckled. “Anything else?”
She hesitated. For a heartbeat. “No.”
A spasm of disappointment cut through him. He’d wanted her to confess how much she wanted him. His ego had never needed stroking before, but Christ, he’d wanted more than anything for her to ask him to make love to her. Right now.
Make love? What the hell?
His gut clenched. He’d never thought of “making love” to anyone before. It was always just sex. But lately it wasn’t “sex” he thought about when his mind lingered on Sienna Roberts—which it did almost every moment of the day and night. Somewhere in the last forty-eight hours, his head had gotten mixed messages about what he’d planned for her—the kiss this morning, seeing her torment over her half brother’s anger and contempt, seeing her concern for the teenage boy…
And now being overwhelmed with the idea of making love to her? Love, not sex. Neither were the actions of a man bent on cold vengeance.
She’s good. She’s playing my weakness just as I planned to play hers. Careful.
He scowled. Damn if she was going to get under his skin.
“Let them show their hand, Jamieson.” His father’s advice scraped over his control. “Let them give you the means to destroy them.”
He studied her, searching his emotions for some semblance of satisfaction at the confusion swimming in her eyes. “Do you have any other conditions?”
Her eyebrows dipped into a frown again. “No, that’s it.” His abrupt change in tone no doubt puzzled her. Good. “We’re finished.”
“No.” He shook his head and removed the space between them. “We’re not.” He smoothed his fingers around her arms, just above her elbows. As always, the contact sent a hot bolt ricocheting through him. “We’re not finished until I say we are.”
A disarming mix of confusion, anger, and fear crossed her face. And something else—the same warring expression that had been on her face before. Excitement.
His balls grew tight, his groin heavy.
He stared down into her eyes, holding her motionless. “Admit that you want me.”
Her lip curled away from her teeth. “Get over your ego.”
“You want me.” He ignored her feeble attempt at denial. “As much as I want you.”
She wasn’t under his skin. He refused to let that happen. But he was under hers. The way she looked at him, the way she responded to him… He’d got to her, he’d gotten under her skin, and that was entirely where he was meant to be. Affecting her. Getting into her head so she couldn’t touch herself without thinking about him.
He ran his palms up her arms, over her shoulders, buried the fingers of his right hand in the hair at her nape while his left hand smoothed down the line of her spine to the delicate hollow of her back. She didn’t stop him. “Admit that you want me to do this.”
He pulled her hips against his, her small gasp proof enough she wanted him touching her. But she needed to say it. On a level he didn’t understand, a level that threatened his cold resolve, he needed to hear her say it.
That need made him vulnerable, an emotion entirely foreign to him. He pushed it aside. Later. He would deal with it later. What he wanted now was her. What he wanted now was to hear she hungered for him. He dipped his head until their lips almost touched. “Admit you want me to kiss you again.”
Her lips parted, the faintest play of her breath tickling his lips. “I want you to kiss me.”
Yes.
He slanted his lips over hers. The hungry impatience in her response flooded him with concentrated desire. As did her tongue meeting his with willing frenzy. His blood roared through him. A mere kiss had never aroused him so much, nor affected him so easily.
He wanted more.
He wanted it all.
“Christ, Sienna,” he growled against her mouth, unable to break their flesh-to-flesh contact even for the split second of his exclamation. Things were spiraling out of control. He was spiraling out of control, caught in a sensual maelstrom that stripped him of rational thought. “What have you done to me?”
In response, she snaked her hands between them and, with a savage jerk, ripped his shirt open. He didn’t care. Not when she curled her fingers through the hair on his chest and pinched his hard nipples.
A sharp breath burst from him, hoarse and raw. He clos
ed his eyes, unable to cope with the light filling his office. His body was on acute sensory overload, heightened beyond the norm by her touch.
An animal sound rumbled deep in his throat and, unable to stop himself, he stumbled back, pulling her with him as he collapsed against the edge of his desk. She slipped between his parted thighs, her groin rubbing against his. His breath burst from him in ragged pants, his shaft so hard it was almost painful.
“Christ, Sienna,” he groaned, incapable of articulating the rolling pleasure consuming him. Her lips explored his chin, his jaw, his throat, her tongue flicking and teasing as she rotated her hips slowly against his throbbing erection, wringing another guttural moan from him. “What have you done to me?”
She dragged her hands down his exposed chest, her nails leaving burning trails on his flesh as they traveled to the waistband of his trousers. His straining erection would be in her hands in seconds. She would hold him in her hands, and he wouldn’t stop her. The ability to think coherently had been shattered the moment her lips touched his bare flesh. She had reduced him to a creature of pure sexual response.
He didn’t care. Not one little—
He shot to his feet, the abrupt movement making Sienna stumble backward.
Fuck. She’d done it. Beaten him. Controlled him.
“I don’t…” Confusion etched her face. And yet despite that, heady passion still smoldered in her eyes, making them greener than ever. “What’s going on?”
Disgusted at his lack of restraint, he glared at her.
She studied him, the confusion and passion seeping from her face, replaced by an expression he couldn’t read. Was it triumph?
“I think it’s very obvious what I’ve done to you.” She ran a slow gaze over his body. “Tell me, how does it feel?”
Before he could respond, she turned and left, leaving him standing beside his desk, his open shirt askew, his body screaming for fulfillment.
A growl vibrated low in his chest. For all his talk and thoughts of dirty play, she had won the first round.
He clenched his jaw, cold resolution licking through him even as his body hungered for release he feared only she could provide.
It was time to move to the next stage of his plan. It was time to sever Sienna from her benevolent benefactor Mason Xavier.
It was time for James to put the mysterious businessman to rest. Time to end the alter ego he’d created in phase one of his plan, a man wealthy enough to commission work after work from Sienna.
Time to destroy any hope she had of surviving without turning to him, Jamieson Xavier Dyson.
But first, he had to lay some groundwork for his place in her life.
He crossed to his desk and pressed a button on the intercom. “Tracy, get me the principal of The Point High School please.”
“Yes, sir.”
His father had taught him many things over the years, but the one he had found most valuable was simple. There was always more than one way to destroy an enemy. And one of those ways was to make your enemy your friend first.
Chapter Six
What the hell was that?
Sienna barely made it to her car, an old Honda Accord she loved dearly, before her calm facade fell in a crumpled heap.
Collapsing into the driver’s seat, she grasped at the worn steering wheel and dropped her forehead against it.
What did I almost do?
She stared at the Honda’s floor without seeing it. If James hadn’t stopped her, she would have done the unthinkable right there in his office.
So much for proving to him I’m not the slut he thinks I am.
Nothing made sense. It was like she’d just stepped out of some demonic carnival ride that didn’t affect her physically but left her emotions all over the shop.
No. That was wrong, as well. Physically, she was also a mess.
She had never been so ready for sex as she was now. Despite the emotional chaos raging through her head and heart, if James opened her car door at this very second, she would throw herself at him and beg him to finish what they’d started. What he’d stopped.
She lifted her head from the steering wheel. What is going on? What is his game?
“His game?” She snorted. “What’s my game?”
Her game had been to persuade him to let her enter his portrait into the Barton, and, if she still sensed that powerful attraction between them, invite him to dinner with her and Zach. She sighed. Yeah, so much for that game. Oh God, how close had she actually come to…to…
A burning blush heated her face. So much for being a conquest he would have to work for.
She shook her head and started her car. Over. It had to be over. When she got home, she would ring Mason Xavier and tell him she couldn’t fulfill his commission. If she had to spend any more time with James Dyson she’d end up hating herself. For what she’d let him do to her, for what she’d do to him. Sex for sex’s sake was all well and good, but not at the cost of her soul. And damn, she’d lose her soul to James. He was too damn potent, too damn overwhelming.
Too damn addictive.
“The way you’re going,” she muttered, pulling into the flow of morning traffic, “you’d throw yourself at his feet and offer your body for use as his own personal sex toy.”
Didn’t I almost just do that?
Her blush intensified. “It’s over.” There had to be another way to fix up her financial woes. Hell, she’d cleaned motel rooms to pay her way through art school. She could do it again to pay the bills.
Zach was slouched across the sofa in the studio when she got home, a can of Coke in one hand and his mobile phone in the other. He shot her an ambiguous look, sending waves of butterflies to her already unsettled stomach. Something was up, and he didn’t want her to know.
What have you done now, Zach?
She crossed to the small kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, trying to look casual. She didn’t like eavesdropping on him, but she liked the look on his face less. If he was in more trouble, she wanted to be forewarned. If he’d smashed another musical instrument, or broken another girl’s wrist, more than one job as a cleaner would be in order.
Maybe it’s time to take up pole dancing?
She hid her small smile behind her cup. Pole dancing or sex with James? If they were only two options…
“Sure, Dad,” Zach said. “Okay.”
Dad?
The butterflies in her stomach fluttered into frenzied action, and she placed the cup on the bench for fear she would end up burning herself.
Dad? Oh God, Zach was talking to their father?
“No probs.” Zach lifted the soft drink to his mouth, but before the can touched his lips, he shook his head, frowning. Obviously, whatever their dad had said, Zach didn’t agree.
“I said no probs, Dad.” His frown blackened, and he shot her another look, this one angry. “I thought you said…” He paused. “I know she’s my sister, but…but…” He closed his eyes, his face young and sad and vulnerable. “Yeah, okay.” When he opened his eyes, Sienna was surprised to see them shining with tears.
Oh, Zach. I want to make it better for you. I really do.
“She’s here.” Zach erased the tears in a savage swipe. “Yeah, I’ll put her on.”
He held his phone out to her, but for a second, she didn’t move. Couldn’t.
She hadn’t spoken to her dad for almost five and a half months, not since Zach had come to stay with her, and their last conversation had not gone well. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. He was her father, after all. Apart from the surreal childhood of celebrity parties full of sex and drugs, he’d never been bad to her. She did love him. She just didn’t like him. Not at the moment.
His criminal activities were the least of his shortcomings. She couldn’t forgive him for moving Zach’s mother in two days after dumping her own mum, nor for raising Zach to be a spoiled, petulant brat. But still, he was her father, and he wanted to talk to her.
She took Zach’s phone and r
aised it to her ear. “Hi, Dad.”
“Kitten,” Joseph Cornwell exclaimed on the other end, his smooth voice as charming as ever. She pulled a face. While other people melted with ease to the charismatic “Platinum Joe” personality, she didn’t. Particularly when he called her Kitten, a pet name that only came out when he was trying to butter her up. Or con her.
“What do you want?”
“Has Zach been good? Not giving you too much trouble, I hope.”
No, not at all. He’s the perfect child. “We’re getting there. How’s prison?”
The telephone connection did nothing to hide the gusto in his laugh. “Great. The food’s not quite what I was used to, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? I tell you, Kitten, I’ve done some serious networking. And the talent. There’s a guy in here that could be the next Nick Blackthorne. Damn, I rue the day I let Nick slip through my clutches. If I could get some capital together, I reckon this guy could be even—”
“What do you want, Dad?” No. She couldn’t listen to his patented schmooze any longer. There was a long pause on the other end, peppered only with the faint sounds of metal doors slamming shut.
“My solicitor came to see me yesterday,” Joseph finally said. Was that shame in his voice? Was it even possible? “Apparently, I’m being sued over some girl’s violin.” He paused again. “I need you to help me out.”
Sure you do. “Dad, I’m flat broke. I’m struggling to deal with your court bills as it is.”
“It’s not just that, Kitten. I need help in here. Money talks, if you know what I mean. And Pablo Reynard, the man I…err, borrowed money from when I was gambling, knows how to get at me, even in here. I need…I need to pay him back before…before he…” He let out a choked sigh. “Even a few thousand will stop him for a while, Kitten. Can you help? Please?”
Sienna closed her eyes. She wouldn’t feel sorry for him. She wouldn’t let herself. He’d always been a scoundrel, the personality trait contributing to his success in the entertainment industry for over four decades, but embezzling over six million dollars from his own company was more than the actions of a scoundrel—it was the act of a criminal, and he was where he deserved to be. “Dad, I’m not sure—”
The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel) Page 7
