Blackmailed by the Vengeful Tycoon

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Drake.’ She reached up cupping his face with her hands, smiling tremulously into his eyes. ‘It’s no act, and the only person I’m likely to pity is myself, because I’ve been through agony loving you and believing that you merely wanted me. When I talked about wanting love and desire I was talking about my wanting of your love as well as your desire.’

  ‘I thought you meant that while you desired me physcially you didn’t love me. In fact you said as much.’

  ‘Because I was frightened that you’d guess the truth and that you’d use it to urge me into a relationship which ultimately could only cause me pain.’

  ‘It’s a very high opinion you have of me,’ he murmured sardonically, ‘but perhaps well deserved. If you marry me Emma, it will be for life…’

  She smiled mischieviously at him. ‘I shouldn’t want it any other way.’ He paused bending his head to kiss her. Against her body Emma could feel the deep, rapid thud of his heart. He loved her… Drake loved her… The knowledge pierced thrillingly through her.

  ‘Just think,’ she said dreamily as he lowered her back against the bed. ‘If it hadn’t been for David being suspicious of you and Camilla insisting on that dinner party we might never have learned the truth.’

  Drake paused, removing his robe. The morning sunlight gleamed rich bronze on his body and Emma couldn’t resist lifting her hand to stroke the satin smoothness of his skin. The ripple of pleasure that surged through him made her tremble in immediate response, but she froze in tense dread as Drake said quietly, ‘I’m afraid I have a confession to make.’

  What was he going to tell her? That his proclamation of love had been a trick all along? No, she didn’t believe he could be so cruel.

  ‘I coerced Camilla into going to you with that tale, by threatening to tell David about the night she spent at my house—with suitable embellishments of course. Naturally, I wouldn’t have done so, but it was enough to make her come running to you, and to make you, with true sisterly loyalty come to me. You see I knew if I approached you, you’d run away from me and I was desperate for the sight and touch of you Emma. I told myself that somehow we’d talk but it just didn’t work out that way. First you dropped your bombshell about finding someone you loved. I was almost mad with jealousy. I couldn’t believe you could love someone else and yet have reacted so passionately to me. I told myself if I could just get you into bed; break down the barriers you had erected between us I could make you see that there was only one man for you—me. Hence the spilled cologne… I hoped my crying out might bring you upstairs…’

  ‘Lazy beast,’ Emma derided, ‘after all the least I might have expected was to be swept up in your arms and carried off in true romantic fashion.’

  ‘Umm, knowing you, you’d have kicked and fought all the way,’ Drake told her. ‘No, I knew I had to catch you off-guard… to break down the barriers you’d put up against me.’

  ‘Well you certainly succeeded in that.’ She coloured faintly, remembering her abandoned response to his lovemaking.

  ‘Umm, maybe, but you’re not leaving this bed until I have your promise that you’ll marry me.’

  ‘You mean you’ll trust my word?’ Emma teased, rounding her eyes in mock amazement. ‘Don’t you know you should never believe anything someone says in the throes of passion?’

  Drake shook his head. ‘Wrong,’ he said softly. ‘When passion is combined with love, it’s stronger than any truth serum ever invented. Last night it took every ounce of self control I had not to tell you how much I loved and needed you. You were right Emma,’ he told her huskily, ‘sex without love is a mere shadow of the real thing. Tell me you love me,’ he demanded rawly. ‘Let me hear you say it.’

  Intuitive to his deep-rooted need to be sure of her Emma whispered the words against his ear. She also murmured them against his throat reinforcing them with soft kisses. She was still murmuring them as her tongue touched the flat plane of his belly, but it seemed Drake had heard them enough. ‘Now tell me that you’ll marry me,’ he commanded thickly.

  Emma needed no second bidding, but she continued to tease him with light kisses and caresses for several seconds before she did so, caught off guard by Drake’s sudden transition from supplicant to aggressor as he rolled her away from his body and then began to tease and torment her as she had been doing him.

  Quite when teasing gave way to passion Emma didn’t know, she only knew that her body welcomed the surge of Drake’s against it as though it had been fashioned just for it, the words of love he muttered into her skin finding a feverish response within her. Drake loved her. There was nothing more she asked from life. She already had it all safely encompassed within the confines of this bed; held fast to her with arms she knew would never let her go. Later they would talk and plan, right now was the time to feel and to share those feelings; to give and receive life’s most precious gift of all. That of love.

  If you enjoyed this story by

  NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author

  PENNY JORDAN,

  you will love

  Harlequin® Presents!

  Do you want alpha males, decadent glamour and jet-set lifestyles? Step into the sensational, sophisticated world of Harlequin® Presents, where sinfully tempting heroes ignite a fierce and wickedly irresistible passion!

  Look for eight new stories every month!

  Recommended Reads for April 2017

  Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of USA Today bestselling author Kate Hewitt’s new release,

  THE SECRET HEIR OF ALAZAR

  The first book in her Seduced by a Sheikh duet!

  Gracie Jones spends one forbidden night with Malik al Bahjat—but he’s called to his duty as heir to the throne of Alazar before she discovers her pregnancy. When Malik learns the truth, he’s intent on crowning Gracie his desert queen!

  Keep reading for a glimpse of

  THE SECRET HEIR OF ALAZAR

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE MESMERISED HIM. Malik al Bahjat, heir to the throne of Alazar, watched the girl from afar. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but that was part of her charm. Golden-brown hair tumbled down her back in a riot of artless, unstyled waves and curls. Her face was freckled, hazel eyes glinting with humour, with hope, with happiness—three things Malik didn’t think he’d ever truly experienced.

  She sat on the arm of a sofa, long, golden legs tucked up, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a billowy white top, a pair of bright purple sneakers on her feet. Men were chatting with her, of course—they couldn’t keep their eyes off her. No one could. She vibrated with life, with the enjoyment of life, every curve of her lithe body vibrant and sinuous. She was so alive.

  And Malik had felt like a walking automaton for years, programmed for nothing but onerous duty. He took one step into the room, towards her. He didn’t usually go to parties. He was in Rome to assist his grandfather in negotiating a new trade deal with the European Union. Alazar had forged strong links with Europe, links that could stabilise his country’s fraught economy as well as the entire region of the Arabian Peninsula.

  These meetings were important, Malik knew that; Asad al Bahjat had certainly drilled that into him. Alazar’s peace and prosperity rested on meetings such as this one. Then out of the blue a friend from his military school days had contacted him, inviting him out, and, knowing how rare such opportunities were, Malik had agreed. One night. One evening where he could act as if he were like other men, as if he had control of his own future, were able to shape his own happiness. Surely he could have that. Surely, after so many years of unquestioning obedience, he deserved it.

  He took a step further into the room. Another step towards her. Even though he was still several metres away she turned, her golden gaze clashing and then tangling with his. It felt like slamming into a wall, leaving him breathless. He didn’t want to so much as blink in case he severed the connection.

  She looked shocked, her gaze wide and surprised, her full pink lips slightly parted. She didn’t blink either.
Malik walked towards her.

  He didn’t know what he was going to say; he had no chat-up lines. His experience with women was woefully limited, thanks to the security precautions that had been put in place for his own safety. He’d grown up in a palace, with every luxury to hand, but in virtual isolation, save for several rigid years at military school, which had presented their own challenges and difficulties. This was, he acknowledged in wry bemusement, the first real party he’d ever attended. Diplomatic receptions and charity benefits didn’t count.

  ‘Hello.’ His voice came in a husky rumble; he immediately cleared his throat.

  Not a great start, but a smile bloomed across her face that warmed him like a golden ray of sunshine. ‘Hello.’ Her voice was low and musical.

  They stared at each other for a long moment; Malik realised he was grinning. It appeared neither of them knew any chat-up lines.

  She let out a soft gurgle of laughter, her eyes alight with humour and mischief. ‘Are you going to tell me your name, at least?’

  ‘Malik.’ He paused, his mind whirling, spinning with delight at simply being in her presence, basking in the glow of her undivided attention. ‘And yours?’

  ‘Grace. But most people call me Gracie. It started when I was a baby and somehow stuck. I tried being Grace for a while, but everyone acted like I was putting on airs. Apparently I’m not the sophisticated type, you know, like Grace Kelly?’ She made a rueful face, with laughing eyes. He was enchanted.

  Gracie. He savoured the syllables in his mind, in knowing even this much about her. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Gracie. And I like your name just as it is.’

  ‘You have an accent.’ She cocked her head, her glinting gaze sweeping over him, affecting him in ways that surprised and unnerved him. She was just looking. But he could feel his libido stir, insistent, unforgotten despite years of being ruthlessly reined in. ‘But you’re not Italian?’ It was offered as a question.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘I’m…’ He paused. Tonight he did not want to be an heir, a sultan-in-waiting. He’d been that, and nothing but that, since he was twelve years old.

  Now that Azim is gone you must put your childish pursuits aside. You must take his place and be a man.

  ‘I’m from Alazar.’

  ‘Alazar?’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I’ve never heard of it. Is it in Europe?’

  ‘No, the Middle East. I suppose not many people have heard of it. It is a small place.’ And so he dismissed his country, his upbringing and his entire life with a shrug and in that moment he did not feel even a flicker of guilt. ‘And you, I am guessing, are American?’

  Her eyes danced. ‘How did you know? Was it the awful Midwestern twang? I make myself cringe, so I can’t imagine how you feel.’

  ‘Your accent is charming.’

  She let out a laugh, the sound as rich and full-bodied as the finest wine. ‘Now that’s a first. I asked someone for directions this morning and they looked appalled.’

  ‘Then they were both rude and stupid.’ She laughed again, and he loved that he had amused her. The knowledge was heady, intoxicating. He didn’t need anything to drink, not when he was in her presence. ‘What are you doing in Rome?’

  ‘I’m travelling for the summer, before I start college back in Illinois.’ She wrinkled her nose again, her smile wry. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the world, something people back home don’t really understand.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, in fact I think most people back home think I’m crazy.’ She adopted a stronger version of her own American twang. ‘What do you want to go travelling around the world for, Gracie? It’s dangerous out there!’ She threw her head back so her hair, in all of its curls and waves, cascaded down her back in a golden-brown waterfall. ‘Yep. That’s me. Certifiable for wanting to see a little bit of the world.’

  ‘I do not think you are the crazy one.’

  ‘That makes two of us, then.’ She grinned. ‘So what are you doing in Rome?’

  ‘Business with my grandfather. I am afraid it is most dull.’ He did not want to talk about himself. ‘So where are you from in America?’

  ‘Addison Heights. I don’t even know why it’s called heights,’ she added with another laugh. ‘There aren’t any. It’s as flat as a pancake. Wishful thinking, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re different from your friends,’ Malik surmised. It was an obvious statement; she was different from everyone. He’d never met someone who shone with such life. He wanted to stand next to her simply to absorb her excitement, her interest.

  But no, he wanted more than that. He wanted to touch her silky skin, kiss those petal-pink lips. The realisation shocked him. Sexual desire had been something that had been necessarily shelved for most of his life; now, at twenty-two years old, he felt its overwhelming force.

  ‘Hey, Gracie.’ A young man in a wrinkled polo shirt with a pair of beer bottles clutched in one meaty hand shouldered his way towards them. Malik tensed, resenting the intrusion. He was gratified to see that Gracie looked as if she resented it as well, her lips pursing, eyes flashing.

  The man gave Malik a wary sideways glance before attempting to edge him out, half standing in front of him, as he handed a beer to Gracie. ‘Got your drink.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and took the bottle but not a sip.

  Malik shifted his weight so his shoulder brushed the other man’s. The man flinched. At six-three, Malik topped the guy by a good five inches and was heavier and more muscular by several stone. He’d never had to use his size except in training situations, but he discovered he had no compunction about using it now. And neither did Gracie; her eyes glinted again with humour and she smiled, a smile that felt as if it was aimed for him alone, secretive and promising.

  ‘Actually,’ she told the man sweating next to Malik, ‘I’m not thirsty any more.’ She handed him the beer bottle as her gaze swerved to fasten on Malik’s. ‘What I’d really like is some fresh air.’

  ‘As would I,’ Malik returned smoothly. He held out his hand to Gracie, and she slid hers across his palm, causing a tingling, tightening sensation in his midsection.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ Gracie said, her eyes sparkling, and Malik led her out of the crowded room.

  * * *

  What was she doing?

  Gracie’s insides felt as if they were full of leaping, wriggling fish as she followed Malik outside the town house in Rome’s Trevi district. The June air was warm and balmy, the night full of sounds of city life: the distant buzz of a moped, the clink of glasses and laughter from a nearby café. They stood outside the town house, the air caressing their skin like velvet, the mood expectant and alive.

  Malik turned to face her, still holding her hand. In the night she could only just make out his eyes, the colour of granite, the proud slashes of his cheekbones. He was the most physically arresting man she’d ever seen. From the second he’d walked through the door she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. He was tall, commanding, his broad shoulders and muscled torso encased in a crisp white button-down shirt, his long, powerful legs in charcoal-grey trousers. Next to the motley assembly of college grads and twenty-somethings decked out in dirty jeans and T-shirts, he looked magnificent. Regal. And he’d singled her out for his attention.

  A thrill rippled through her. It wasn’t like her to be so forward, so bold. She was Gracie Jones from Addison Heights, Illinois, population three thousand. She’d never had a boyfriend, had gone through high school without even being kissed. She hadn’t minded; she’d always been waiting for something better, for life to really begin.

  Was this it?

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ Malik asked. His voice was a low growl that reverberated right through her.

  ‘I don’t know. I only arrived in Rome yesterday. I’m as newbie as they get.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Do you recommend anywhere?’

  His faint smile felt like a promise. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the
city, either. I only arrived yesterday as well.’

  ‘We’re both of us newbies, then.’ Although newbie didn’t seem the right word to describe this man. Powerful, assured, experienced were more apt. He was miles above her in every regard.

  ‘How did you end up at that party?’ Malik asked.

  Gracie wrinkled her nose in a grimace. ‘I met that guy with the beers while I was sightseeing. He invited me along, and I thought I might as well go.’ She’d been both excited and nervous about diving into a strange and sudden social life, but this was better by far. ‘How about we go to a café?’ she suggested. ‘Get a proper drink?’

  His eyes glinted with humour. ‘I thought you weren’t thirsty.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she agreed blithely. ‘But we need to go somewhere, don’t we?’ His gaze held hers and she felt a new heat bloom in her belly at the undisguised desire she saw there. Suddenly she was imagining all sorts of places they could go. All sorts of things they could do…

  Which was ridiculous, considering the limits of her experience. And she barely knew this man. She wasn’t going to be that stupid, not on her first day in Europe. And yet Gracie couldn’t deny the attraction was there, amazingly on both sides, sparking between them. What would they do with it?

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Malik murmured. His fingers tightened on hers and he drew her down the pavement, towards a café near the Trevi Fountain, the Palazzo Poli providing a magnificent backdrop.

  The pavement café was buzzing with people, but after Malik had a murmured word with the maître d’ they were led to a private table tucked in the back with an unobstructed view of the fountain.

  Gracie sat down, revelling in the moment, from the fountain lit up from underneath the water, its surface shimmering with lights, to the magnificent palazzo to the even more magnificent man sitting across from her, his silvery-grey gaze fastened on her. She felt as if she had champagne bubbling through her veins, as if every nerve ending was tingling with anticipation.