by Virna DePaul
Almost frightened, she looked up into the intent dark gaze of the man standing over her.
He was well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build, wearing a suit that even her drowsy mind registered as expensive and definitely custom made. His eyes were brown, his hair even darker, maybe black. It was hard to tell in the shadowy room. But it looked messed up, not styled, in contrast to the rest of his appearance.
A strong jaw had a tense set, but she could guess what he looked like when and if he smiled. There were faint lines on either side of a mouth that had a sensual fullness. His lips tightened for a fraction of a second as he looked back at her, his expression somehow radiating sensuality and displeasure all at once.
Of course he was displeased. She’d rudely intruded into his private space. An automatic apology hovered on her lips, but for some reason she couldn’t get it out. All she could do was stare at him, transfixed, and sternly tell herself that no, she couldn’t stand, grab his face, and pull him down for a kiss to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
The fact she wanted to was a bit of a shock.
Her stomach quivered and she swallowed against a dry mouth. A racing heartbeat had her parting her lips to breathe. Wow. She wanted this man, and bad.
Chapter Two
Cara considered herself plenty experienced. There had been times in her life she’d enjoyed the company of men. When she’d had boyfriends. Sex. But her desire for men and their bodies had always seemed, while probably quite normal, nonetheless slightly unremarkable. Her girlfriends in high school—including Iris—had burbled on and on about boys and how wet they got when the boys walked by, but her? Yeah, she’d thought Tony Spokane was hot, and had felt a little flutter in her belly when she kissed her first boyfriend—had even climaxed the very first time she’d had sex, losing her virginity to her college boyfriend Alec—but somehow the fantastic glittery experience her friends talked about had bypassed her.
Until now.
As seconds stretched together, the man standing over her focused on her mouth, her eyes, as if caressing her face with his gaze. The intensity of her instant attraction to this stranger was anything but unremarkable.
It was his eyes that really did it to her. The heat in their depths was startling. The quivering in her belly radiated out, lower, and she felt herself getting wet…wetter than she’d ever been. Wet enough that if she weren’t careful, it would show on her cream skirt. She fought against the wild notion that he wanted to take what he saw: her. Right now. Right here. Any way she wanted to be taken.
She fought even harder against the notion that that was exactly what she wanted. And that she yearned for him to show her ways to be taken she’d barely even heard of. Ways Iris probably knew about.
But he stayed where he was. His hands were in his pockets. He’d put them there after he’d touched her. Unless she’d just dreamed that tender caress, of course.
“You weren’t enjoying the party?” His deep voice reverberated in the room.
Conversation, she reminded herself. First step in meeting someone new was to converse, not strip naked and jump their bones. She hesitated, then said, “Everything was beautiful. First class.” I’m just more an economy class kind of girl, she thought, then mentally slapped herself upside the head. Why even think that when a gorgeous man was staring at her? When he’d obviously covered her up while she slept? Watched her while she slept?
He smiled slightly. “You weren’t enjoying it,” he said decisively. His calm self-assurance was very different from the young guys she worked with, although he didn’t look much older than they did. He was probably thirty. Just. But he had a tough, ruthless look about him, as if he’d literally fought his way to the top of the world.
Oh, God, she suddenly realized, this had to be his house. Everything about him lent credence to that fact. She’d stumbled into his private sanctuary. But instead of seeking confirmation, she asked, “What time is it?” Slowly, she moved the cashmere throw down her body, touching the buttons of her cream blouse first to make sure she wasn’t carelessly revealing herself. Every button was in place. It was her imagination working overtime that made it feel like they’d jumped loose and given him a glimpse of her lacy bra before she’d opened her eyes.
“After midnight.”
She rose from the sofa, straightening her rumpled clothes. “I have to go.” Somewhat awkwardly, she slipped a foot into one high heel, then the other, and stood tall. He was still a whole lot taller.
“You can stay in here for a bit if you like,” he said indifferently. “The party’s winding down.”
“I guess this must be your house.”
He inclined his dark head in a nod.
“Spectacular. Really nice.” Cara told herself not to babble. “I’m sorry, we weren’t told who owned the place.”
“I’m Branden Duke.”
A nice name. A regal name. But this was no Prince Charming. Too haunted. Too harsh. But gorgeous, nonetheless. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for the offer to stay, but…” She glanced beyond him and swallowed. The door was behind him. Closed.
He’d opened it, seen her sleeping, and come in, closing it behind him. Why?
As if he had picked up on the nervous question that buzzed in her mind, he turned and strode to the door, opening it again. But he came back.
Two things registered. First, she wasn’t being dismissed. Second, he wasn’t blocking her way, and that appeared to be deliberate on his part. He’d known she felt threatened and had immediately reassured her. With actions, not words. In her world, that immediately set him apart from most.
She stepped toward him, fully intending to make a swift exit—and made the mistake of looking up. His dark, burning gaze hypnotized her for a moment longer. He raised a hand and ran his fingertips over her sleep-flushed cheek as if he couldn’t help himself.
Again.
Cara was mesmerized. The unexpected contact was tender and also erotic. Familiar.
Tempting.
This man in no way resembled Tony Spokane. He wasn’t a boy playing at being bad. He was simply bad through and through. In all the best ways possible.
“Don’t.” She was barely able to breathe out the single word. She wasn’t angry or afraid—just wildly confused by his daring and her own crazy reaction. He dropped his hand.
“Are you here alone? Do you work for—”
Frightened by the intensity of her attraction to him, she blurted out, “I came with Greg Johnson. He must be wondering where I am.”
Right. As if Greg looking for her would be some kind of protection from this man. If Branden Duke wanted something, wanted her, a little competition would hardly put him off.
Besides, she didn’t want Greg to come looking for her.
At the top of the list of the Reasons Why Not, which were coming back to her, was the inevitable watercooler talk between the guys, discussing the party and instant replays of their conquests. She didn’t want to become Topic Number One during that bull session. But getting caught up here with this man, who had some mysterious connection to her company, wouldn’t do, either.
Branden’s gaze flickered. “Greg Johnson. The stockbroker from Dubois & Mellan? He’s gone.”
Great. That meant Greg had taken her ride back to Manhattan with him. Bastard, she thought, but without much heat. After all, she’d contemplated doing that very thing to him. “You know him?”
“We were introduced tonight.”
“Great. Well, I really should be going—”
Cara stepped back, nearly falling when her leg connected with the low glass table. Branden reached out and held her arms, the strength in his large hands flowing into her somehow. She swallowed hard, reluctant to shrug him off.
The spell he’d cast didn’t break. Seconds passed. A minute. He didn’t release her. Instead, his soft grip slowly turned into caresses, with his hands smoothing over her arms and then up her neck until his hands lightly framed her jaw.
; She still didn’t pull away. All she wanted to do was give in and see what happened.
“I’m thinking Greg Johnson doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” The statement just popped out of her.
He smiled ever so slightly. Cocked a challenging brow. Stared at her with eyes filled with a taunting dare.
So what if we’re strangers, it said. You want to kiss me. So why not kiss me?
She could think of many reasons why not. But she didn’t want to think. The lingering dreaminess of being caught unawares and the intimate solitude of their chance encounter dissolved her resistance. In a heartbeat.
She rose on her tiptoes to give him her mouth, loving the ebony fire that blazed in his eyes just before she made contact. The kiss was a brush of the lips at first, then a searching, urgent opening of her mouth as his tongue met hers. Branden Duke kissed with expert sensuality. The strong body underneath the fine suit conveyed a rising heat as she relaxed against it, not surrendering just yet, but savoring the pleasure of a scorching kiss from a real man.
In its own compelling way, it was another first kiss. But absolutely not innocent, though his sensual skill made her feel like a beginner. Never, never had she so much as dreamed a kiss could be so powerfully erotic.
The desire he awakened could easily turn into obsession.
She didn’t know how much time passed. The kiss continued. His hands glided over her curves—front and rear, but mostly rear—but he didn’t try to get underneath her skirt or blouse. She liked that. She thrilled to his touch, enjoying the subtle slide of material over her hips as he pulled her closer and made her move for him. He knew exactly what he was doing, bringing forth visions of platform beds and silky sheets and ropes tied around her wrists—
She immediately flinched at the erotic vision of her bound and helpless to this man’s hands and mouth. Whether it was at her movement or because he’d guessed at her thoughts, his kiss became rougher. His touch more possessive, pressing her against him with an unmistakable air of dominance.
She couldn’t help but respond. Cara raised her arms and draped them over his shoulders, breaking off the kiss to nuzzle his neck and press her nose into his heated skin, warmed by that delicious spicy scent. His chin rested lightly on her head and he groaned as she rubbed her blouse- and bra-covered breasts against his front, shamelessly enjoying the feel of her nipples tightening against the fabric.
He drew in a sharp breath, and then abruptly set her away from him, leaving her disoriented and cold. His grasp on her arms was hard, frantic yet conflicted, as if he wanted to keep her at a distance but was unwilling to let her walk away completely.
She gasped and let her head loll back, eroticism making her spine grow weak.
Then he landed his blow. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Greg was just your way of getting in here. Are you looking to trade up? Is that it?”
Instead of flinching this time, she actually recoiled. How could he have thought that? Why would he have thought that? Just because he’d aroused her with his kiss? Her spine snapped up, rigid, and she shot him a glare.
He frowned, his grip loosening enough that she could rip herself away. She backed up several steps and simply stared at him. She couldn’t help it. He’d shocked her and she knew by the expression of regret that instantly flashed across his face that she probably looked like he’d slapped her.
He held up a hand. “But I could be wrong.”
His voice snapped her out of her paralysis. “You think?” she asked nastily. She immediately turned and strode toward the open door. She gasped when his hands gently grasped her arms from behind, stopping her in her tracks. She stiffened, but when he didn’t roughly pull her against him, she forced herself to relax. Let the bastard grovel, she thought. She’d enjoy it. Then she’d mentally knee him in the nuts and get the hell out of here.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You…that kiss…it took me by surprise.”
You think? This time she asked the sarcastic question silently. His tone seemed genuinely perplexed and she relaxed even more at his willingness to admit he could be taken by surprise. It was a concession of vulnerability he probably didn’t make a habit of giving.
Deliberately, she took three testing steps forward. As she’d expected, he didn’t try to stop her, instead letting her go completely. And he didn’t try to force her to turn around when she just continued to stand there, trying to get her bearings.
Cara felt dizzy. She didn’t want to feel that out of control. But she didn’t want to leave. No, she wanted this man, in every way she could have him. But a wanton kiss that had just sort of happened was one thing. Sex with a stranger, and she’d admittedly seemed headed down that unexpected path, was quite another. For him to imply she’d been lying in wait for him had been insulting…but understandable given where he’d found her and how she’d initiated that mind-blowing kiss.
With a sigh, she turned to face him. “I understand why you thought what you did. But you’re wrong. I was just looking for a place to be alone. I wasn’t expecting…”
At her trailing words, he sighed. Ran his hands through his hair. “Neither was I. But I liked it. I don’t suppose you’ll forget what I said, though.”
The expression on his face—playful hopefulness—actually had her stifling a laugh.
“I think it’s best I go.” She slid her hands over her skirt and checked those blouse buttons. Still in place, every damn one of them. She hadn’t known it was possible to get that turned on fully dressed.
“Do you really?” The playfulness was gone. His tone seductive. The look in his eyes posing another question altogether: How about we have sex instead? All night long?
God, the guy could switch it on and off. It was probably second nature to him. He was obviously used to getting his way.
“Yes,” she said, shifting her attention off him and onto the door. She needed to get out of here…before she did something to embarrass herself. “The party is over…”
“That’s right. The only people left are the ones who have something I want.”
At the emotionally charged tone in his voice, she turned her attention back to him. His gaze seemed to include her in the category he spoke of.
“Another woman? Or two?” she asked for some foolish reason.
Branden smiled. Big and wide. He was gorgeous, period, but when he smiled…she felt like someone who’d seen the sun for the very first time.
“More like a baker’s dozen,” he replied.
Okay. That raised some unpleasant questions and answered a couple of others. She hadn’t been his Sleeping Beauty, just a girl who conveniently conked out in an upstairs room. And it was clear he was no Prince Charming, even if he did own this cool waterfront castle and kiss like a sex dream come true.
“Oh. I see.” Cara gave him a thinly stretched smile and sauntered to the door. If the party had degenerated into some sort of upscale orgy, she wanted no part of it. She needed to get a taxi.
“My driver can take you home. He’s in the porte cochere. Tell him I sent you.”
His voice caught her as she stepped out into the hall, and she immediately halted. Her initial instinct was to politely decline. She didn’t. She needed an escape hatch and he’d just given it to her. She wasn’t about to turn him down. Without even saying thank you, she walked quickly to the mahogany staircase, going down the stairs with silent speed.
From below, Max Dubois, her boss, noticed her as she glided down the staircase. Loudly, he called out to her. “Cara, I didn’t realize you were still here! I—”
“I’m sorry, Max, but I have to run,” she called. True to her word, she practically ran to the foyer to grab her coat, which had her wallet in the pocket, from the front closet. Only once she was at the front door did she allow herself to look back and up.
Branden Duke was watching her, his strong hands resting on the banister of the upper landing where he had remained. Even at this distance, the intensity of his dark gaze was unsettli
ng. He didn’t seem happy that she had escaped.
Tough luck. Cara told herself she should have known better than to fall asleep in a lion’s den. At least she’d never given him her name.
If she was lucky—and smart—she’d never see him again.
—
Despite the cold night air, Branden kept the car windows rolled down, craving the bracing rush of wind. He needed to clear his head, and a solo drive in his latest luxury sports car did the trick. It had taken an eternity for the remaining guests—the junior brokers and their managers, plus the execs who were in on the takeover—to be ushered out. The wives and girlfriends in attendance had clustered together, chatting. A few of the officially unattached females, easy to spot by their microscopic skirts and staggeringly high heels, had been bold enough to come up the stairs and thank him for the party.
That had pissed him off, but only because he hadn’t liked seeing them on the second floor. Where she’d been. Where they’d been together. He didn’t want anyone intruding on those memories, no matter how innocuous or swift the intrusion.
He knew her name now.
Cara Michal.
Based on their conversation upstairs, he’d assumed she was Greg Johnson’s date, not an employee of Dubois & Mellan. And because he’d known the other man had abandoned her, Branden hadn’t had any qualms about acting on the potent attraction he’d felt from the moment he’d seen her sleeping on his sofa.
He’d known he should wake her and get her the hell out of his house. Instead, he’d given in to the temptation to look at her, then to touch her. He’d wanted to rouse her, see those thickly lashed lids flutter open to reveal the color of her eyes.
When they had, he’d sucked in his breath at how spectacular her blue eyes were. They reminded him of a cross between aquamarines and sapphires. He’d wanted to kiss her then and there. He’d waited to see if she’d kiss him. Not simply because he enjoyed a challenge but because she was a stranger. Even when his cock ached to bury itself inside a woman—even when it ached in a way it never had before to bury itself in her—he knew better than to give in to temptation and jeopardize all that he’d worked for.
