His Forbidden Passion

by Anne Mather

  Cleo glanced down at her vest. ‘It’s not white,’ she said pedantically. ‘It’s cream.’

  ‘Oh, well, excuse me.’ Dominic was sarcastic now. ‘Don’t wear a cream top, then.’

  Cleo squared her shoulders. ‘In any case, I wasn’t sneaking about,’ she added defensively. ‘I didn’t know this was your house.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not until I saw you, no.’ She was indignant. ‘You usually come to Magnolia Hill by car.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dominic conceded her point. ‘Half a dozen miles by road. Less than a mile across the sand. Go figure.’

  Cleo drew in a breath and took a step backward. ‘I think I ought to be going—’

  ‘So you don’t want to see where I live?’

  Of course she did. Cleo swallowed. But, ‘Not particularly,’ she said tightly. ‘Serena will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘You think?’ Dominic’s dark brows arched at the blatant lie. ‘If I know my dear aunt, she’s probably tucked up in bed at this moment, watching her soaps. Serena’s a great soap fan. Did you know?’

  Cleo shrugged, causing one of the bootlace straps to tip off her shoulder. Hurriedly replacing it, she said, ‘She went to her room. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Well, take my word for it.’ Dominic scowled, impatient with himself for getting involved with her again. ‘So—do you want to have a drink with me? A non-alcoholic drink,’ he amended swiftly. ‘Then I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘I can take myself home, thank you,’ said Cleo firmly, but her eyes drifted irresistibly towards the flight of wooden steps that led up to the deck.

  She’d be a fool if she accepted any invitation from him, she told herself fiercely. She didn’t trust him, and after the way he’d just treated Sarah…

  ‘Better you than me, then,’ Dominic remarked carelessly, and she had to concentrate hard to remember what she’d said. ‘The tide’s coming in,’ he continued. ‘The rocks are dangerously slippery when they’re wet.’

  Now, why had he said that? Dominic wondered half frustratedly. Why the hell was he persisting with this when it was obvious she was just as dangerous to his peace of mind?

  Cleo had turned round now and was looking rather anxiously towards the ocean. Sure enough, the distance, between where she was standing and the water, had definitely narrowed in the last few minutes.

  He felt her indecision. Felt it in the looks she cast up at him, the uneven breath she blew out before she spoke again.

  ‘Why—why should I trust you to take me home?’ she asked, but he could tell that she was weakening. ‘You were cruel to Sarah. She was in tears when she left here.’

  Dominic grunted. The nerve of the woman.

  ‘I have no intention of discussing my relationship with Sarah with you,’ he stated flatly. He turned away from the rail. ‘Do what you like.’

  Cleo sighed and looked along the beach. She could see that the waves were indeed starting to splash over the rocky promontory. And realised that to return to Magnolia Hill that way would be far more scary than she’d thought.

  Dominic had entered his living room and was pouring himself another whisky when he heard her coming up the steps outside.

  Swallowing a mouthful of the single malt, he stared grimly at his reflection in the mirror above the fieldstone hearth. And scowled at his image, wondering why the hell he hadn’t just pretended not to see her.

  Inviting her into his house had to be the craziest thing he’d ever done. He didn’t want her here, he told himself. He didn’t want to be reminded of her every time a shadow moved across his vision, didn’t want to smell her distinctive fragrance in places he’d hitherto regarded as his own personal territory.

  He didn’t want her making a mockery of his life.

  Despite the sexual chemistry between them—and he couldn’t deny that—there was no way they could have an affair. She’d never forgive his father for the way he’d treated her mother and, if history was repeating itself, she wanted no part of it.

  But he still wanted her. That was a given. Wanted her with an urgency that he’d never felt before.

  He wondered how she’d feel if he told her that the reason Sarah had rushed out of here in tears was because, despite all her efforts, she’d failed to arouse even a trace of the excitement he was feeling now.

  It had not been a pleasant evening. Dominic hated having to play the villain. Usually, his relationships ended by mutual consent.

  Or did they? Perhaps he’d only been kidding himself. If Sarah was to be believed, his reputation was in shreds. But then, that begged the question of why she had gone out with him. And why she should be so bitter because they were breaking up.

  Certainly, Dominic had begun to wish he’d insisted on meeting her at a restaurant. Surely with other diners around, Sarah wouldn’t have resorted to threats. She’d actually accused him of cheating on her. She’d had some wild notion that he’d already slept in Cleo’s bed.

  Wild indeed!

  Still, threatening to tell his grandfather about the affair he was purportedly having with Cleo had been one step too far. And, although she’d evidently regretted it afterwards, Dominic had had enough.

  She should have resorted to tears sooner, he thought with a trace of self-mockery. Few men were immune to a woman’s tears.

  He heard footsteps crossing the deck and then silence. Cleo had paused between the sliding doors and was waiting for him to acknowledge her.

  He didn’t turn. Not immediately. Let her stew for a while, he thought savagely. He’d had a basinful of that, goodness knew.

  But then she cleared her throat, a nervous little sound, and his stomach muscles clenched. He couldn’t do this, he thought firmly. What the hell did she think was going on here?

  A pulse in his jaw jerked as he swung round to face her. ‘Come in, why don’t you?’ he said harshly. ‘And shut the door before we get eaten alive.’

  Cleo hesitated a moment. Then she stepped inside onto cool Italian marble tiles, and slid the window closed behind her.

  She was in a huge room, a beautiful room, with a high, arching ceiling. Dark wood predominated, starkly elegant against pale upholstered walls.

  There were several chairs and sofas positioned about the room, some in honey-soft leather, others in plush velvet or brocade. And a thick Chinese rug in shades of cream and topaz.

  The large stone fireplace was presently filled with exotic blossoms: anthurium and bird of paradise; delicate orchids and calla lilies. And her own reflection was thrown back at her in the mirror above the mantel.

  Dominic was standing beside the fireplace, a half-filled tumbler of what she guessed was whisky in his hand. He wasn’t wearing a tie and his shirt was half-open down his chest. The shirt was black, like his trousers, and exposed a triangle of brown flesh lightly covered with coarse dark hair.

  Lord, but he looked good, Cleo thought, feeling her awareness of him deepen. There was a heaviness in her limbs, a disturbing sense of moisture between her legs. She wanted to sit down, rather badly. If for no other reason than to hide the treacherous tremor in her knees.

  She must keep her head, she warned herself fiercely. But she was beginning to understand how Celeste must have felt when Robert Montoya had taken her to his bed. Celeste must have tried to resist, to keep her head in the face of enormous provocation. But ultimately she’d surrendered to something maybe stronger than herself.

  Meanwhile Dominic was facing his own demons. He knew, better than anyone, how dangerous the present situation was. This had never happened to him before, but that didn’t alter the fact that there was a certain inevitability to it.

  He could feel his own need in the thickness of his erection, and marvelled that only minutes before, when Sarah had been trying to arouse him, he had felt no reaction at all.

  Hot blood pounded through his veins, insistent, demanding, intense. He felt both angry and vulnerable. Was he no longer in control of his own life?

  Cleo was waiting for him
to say something, and he nodded somewhat offhandedly towards a chilled cabinet standing at the opposite side of the room.

  ‘Can I get you a drink? A soft drink,’ he corrected himself with a tight smile.

  ‘Thank you.’ Cleo was struggling to remember why she’d come here. It certainly hadn’t been her most sensible action to date. ‘Um—a cola would be good.’ She paused. ‘If you have one.’

  A cola!

  Dominic shook his head as he crossed the room to open the cabinet. Pulling out a can, he reflected that at least there was no danger of her getting drunk and doing something rash.

  Like coming on to him…

  All the same, having her in his house was a torment. She looked so incredibly sexy in the skimpy vest and shorts. Unfortunately, he could remember only too well how she’d looked without any clothes. That creamy almond skin; the raw temptation of her mouth.

  Frustration gripped him, and pulling the tab on the can, he poured it into a glass. Adding a straw, he decided she could have this one drink, then he’d take her back to Magnolia Hill. They’d both be infinitely safer with other people around.

  His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the glass and immediately his good intentions foundered. He felt the contact radiating heat right to his groin.

  He knew he should move away, should put the width of the room between them, but he just stood there. Watching as she sucked the ice-cold cola through the straw, imagining where he’d like to feel those sucking lips.

  His next words shocked him almost as much as they shocked her.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said abruptly, knowing there was no point in denying what he really wanted.

  Cleo’s eyes widened in disbelief. Almost choking, she whispered, ‘Wh-what did you say?’

  As if there was any doubt about it.

  ‘I think you heard what I said,’ retorted Dominic huskily, setting down his own glass and taking hers out of her unresisting fingers. ‘I said, let’s go to bed. I want to make love with you.’

  Cleo looked uncomprehending. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. Not after everything that had gone before. He knew how she felt about Robert Montoya’s relationship with Celeste, with her mother. How could he ask her to go to bed with him knowing how that other affair had turned out?

  It didn’t matter that his words had sent the blood streaming through her veins like wildfire. Or that, only moments before, she’d been having similar thoughts about him.

  She was ashamed of herself for even thinking such things, particularly after the way he’d treated his girlfriend. She should be feeling sorry for Sarah; despising Dominic for attempting to use her to assuage his obvious frustration.

  Her breathing had quickened and now she said a little breathlessly, ‘What’s the matter? Did Sarah turn you down?’

  Dominic’s green eyes grew icy. ‘You can’t turn down something that doesn’t exist,’ he said harshly. ‘If you want chapter and verse, it was Sarah who was frustrated, not me.’

  ‘But—why?’ Cleo was confused. ‘I—I thought you wanted her.’

  ‘I thought so, too,’ said Dominic flatly. ‘But unfortunately I don’t.’ His eyes softened. ‘I want you.’

  Cleo drew a trembling breath. ‘You—you don’t mean that.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Dominic was impatient now. ‘You can’t deny there’s something going on between us. You felt it that morning on the beach and you knew it when we were on the yacht. That’s why you ran away.’

  Cleo swallowed. ‘I didn’t run away.’

  ‘Well, your grandfather sure as hell didn’t take you.’

  ‘Jacob was sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb him.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Dominic’s response was sardonic. ‘And I suppose you didn’t hear me ask you to wait for me.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘So?’

  Cleo was defensive. ‘I—got bored.’

  ‘With me?’

  Cleo couldn’t answer that. Shaking her head, she turned away.

  Never with you, she thought achingly, aware that, slowly but surely, he was wearing her resistance down.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I?’ he asked softly, and the draught of his breath across her skin made her realise he had come to stand close behind her.

  ‘You—you can take it any way you like,’ she mumbled, feeling his heat surrounding her, enveloping her. Then, with a distinct effort, ‘This—this isn’t going to happen, Dominic.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Her shoulder was just too tempting and, bending his head, Dominic allowed his tongue to stroke her bare skin.

  ‘N—no,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘Please—don’t do that.’

  ‘Why?’ Dominic slipped the strap of the vest off her shoulder, his body quickening when he discovered she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘Don’t you like me touching you?’

  Too much, thought Cleo tremulously, resisting the urge to give in to the torment and rest back against him.

  ‘Come on,’ he persisted, his hand slipping from her shoulder to the swollen curve of her breast. ‘You want me. Why don’t you admit it? And you know I want you.’

  ‘I—I can’t—’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ Dominic’s arm slipped possessively about her waist, drawing her back against him. ‘Feel that?’ he said thickly. ‘Then tell me you don’t feel the same.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well, not precisely the same, obviously,’ he muttered impatiently. ‘But I bet if I slipped my finger beneath the hem of your shorts—’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  For a moment indignation brought her to her senses, but when she would have twisted away from him, he wouldn’t let her.

  ‘Cool it,’ he said, and, to her dismay, he peeled the other strap off her shoulder.

  She tried to clutch the folds of the vest against her, but his hands were insistent. Cupping her breasts, he said hoarsely, ‘Don’t play with me, Cleo. I need you.’

  ‘You don’t need me,’ protested Cleo fiercely. ‘You want to have sex with me. Let’s tell it as it is, as that seems to be the way you like it.’

  ‘OK.’ Dominic stifled a groan as her rigid body pressed into him. ‘OK, I want to have sex with you.’ He made a bitter sound. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve never had sex with a man before.’

  Cleo trembled. ‘I’m not denying it,’ she said. Although the couple of occasions she had allowed a man into her bed had hardly been memorable.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So why don’t we just do it and put us both out of our misery?’ he demanded unsteadily. ‘It’s what I want. It’s what you want—’

  ‘It’s not what I wan—’ she began, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

  With a groan of desperation, Dominic twisted her round in his arms and stifled her protest with his mouth.

  Cleo’s resistance crumbled. With Dominic’s mouth hard on hers she could hardly breathe, let alone think. His tongue plunged hot and hungry between her teeth and she sank weakly against him.

  It was all Dominic could do to remain upright. The temptation to throw her down on the Chinese carpet beneath their feet was very appealing, to peel those tantalising shorts down her legs and—

  But that was as far as he dared take it without losing what little control he had left. Instead, with his mouth still plundering hers, he swept her up into his arms and carried her out of the living room. The corridor to his bedroom had never seemed so long, but at last he was able to push open the door.

  Ambrose had switched on the lamps in the room, but the sheers at the windows had been drawn back and darkness pressed at the panes. A huge bed, covered with a thick chocolate coverlet, occupied a prominent position, and, kicking the door closed behind him, Dominic carried Cleo to the bed and lowered her onto it.

  The bedcover was cool against Cleo’s back, and when Dominic straightened she was able to take in the beauty of the room.

  Pale wood, w
ide windows, a velvet-soft carpet on the floor. This was his bedroom, she thought, smoothing her damp palms against the figured silk of the coverlet. This was his bed, this huge expanse of thick, springy mattress and soft, downy pillows, wooden rails at both the head and the foot.

  This was where he slept.

  Where he’d probably slept with Sarah.

  So why didn’t it appal her that she was here?

  It should.

  But Sarah need never know, she told herself.

  And wasn’t that exactly what her father must have told her mother?

  Chapter Thirteen

  DOMINIC peeled off his shirt and came down beside her, and her eyes were briefly dazzled by the beauty of the man. He was all brown, tanned flesh, strong and dark and masculine. And he wanted her, Cleo Novak, she thought incredulously.

  How amazing was that?

  He moved over her, straddling her thighs. His trousered crotch was rough against her soft skin, but she barely noticed. Then he bent and rubbed his hair-roughened chest against her, warm, taut muscle against her naked breasts.

  ‘God you have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,’ he said hoarsely, and Cleo closed her eyes.

  She suspected she had a fair idea, she thought. Probably as much as she had wanted him to touch her. Her head was spinning with the nearness of him, with the spicy scent of shaving soap and man.

  When he drew back to caress her breasts with his hands, she trembled. His thumbs abraded the swollen peaks and she felt the flood of her own arousal.

  ‘This—this is crazy, you know that,’ she breathed, opening her eyes when she felt his mouth take the place of his fingers. Then, catching her breath, ‘In heaven’s name, what are you doing?’

  Dominic lifted his head to give her a smouldering look. ‘Don’t you like it?’ he asked, blowing softly on the damp tip of the breast he’d been suckling, and she gave a weak nod of submission.

  ‘No one—no man, that is, or woman either,’ she appended hastily, ‘has—has ever done that to me before.’