The King of Infierno

by Jasmine Hill

  She quickly shook herself out of her morose thoughts, thoughts that would only serve to damage her self-confidence. Instead, she decided it was a good moment to broach the subject of the nurse that Donovan had taken upon himself to organize for her mother. She couldn’t decide if she should be angry at his audacity or grateful for his thoughtfulness.

  She finished her mouthful of steak, placed her knife and fork together on the plate and elected to ask him outright what his intent had been, though she suspected she already knew the answer. “Donovan, why did you organize Kathy to sit with my mother?”

  He looked up at her, surprise crossing his features before he settled his expression into an implacable mask. “I wonder at you asking. You told me last night that Josephine is unwell, that you dislike leaving her alone for any extended period. And I told you that I always find a way to get what I want. I wanted you, alone and having dinner with me. Organizing a nurse to sit with your mother seemed like an obvious solution.”

  “You didn’t think to ask first?”

  He frowned. “No, because I know that you would have refused and that would have made me mad. I was also sure that once Josephine understood my intentions, she would agree readily enough. I didn’t see a problem and I wanted you relaxed and free from distraction. Do you agree that you haven’t worried about your mother while we’ve been sharing this meal?”

  “Yes,” she conceded guiltily. It was the fact that Kathy was a professional, and her mother had been having some good days of late that had eased Makayla’s mind. Also, her mum had seemed genuinely pleased to have some company, a woman other than Makayla and Mrs. Young to talk to.

  “Thank you. It was a generous gesture and very thoughtful of you.”

  He gave her a devilish grin. “I believe that I had quite a self-serving motive, but I appreciate your gratitude.” He looked at her plate with satisfaction. “You’ve eaten everything. I’m glad. You’re too slender. That’s another plus to my plan—it gave you an appetite.”

  She smiled. “Well, it was simply too delicious to pass up. Even I’m surprised at my appetite, Mr. King.”

  He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to leave? I thought we’d have dessert at my place.”

  Chapter Eight

  Makayla was unsurprised that Donovan owned a penthouse overlooking Sydney Harbor. Its main theme was black, gray and white neutrals—sophisticated but too austere for Makayla’s tastes. She loved color and attitude. Donovan’s home had clearly been designed for the bachelor that he was—masculine and straightforward.

  He’d organized more champagne and had a bowl of strawberries and chocolate truffles ready and waiting. Numerous candles illuminated the lounge, giving the area a soft, sensual feel. Everything about the evening, Makayla realized, was about seduction—the oysters, the shared chateaubriand, and now the fruit and champagne.

  Makayla took in the room and the romantic gestures. She hoped that it meant that Donovan had the same thing on his mind as she had on hers. She wanted him desperately. She’d never felt so sexually aroused by a man, so wantonly desirous. If she had to choose a man to take away her V card, Donovan would be the one. Surely, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble that he had if he didn’t want to sleep with her? No, she was sure that tonight was the night she would finally learn what all the fuss was about. She’d wanted to experience sex for a long time, but circumstances hadn’t allowed it. Tonight was different. She knew her mother was in capable hands. Makayla wasn’t concerned or distracted. The nurse, Kathy, had her number as well as Donovan’s.

  Makayla wanted to feel the physical comfort of someone else and to experience the acts that she’d read about. She wanted to feel Donovan’s cock inside her as he thrust hard and fast—she wanted him.

  Donovan pointed to the lounge. “Sit.”

  She sat where he asked and couldn’t help but fidget. She realized that she didn’t know how to do sexy or sensual. She felt awkward and a little out of her element.

  He sat by her and handed her a glass of champagne. She took the offering, grateful to have something to keep her busy, and reached for a strawberry. The sweet, luscious fruit burst on her tongue, flooding her mouth with its delicate flavor.

  She tried to relax into the seat and took another sip of champagne, the alcohol helping to ease her nerves. She watched Donovan over the rim of her glass as he helped himself to a strawberry. He looked utterly cool and relaxed, the epitome of controlled dignity, while she felt like a bundle of nerves. Her tummy was doing that erratic trembling again and she took another sip of her drink to try to quell the sensation. Her palms felt clammy and a slight tremor had taken hold of her limbs. She placed her glass on the coffee table and clasped her hands together in her lap. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a scared little rabbit. She cast a surreptitious look at Donovan under lowered lashes to see that he was studying her intently.

  He took her hands in his much larger ones and squeezed gently. “Why are you nervous?”

  “I’m not, really,” she lied. “I think it’s the champagne making me jittery.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Can I ask how many men you’ve been with?”

  Her face heated. She was embarrassed that he’d asked such a question, but more mortified by the answer. She could lie to him but the truth would present itself. He’d find out soon enough. She just hoped that her response wouldn’t send him packing. He would be used to sophisticated, experienced women, women who understood their bodies and knew how to use them. That was the principal reason for her nerves—she was afraid that he’d find her lack of experience inconvenient and more trouble than was worth his time.

  “Answer me,” he demanded softly.

  She couldn’t look at him and instead stared into her lap. “None,” she whispered. “I’m a virgin.”

  He inhaled sharply and she glanced up at him to find his expression incredulous.

  “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “No one at all?”

  She shook her head. “Believe me, I’m keen to rid myself of my V card. It’s not because I’m frigid,” she hurried to assure him. “It’s just that with my life the way it is…” She waved a hand in the air. “I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her thoughtfully, one arm draped casually across the back of the seat.

  She squirmed under his intense gaze. What is he thinking?

  Suddenly, he closed the distance between them, his powerful thigh flush against her own, his skin warm through the fabric of his pants.

  He cupped her chin and turned her head to face him. She had to look up to see into his eyes, eyes swimming with lust. She held her breath as he bent his head to hers and took her lips in a passionate kiss. She melted under him, her pulse thrumming in her ears as he slipped his tongue into her mouth to tangle lazily with hers. She moaned and pressed against his hard chest, her nipples puckering in response. He trailed a hand down her side then cupped her ass to anchor her more closely to his body, deepening the kiss. She gave herself over to him totally, allowing him to manipulate her to his will, leaving her feeling giddy and lightheaded. Moisture pooled between her thighs as desire ignited within her. She felt like she was swimming in a lust-induced haze. Nothing else mattered, just the feel of his firm lips on hers, his tongue sweeping through her mouth and his muscular body, hard and unyielding, against her softer, smaller one.

  She whimpered when he pulled away and swept a trail of kisses from her jaw to her ear then dropped his lips lower to suckle the tender flesh of her neck. Goosebumps flared across her skin and her nipples rose into stiff points that she was sure he’d feel through his shirt. As if in answer to her wayward thoughts, he drew a hand up her side until he found a nipple and massaged it with his thumb, his movements mimicking those of his mouth as he sucked on her throat.

  She arched her head back to give him better access and pushed her breast harder into his hand, lifting hers to the nape of his neck and
pulling him against her. Her breath was coming in quick bursts, her mind swamped with arousal. Oh God, if he could do this to her with just a kiss, what else could he do?

  Slowly he drew away and gazed at her from under hooded lids, still using his thumb to massage little circles around her taut nipple.

  “Well, I think we can safely say that you most definitely are not frigid, Miss Carrington.” He chuckled. “Are you still with me?”

  Makayla tried to regain her composure. She lay sprawled on the seat next to Donovan in a panting, unladylike heap. She sat up straight and fixed her dress from where it had ridden up her thighs. She didn’t miss Donovan’s heated gaze as he followed her movements, so she found herself drawing the act out, taking longer than necessary to smooth her dress down. The desire in his eyes gave her a powerful feeling, knowing that she had put that look there. She dropped her gaze to his lap and stared, mesmerized, at the significant bulge there—she wanted to feel it. She reached a tentative hand toward him, but he took it in his, halting her movement.

  “Not so fast, my sweet,” he murmured, then kissed the palm of her hand. “That’s enough for tonight.”

  “W-what?” Flabbergasted, Makayla wondered why he wouldn’t want to take things further. Was it something she’d done?

  “Don’t pout,” he ordered. “I’m flattered that you want me as much as I want you, but you’ve had too much champagne. Plus, there’s a certain thrill to denying ourselves. Delayed gratification does wonders to sexual intensity. I’ll take you, of that you can be sure, and I’ll enjoying doing it—immensely. Just not tonight.”

  “Oh,” was all she could manage to say. She wasn’t sure about delayed gratification, but she’d trust that Donovan knew what he wanted.

  He stood swiftly and held a hand out toward her. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Nine

  Donovan could tell that Makayla had been both surprised and disappointed by his actions. In truth, he’d surprised himself. He’d wanted nothing more than to sink balls deep into that sweet, compliant body. But discovering that she was a virgin had stopped him dead. Fuck, nothing much surprised him anymore, but that revelation certainly had. He’d suspected that she wasn’t very experienced, but he could have been knocked over by a feather when he found out just how inexperienced she was. Oddly, it had pleased him. It appealed to his possessive nature to know that no other man had had her before him, that he would be the first. He’d make damn sure of that too. He’d had to adjust his plans a little but the thought of waiting for her was as appealing as it was frustrating. Plus, she’d been a little tipsy from the champagne and he wasn’t a complete bastard—there was no way he wanted her first time to consist of blurred memories. He wanted her to remember everything. She’d responded to him so perfectly. She’d turned into putty in his arms, letting him take control of their kiss and practically swooning beneath him. Yes, she would be perfect for him, and waiting to fuck her would be sweet torture. He’d left her on her doorstep with strict instructions not to touch herself. She’d rewarded him with a fierce blush then a look of pure confusion. He hadn’t elaborated as to why he didn’t want her to masturbate. He knew instinctively that she’d do as he requested.

  Now he was making plans to take her to Madrid with him. It was crazy. Hell, they’d only just met, but he was going to be tied up in meetings all week and he’d have no time to see Makayla before he left. He knew it was irrational, but he had the fear that if he went to Madrid without her, she’d find someone in his absence. She now seemed to be intent on losing her V card, as she’d so eloquently put it, and there was no way he would allow anyone else to have that honor. No, he’d make the arrangements and do everything in his power to convince her to accompany him.

  * * * *

  Makayla sat staring at the package that had arrived while she was out shopping. It had been two days since she’d seen Donovan. He’d dropped her at home after they’d had dinner and that was the last she’d heard from him. She’d been afraid that she had scared him off. It was hardly surprising, he had a raw and virile sexuality that would have women jumping into bed with him, so what on earth would he do with a silly little virgin? Thankfully, it looked like she’d been mistaken, because she knew this package was from him, and unless it was a ‘thanks, but no thanks,’ it could only mean that Donovan was still interested in her.

  She tore into the package and fished out an envelope. Inside lay a doctor’s certificate, stating that Donovan was of perfect health and free from STDs. She read the document in confusion. Why would Donovan send her his medical status? Then it hit her—he wanted to assure her that he was safe to be with. It was considerate of him, but he hadn’t asked her about her medical status. What if she’d had a blood transfusion or she was an intravenous drug user? There was nothing for him to worry about, but she’d assure him at any rate. Now, she was positive. She had confirmation—Donovan did want to take things further.

  Just as she was contemplating Donovan’s intentions, a knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find a deliveryman surrounded by packages.

  “Miss Makayla Carrington?”

  “Yes.”

  “Delivery for you. Sign here, please.”

  The man carried everything into the hallway and handed her an envelope. “Have a nice day,” he told her as he stepped over the threshold and walked swiftly to his van.

  Makayla surveyed the numerous boxes and bags in dismay. She opened one package and looked inside to find a strappy sundress. Others held camisoles and tops, shorts and more dresses. Another possessed lingerie, yet another contained swimsuits. In the boxes, nestled in tissue paper, she discovered a dozen pairs of shoes. Everything was in her size. How had he achieved this?

  She couldn’t believe it. Why would Donovan purchase all of these clothes for her? She couldn’t accept them, of course. It was inappropriate and far too expensive. She’d forgotten all about the letter she’d discarded on the hall table. Now she ripped into the new missive to see what Donovan had to say for himself.

  Dearest Makayla,

  It would make me very happy for you to accept the clothes, and it will give me great pleasure to see you in something that I bought for you. Think of it as a selfish gift to myself.

  You need to pack and be ready to fly out of Sydney on Friday evening. Our plane leaves at ten p.m. I’m still unsure as to the duration of our stay, so you need to be flexible.

  I’ll be in touch with further details.

  Yours,

  Donovan

  “Is he crazy?” She had to speak to him before he took this madness any further, and he hadn’t even asked her the most basic of things, like did she have a passport? She did, but she’d never used it. She’d obtained it for a trip with her grandparents, then her mother had grown too unwell to be left alone. She grabbed Donovan’s card from her purse and dialed his mobile number, not caring if she was interrupting his workday.

  He answered on the fourth ring. “King.”

  “Donovan, it’s Makayla.”

  “Ah, you’ve received the gifts and my letter, then?”

  “Yes,” she said with exasperation. “But you know I can’t go traipsing off to Madrid with you. I can’t leave my mother alone for any length of time. And the clothes and shoes are far too much, Donovan. Also, how do you even know I have a passport, and how could you book me a ticket without it? I can’t go with you.” She was panting heavily into the phone, breathless from her outburst.

  “Are you finished?”

  His cold, disembodied voice reached down the line and sent shivers rippling through her.

  “Yes,” she whispered, suddenly a little contrite.

  “Of course I wouldn’t expect you to go away and leave your mother. I spoke to Josephine’s doctor about the best treatment facility for her and I’ve booked her into it. They’re expecting her on Friday morning.”

  “What?” Makayla screeched into the phone. How on earth could he have spoken to her mother’s doctor?

&nbs
p; “I talked to Josephine and she gave her doctor permission to speak to me,” he explained smoothly. “She also told me your dress and shoe size and your passport details. Don’t make this more difficult than it is. I wanted to buy you things, as I said in my note—it will give me pleasure to see you wearing them. Unfortunately, they’re not nearly as beautiful as what you could make, but time is limited and I don’t want you slaving over a sewing machine. You need these things for the plans I have in Madrid.”

  Makayla was reeling. Was there no end to what Donovan would do to get what he wanted? And what did her mother think about all this? She definitely hadn’t mentioned anything to Makayla. Booking into a treatment facility was a big deal. What if her mum didn’t like it there?

  “I’m not sure,” she finally murmured. “This is all happening so quickly. I need to think about it.”

  He sighed down the phone. “There’s nothing to think about, Makayla. Everything’s been settled. Talk to your mother. She’ll tell you that she’s happy with the arrangements.” He paused. “Did you get my other letter?”

  “Your doctor’s certificate? Yes, I did.”

  “Good. Are you on birth control? If not, I want you to start straight away.”

  She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Then again, it was probably easier for her to discuss these things when she couldn’t see him. “As it happens,” she muttered, “and it’s really none of your business, but I am on birth control to regulate my periods.”

  “Excellent and you’re wrong—it’s very much my business. Look, I have to go into a meeting. Start packing and remember it’s summer in Madrid. I’ll talk to you later.”