by Julia Keaton
Her gaze was drawn to him immediately upon her entrance, his presence commanding her attention as no man ever should. He arched one dark brow wickedly, pleased and oh so smug that she’d heeded his command.
He did not bother to rise, but continued lounging casually, insolently behind his desk in an ornately carved chair that his massive size dominated, the breadth of his shoulders dwarfing the delicate workmanship. He’d carelessly loosed his hair from its ribbon, and the inky locks hung about his shoulders, lending him the appearance of a gentleman pirate. Dangerous. Wild. Untamed and unpredictable.
Despite his pose of indolence, his eyes gleamed with the watchfulness of a predator, noting, she was certain, her every nervous movement as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. It was almost as though he could sense her carefully concealed nervousness, or read her thoughts and knew it was a fear of a different sort that compelled her wariness. Never had she flirted with danger as she did now. Her amateurish attempts at thievery could not compare to the hazard of a private meeting with him in the midst of a party. She was so close to discovery ... to ruination.
She hesitated a moment when she had closed the door, and finally leaned back against it, unwilling to risk the possible consequences of approaching nearer to him.
Reluctantly, her gaze was drawn to the wall above him by a glimpse of bare flesh. On the heavily wainscoted walls hung the bane of her existence, framed in dark cherry wood. Her naked depiction was in plain view of anyone who entered his domain, and she knew he’d done it purposefully to throw her into turmoil.
He’d succeeded gloriously.
She felt both sick and faint as the blood rushed away from her head, but she could not seem to tear her gaze from it.
Not for the first time, she wondered why he’d done it. He was wealthy and titled. He could have any woman of his choosing. Why had he settled on her to torment?
Her behavior had been inexcusable, but he could have had his revenge years ago. He’d done nothing then. Why had he suddenly decided to now?
“Have you grown suddenly timid? Or, are you afraid of me?” he asked, sipping on a glass of whiskey. Shards of ice tinkled against the glass as he swirled it in his hand.
Winter dragged her gaze from the painting and looked at him.
He was smiling, she saw, toying with her. As if he had only waited for her full attention, he allowed his gaze to move over her body in a way that was familiar, as suggestive as a caress, near tangible with potency.
His presumption stiffened Winter’s spine. How dare he look at her that way, as if he owned her and was assessing his property! She thought angrily. Pushing away from the door, she moved to stand on the opposite side of the desk from him. “No, I do not,” she said quietly, her voice cold with anger.
His brows rose, his gaze hardening to a more predatory gleam. “A wiser woman would,” he said just as quietly. Standing, he rounded the desk, moving far closer than the boundaries of polite society allowed, until he towered over her, their bodies almost touching.
Winter held her ground, unwilling to retreat from his approach and allow him to think, know, that her bravado was nothing more than a facade. She was certain his intention was to intimidate her, and it was working, but she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded. Tilting her face up, she met his bold stare with a cold glare of defiance.
A slow smile curled his lips, that half smile that annoyed her as much as it made her insides quiver. He seemed to enjoy making her squirm at every opportunity. “You wish to have that painting?” Logan asked almost casually, as if he was asking her nothing more sinister than the state of the weather. But she saw the sharp, watchful gleam in his eyes, knew he would detect the most minute sign that he had pierced her shell.
“You know I do.” She glanced at it over his shoulder, wishing a simple look could set it ablaze and end her torment.
He sat back on the desk, swinging one leg. “The question is, how much is such a masterpiece worth to you? What payment could you give me?”
Hope leapt in her veins when Logan mentioned a possibility of settlement, but Winter felt those hopes sink almost as quickly. She knew, just by the look in his eyes, that he would demand something exorbitant, some price she could never pay.
Perhaps all he really wanted to do was make her grovel, to shame and degrade her as she had shamed him. Very likely, he would not accept any offer she made, but she realized she had to try, if only to spare her mother from sharing in her downfall. She would simply have to find a way to pay his price, whatever it might be. She licked her lips, took a deep breath and tried. “I have little to pay with, not nearly enough, I’m sure, to compensate you. But … is there naught more than gold you wish for? Perhaps some service—”
His eyes lit, and he interrupted her, “What do you propose, Miss Stevens?”
Winter felt a blush suffuse her cheeks, then rush away again, leaving her weak kneed. “I-I’m not sure what you mean. I meant only that I have limited funds at my disposal.”
She knew exactly what he meant, hinted at so bluntly. She was not a complete fool. He had told her very plainly that he would accept her body as payment.
“As I thought. The years have been unkind to you.”
His expression as he spoke was surprisingly tender. He reached up to cup her cheek, but she drew back before he could touch her. The tenderness was unexpected—she could almost believe he felt pity for her, but knew better by now than to believe anything but the worst of him.
He dropped his hand, his face hardening, his fist clenching by his side. With an effort he regained his careless facade. “As it happens, I would not consider any price … in coin for such a piece. There is only one thing you could give me....”
Logan allowed his gaze to roam her length suggestively. Like a merchant examining the wares, he studied her face, the slender column of her throat, the rounded tops of her breasts, her narrow waist.
Winter felt her pulse quicken with awareness, felt her heart beating hard in her chest even as her breath caught in her throat. She realized suddenly that she had completely underestimated him once again. He had suggested she allow him to bed her, but always in a manner that had allowed her to persuade herself that he was not completely serious, that he was only tormenting her to watch her squirm, that he would not go so far as to seriously suggest she give herself to him. Regardless, she thought she had made it plain that she was unwilling to bed him and ruin herself.
He met her eyes once again, his look heated. “Submit to me, Winter. In every way I demand.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“No.” Winter shook her head, closed her eyes. He’d narrowed her options down to this one choice, and it was impossible for her to fulfill with any dignity. “Why would you do this? I have done nothing so terrible as to warrant what you ask of me.”
He’d hated The Ton in England, so much so he’d turned his back on his homeland ... and his father. He’d wanted to succeed on his own merits, earn respect, not have it handed to him on a silver platter. When Winter had cut him at that party, it was as if all the sacrifices he’d made had been for naught. That blessed time from before, when she had shown kindness and empathy for a fellow human being, had been erased as if it had never been. Even in America—land of the free—status and position were everything.
He swallowed down his hatred of her from that time. She would never understand him—He had been wrong. She was like all the rest. Nothing had any value to her beyond her status and reputation, and like everyone else in ‘high’ society, she expected her desires to be of utmost concern to everyone … and served up to her on a silver platter with no effort on her part to achieve them.
The little game he’d planned would do nothing to melt the ice at her core that surrounded her heart, because she did not have one. The only purpose it would serve would be to satisfy his need to see her brought down from her pedestal ... would satisfy the need that had been burning inside him for six long, agonizing y
ears.
The disappointment was crushing, the pain almost more than he could bear. He hadn’t realized until this moment how desperately he had wanted to believe that he could win her heart if only he could force her to give him a chance. Without that, there would be no true victory.
He swallowed his disappointment, allowed his anger to lead him, realizing that he was determined to take the victory he could.
“You need not know my reasons, Winter. Suffice it to say, this is the price you will pay to hide your dirty secret and protect your precious reputation. You must choose between your virtue and your reputation.”
“And how am I to know I will not lose both?”
“My word?”
She laughed coldly. “And you’ve demonstrated your honor so many times.”
“I guarantee should you agree, I would be satisfied by your sacrifice. With none the wiser of what has happened between us.”
“You ask too much. I ... hate ... you,” she whispered. She couldn’t help but wonder if her attempts at stealing the painting had given him this idea. He’d been so eager to take her then....
“Do you? Hate is a strong emotion, a fire that burns in your soul. Do you truly hate me?”
Logan ran a finger up her bare arm. His touch raised goosebumps in its wake.
“I hate what you are doing to me.” Heat flared over her skin, delicious, tingling. No man had ever dared touch her as Logan did. She hated him for causing her to respond when her mind screamed against it. She knew such desires were wrong between her and any man other than a husband. Her father must be rolling over in his grave.
He looked interested. “What am I doing to you?”
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “You are making me feel things I should not.”
“And that is unforgivable,” he whispered hoarsely, feeling his cock harden with painful intensity at her admission. He wanted to crush her against him, until her last defense crumbled and she welcomed his embrace. But, more than that, he wanted to tease her until she begged him to do what he wanted with her. “You can earn your painting back, Winter. Wouldn’t you like to earn something, for once in your life?”
Winter trembled, ignoring the pleasurable shivers whispering over her skin as he continued to stroke her arm in a leisurely way.
The offer tempted her. God knew it did. She could admit that much to herself, at least. When he’d caught her in his bedroom, mounted her, something had broken inside that she couldn’t fix. He’d unleashed feelings inside her long ago, awakened them again in that moment to build with every moment that passed in his presence.
The thought of obeying his demands in every way sent a rush of liquid heat to flood between her legs, made her womb ache with need she’d been forbidden to feel. She’d fallen somehow, into temptation—a dark wanting only he could free her from. If she’d been the lady she once was, she would have slapped him. As it was, it took every ounce of strength she possessed not to give in to her traitorous thoughts. Winter shook, opened her eyes to look on him once more. “You would have me become a whore.”
He rose from the desk, moved around behind her, leaning close to smell her hair, and skated the palm of his hand gently across her nape. The tender skin came alive under the brief caress, tingled where he touched her, as though his fingers vibrated with untapped energy. “It need not come to that. Whore is such a harsh word. High born women are considered mistresses,” he whispered against her ear, his hot breath teasing her neck, producing deep shivers inside her.
“Do I have your promise? Your oath that no one will find out what we have done? This is for naught if my reputation lies in ruins.” She faced him, discovered his mouth mere inches from her own, his lips curled in a sultry smile. He was too close, but he wouldn’t allow her escape. Not yet.
“Upon my honor, such as it is. I do not wish to give the gossipmongers something to talk about.” He straightened, distancing himself until she could breathe again.
Relief flooded her. “You’ll never have my heart,” she said with confidence.
She had to come out of this game ahead. To give herself to him completely would mean complete disgrace, and she couldn’t allow that to happen, no matter how much she might secretly long for his possession. It was folly even to consider his outrageous proposal, let alone give in to it, but she had no other choice. He’d backed her into a corner. She could fight him, but then she would lose. This was the only way she could win. And she had no doubts who would be the victor.
“Do not make promises you cannot keep.” At her glare, he grinned darkly and said, “Now, our bargain. You must promise to come to me, to submit to my demands for ... two weeks. Afterwards, I will relinquish the painting to you and you need never see me again. But, keep in mind that I will expect you to stand by our bargain. Whatever I ask of you—anything I ask, you will perform willingly.”
It was the same length of time the papers had twittered about his public set down. Any doubts she’d entertained about the clarity of his memory were banished. He hadn’t forgotten anything. She nodded, cautious, regretting the course taken already. “I agree.”
“Good. Now we will prove your sincerity.”
Her heart stopped at the look he gave her ... devouring, eager for the game to begin. “Now? We cannot, my mother awaits and she will worry,” Winter said, suddenly breathless.
She backed toward the door, toward freedom, unwilling to take her eyes off him long enough to run. The seriousness of her situation hadn’t quite caught up to her until now. She hadn’t had time to accept her new position with him, and her new reality hadn’t positioned itself in her mind.
She was alone with him—he could do anything he wanted, and she would be powerless to stop him. Only a thin shred of honor stood in his way, and how much could she trust its stretched limits when he’d been the one to force her into this arrangement?
He advanced on her, blocked her evasion when she would have darted away, backed her up until she was pressed firmly against the door and he’d crowded out all chance at flight. He propped his arms against the door on either side of her head and leaned forward, caging her. “She can wait a moment longer. ‘Tis just a simple test....”
A corner of his mouth hitched higher as he studied her ... her dishabille ... her breathlessness ... and a sardonic black brow raised in amusement at her agitation.
“I do not think it wise....” She avoided his mouth as he bent toward her, turning her face away. He stopped before touching her cheek, smelled her flushed skin before pulling back to regard her.
“So … no honor among thieves? We have only just agreed and already you renege on your promise. The agreement was—willingly—otherwise we have no agreement and I summon a servant to hang the painting in my gallery for all to see tonight at the party.”
She sighed, recognizing defeat and hating him for it. “What would you have of me?” she said softly, afraid of the answer.
“Wet your lips.” His hungry gaze settled on her mouth. Her sex spasmed with pleasure at his look. Her thighs clenched against the unbidden feeling. An ache built low in her belly, deliciously forbidden.
Slowly, self-conscious, she timidly flicked her tongue out to touch her bottom lip. His eyes darkened with lust. His reaction to the simple gesture was intoxicating.
“More,” he demanded, his voice roughened with need. “I want you hot and wet when I enter you.”
Winter nearly moaned at his hoarse command, felt her thighs slicken with the images he conjured. Her sex pulsed with desire, and he had not even touched her. Breathing raggedly, she obeyed, running her tongue over the sensitive skin.
It seemed his undoing. With a hoarse groan, he bent toward her, pressing her roughly into the door with his hard body as he claimed her lips in a ravenous kiss.
She didn’t know why, but she had expected something more gentlemanly, more circumspect. A jolt of shock went through her as his mouth covered hers, hungry, demanding. She felt as if she was melting unde
r the scorching heat of his mouth, with the press of his iron chest against her soft, aching breasts. Her nipples hardened to tight buds that throbbed unbearably.