The truly disturbing part was that she could actually imagine herself as Morrell’s woman, submitting to all his desires, lowering herself to any level in exchange for the dark pleasures promised in his eyes.
This was not good, not good at all.
“I don’t call it anything,” he said dismissively. “What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t your boyfriend be back by now?”
“Stop making fun of me, you know I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“You’re getting upset,” he observed.
“Actually, I am very calm. If I were upset, trust me, you’d know it.”
“I can only imagine.”
Kat wanted to slap him silly. But why give him the satisfaction? “Just you keep away from me,” she said, by way of ending their relationship, such as it was.
“You’re the one who followed me over here,” he reminded.
Kat snorted. “You really are an arrogant prick. You think you’re god’s gift to women.”
“I am what I am, Kat.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have the right to use it,” she insisted, trying to hide the way it made her feel to have him use the more intimate version of her name. She was Kat to the people she knew well, Wild Kat to her father.
“You told me your name of your own free will,” he reminded.
“No, I didn’t. You tricked me.”
Julian’s features crinkled with amusement. His smile was subtle, complicated and way too smoldering for her liking. “Did I?”
Kat had had enough. “Go to hell,” she swished her long, glossy blonde hair over her left shoulder.
“I have been.” He winked. “They sent me back.”
Kat ground her teeth. She wanted to say something worse, but he’d gotten the better of her way too much already. Without another word, she turned on her heel in the sand and began the trudge back to shore.
“Katherine.”
She froze. Hearing her full name was even worse than her nick name.
“What?” she demanded.
“Have dinner with me,” he said, somewhere between a request and a summons.
And what if it were a summons? What if he did the power to demand her presence…and more?
Kat frowned. “I already told you—”
“Told me what? That you have a non-existent boyfriend?”
He had her dead to rights.
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she said lamely.
“Lies always hurt. You should know that as a lawyer.”
“Who said I’m a lawyer?”
“The book you were reading. Hardly on the best seller list, is it?”
“You’re a very clever man, Mr. Morrell, I’ll give you that,” she offered, imbuing as much sarcasm as possible.
“Call me Julian.”
“Fine, let me make it clear, Julian. I am not interested in dinner or anything else where you are concerned.”
“May I ask why?”
“No you may not.”
“Do you not find me attractive?”
Conceited bastard, fishing for a compliment, was he?
“No,” she lied. “Not in the least.”
“You don’t want me in your bed?”
Kat took a step backward, her body shaking. How could a man get to her like this? She’d been dealing with male chicanery and come-ons since puberty and never once felt so completely reduced to a mush ball of femininity. “You’re a pig,” she said.
“It’s a simple question, Katherine, yes or no.”
“No, I would not want you within a hundred miles of my bed or my body.”
“In that case the matter is settled,” he declared.
“Damn straight it is.” She regarded him, Mexican stand-off style.
To her consternation, he turned his back, once more facing the deep water.
“Is that it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What more is there?”
“An apology would be nice.”
“A man should never apologize for speaking his mind, Katherine, so long as it is done respectfully.”
“You wouldn’t know respect if it hit you upside the head,” she spat. “Good day, sir.”
Noisily, pushing the water from out of her way, Kat retreated, depriving the ocean—and Julian Morrell—of her company.
She wanted so badly for him to follow her, to say something, anything, so she could have the satisfaction of telling him to go screw himself because it was too late and she was not going to give him a second chance no matter what.
To her disappointment, he stayed right where he was. Like some kind of water-logged hood ornament.
Frigging idiot.
Was she supposed to be impressed?
This guy was worse than Kyle, the office jock and ego-maniac who was always trying to pick up Kimmy. He was so into himself he didn’t even realize when Kimmy made fun of him by flirting day in day out.
Slowly, trying to convince herself of her victory, Kat stepped onto dry land.
Kat had company waiting back at her lounge chair.
“You have nice cold drink, yes, mademoiselle,” declared the beaming beach waiter as he presented his tray of brightly colored margaritas, the glasses sweating profusely in the hot sun. “Ice cold, you like? How many? Two, maybe?”
“Try zero,” she snapped, bending over to retrieve her belongings.
At once she regretted her lack of manners.
“Mademoiselle need help?” he asked, observing her furious attempt to simultaneously stuff flip-flops, book, towel and sun block back into a cheap canvas bag procured earlier in the day from the straw market.
“Yes. Can you point me to an island without any men on it?”
He cocked his head, the sad attempt at humor not translating across cultural and language barriers. “No gentlemen, mademoiselle?” he lilted soberly in his Creole accent. “But gentlemen be everywhere.”
“Don’t I know it,” she muttered.
Giving up on the flip-flops, she flung the basket strap over her shoulder and headed for the hotel barefoot.
Talk about a total washout.
No suntan, no case law reading. No relaxation whatsoever. She might as well have stayed home where she could have her stress without the added aggravation of sand between her toes.
And to top it all off, her encounter with the egomaniacal Morrell had left her horny as hell. She was going to have to do something about that, maybe even rent one of those cheesy porno flicks off the hotel cable channels, something safe and light, something without too much passion.
Yes, she would find some anonymous empty headed pretty boy to masturbate over, anybody but Morrell with his mind games. What was that old song, “Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair”? Well, she was going to masturbate the man out of her head.
Once and for all.
Or so she hoped.
* * * * *
Kat…
Such a perfect name for a feisty beauty, lovely, sleek and imbued with a fierce streak of independence. And claws too. She’d shown that much already, coming back at him hard after his initial probe of her feminine defenses.
Julian had the advantage, of course. He was older, quite a bit more experienced and born to play the game. It was an ancient contest, male versus female, hunter and hunted and it had but one rule: survival of the fittest. Julian liked his opponents to be as well matched as possible. A merely beautiful woman was not enough.
Julian Morrell craved intelligence, preferably mingled with innocence. Seeing Kat, with her absurd law book, entirely oblivious to the effect her luscious body in the skimpy suit was having on male passersby had warmed his heart—and his blood to no end.
He had wanted her at first sight and sensing her latent submissive desires, he had promptly informed her of such. A more worldly, sexually dominant woman would have laughed at him or used the information against him. But Kat had actual
ly blushed. How rare was that in a world of sharks and cynical demons!
He simply must enjoy her flesh before dawn.
Kat beneath him, sweet soft moans of acquiescence, surrendering to the pleasure of his sweet assault. Her lovely wrists, bound in silk, tied over her head, her legs, apart, her breasts assailed by his tongue and teeth, as his cock sank to molten depths claiming her as no man before or after would ever dare.
Yes, Kat Cartwell would submit. And afterward, for the rest of her life, she would remember Julian Morrell, lover of women and thief of hearts.
Was it cruel to consume his ladies in fire and then vanish on the winds? No more so than it was for the sun to rise and set, for life itself was a gift meant to be used and exploited before it could be taken away at death.
He had to laugh at himself at that one.
Could any man be vainer—to compare one’s self to the sun, to think one’s self a feast no woman should do without. But all joking aside Julian Morrell had ammunition with which to back his claims. He promised and delivered ecstasy.
And then he moved on. That was the pattern, his chosen way of life. Adrianna, his elder sister, who was far too like their departed mother for his own comfort, called him a coward, a man afraid to commit to a single woman, to build a relationship, to form a family.
Sardonically, he was wont to offer as counter argument the much vaunted House of Morrell, itself, such as it was, with its history of madness and betrayal, ten generations old.
Morrell had standards, of course. At forty he was too old to play around with twenty-year-old girls, or even twenty-five-year-old ones. They looked good to the eye, but the inexperience, the lack of maturity tended to show itself in and out of bed, even in the course of a single night.
Kat wasn’t much older than thirty, but she oozed a certain sensual wisdom more appropriate for an older woman. A moxy. She had, after all, sought him out after his initial foray, attempting to tell him off just as he had deserved to be, as a matter of fact.
Bravo for her.
Unfortunately what she did not realize was that she had played into his hands. He was laying a trail for her in bread crumbs.
He was playing cat and mouse, manipulating her into doing the chasing. Round One was over. He scored the victory to himself, though she had made it a contest.
Round Two would take place at dinner. According to the concierge, whose alliance Julian had secured with a few well-placed bills, Kat had gone from the beach directly to her room.
Unless he missed his guess, she would remain there for a nap, a bath or perhaps both. She would then go for dinner in the hotel restaurant downstairs. Alone. She would do this even though she was afraid of meeting him and regardless of whether she was actually hungry or not. She would do so as to prove to herself that he had not intimidated her in any way.
For the price of another small bribe, the concierge would call him, notifying Julian when Kat had left her room again. He would then make a timely interception and continue their banter.
In the meantime, he would continue his meditation in his own room, a sizable suite purchased with but a miniscule fraction of his part of the inheritance from the latest casualty of Morrell pride, his father Maurice, who had drank half the brandy in Europe and screwed half the whores before surrendering to an early grave.
Smiling somberly, he went out to the balcony making an offering of his spirit to the rushing wind, the beaming rays of sun, the wash of ocean current, one man’s life, come and gone in the wink of an eye, living moment to moment, slaking his desires on the conquests of the day. A company bought and sold, a deal closed to good advantage…and a woman, one whose name was feline.
The Kat around whom his current thought and imagination revolved.
Nothing unusual for Julian Morrell. He was known for obsession. She would be no different than the rest.
A line of women before her, a line after.
It had to be that way, for his sanity and hers. Men like Morrell did not settle down and they did not fall in love. They were born to play with fire, to swallow swords and ride the backs of invisible mares, nostrils flaring, explosive as volcanoes.
Kat Cartwell…no different than the rest.
Or so he hoped.
Chapter Two
“So you read other things besides law books.”
Kat froze, her face covered by the menu. It was him. She didn’t need to see him to know. Incredible. She had been barely out of her room for five minutes and already he had managed to track her down. And she had been so careful, getting a table in the back of the hotel restaurant, using an express elevator down from the concierge floor.
“If I didn’t know better,” Kat declared, screwing up the courage to look him in the eye. “I’d say you’ve been following me.”
“I don’t need to.” He smiled shamelessly. “I have spies. May I?”
He was gesturing with his hand toward the empty seat across from her, the cuff of his white linen shirt just peeking out of his black tuxedo sleeve.
“No, you may not,” she uttered.
“I told you, I have eyes everywhere. I found out you were here for dinner so I came to join you.”
“I’m not interested.”
“A beautiful woman shouldn’t dine alone. It’s an offense against nature.”
“I’m sure nature can survive the affront,” she offered dryly, wishing she had been smart enough to stay in her room in her pajamas instead of coming down here in her best dress, the slinky red one with sequins, cut low in all the wrong places.
“You look different,” he observed.
“It’s probably the fact that I’m dressed in something other than a bikini.”
It was Kimmy’s fault for making her bring the dress in the first place. She would have been happy with formless sundresses.
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s something else, a glow in your cheeks, a light in your eyes.”
Kat tensed. There was no way he could know what she had been up to this afternoon—could he?
She told herself she was being paranoid. His spies could not have known about her watching Lust’s Castaways in her room. “I’m quite sure it’s your imagination, Mr. Morrell, now if you’d kindly let me dine in peace.”
“You’ve been giving yourself pleasure,” he said.
Kat drew a ragged breath, heat pooling instantly in her breasts and between her legs. She felt caught, unmasked, stripped. “Mr. Morrell, that is quite enough, either you leave now, or I will ask to have you removed.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? And may I ask whom you imagined to be your lover?”
“Mr. Morrell.” She spat the name through clenched teeth.
“Was it a lover from out of your past, perhaps, or was it a figure from the depths of your imagination?”
Eyes were peering, from nearby tables, surreptitious glances that would soon escalate to glares. “For god’s sake, sit down, will you? You’re making a scene.”
It was absolutely the worst thing to say, as it played into his hands, but Kat was desperate and well past thinking straight when it came to this infuriating, sexually conceited man.
“If you insist.” He assumed his place smoothly, a gesture of clear but understated victory.
“You think you can play with me.” She pounced. “But I won’t have it. You hold no interest for me, I am repulsed by you and I can’t wait to never see you again.”
Kat wasn’t making sense now, even to herself. But she’d be damned if she’d go on the defensive.
His smile said it all.
“Shut up,” she demanded though he hadn’t uttered a word.
“You are formidable when cornered, do you know that?” he declared. “I do trust you will allow me to buy you dinner by the way.”
“Over my dead body.”
He chuckled, signaling for the waiter. “Prostrate I would love you, but hardly without that rabbit pulse of yours.”
Great, now he was reading her diagnostics.
“What if I was masturbating?” She decided to meet him head on. “What of it?”
He arched a brow. “Are you asking if the thought of you stroking yourself uncontrollably arouses me? I think you know the answer.”
Kat flushed. “Must you get the best of every exchange?”
“A bottle of your best Chateau Lemour,” he told the waiter.
The waiter flicked his eyes to her and back to Julian.
“How is the filet mignon tonight?” Julian asked.
They discussed cuts of beef as if she weren’t there.
Kat fumed after the man was gone. “How dare you embarrass me like that.”
“But I was only being a gentleman. A lady is never expected to order for herself.”
“You were being a jerk, which is what you seem to do best.”
Julian said nothing until the wine arrived. For a few golden moments she dared to raise her hopes that he was going to lay off.
Fat chance.
“To tonight.” He raised his glass, glistening red.
“What about tonight?” she asked with justifiable suspicion.
He leaned forward, for her ears only.
“You’ll purr for me, Kat Cartwell.”
Shock mixed with anger. “Any reason I shouldn’t dump this glass in your face?”
He smiled enigmatic and exasperating as always. “I would appeal to your fine breeding, but in truth you will refrain because to do otherwise would displease me.”
She took a large gulp and set it down, managing to avoid touching him in the process.
He took a sip of his, nonchalant.
“Do you even hear how you sound?” she demanded.
“What about it?”
“You talk like a crazy person. I don’t have to please you. This isn’t the age of slaves and I’m sure as hell not your nineteen-fifties wife.”
“I’ve mentioned you in neither such role,” he admitted, “though the thought intrigues me.”
She blushed, cursing herself for giving him ideas. “I am sure it does. You have pervert written all over you. I bet you are here hiding out from the law.”
His laugh made her toes curl. “I would break the law for you, though I wouldn’t make a habit of it.”
“So you’re just interested in a one-night stand?”
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