Imprisoned by a Vow

by Annie West

  He stood, caught between horror and something like longing.

  He’d never had a home in the usual sense. As an adult he’d been on the move too much to put down roots. As a child... His mouth flattened. The places he’d lived as a kid had had none of the welcome he felt here. They’d been the scenes of too many emotional battles.

  Joss looked around, telling himself a few ornaments didn’t make a difference. It was window dressing. An illusion.

  He turned on his heel and went looking for his wife.

  His bed had been made—smooth and pristine as if he hadn’t experienced the most climactic night of pleasure there hours before. He quelled disappointment. He hadn’t really expected to find Leila there, waiting.

  Movement outside caught his attention and he went to the sliding glass door that gave onto the roof garden.

  His pulse thudded as he spied her in the shadow of the pergola. She wore slim-fitting jeans, a shirt of bright scarlet, and her hair was down, rippling loose to her waist. Joss’s hands twitched as he recalled the feel of it in his fingers, its scent in his nostrils. In the sunlight it shone dark mahogany shot through with glints of russet.

  He went to meet her.

  Leila stood, head slightly bent, apparently grasping the back of a chair. He quickened his pace. This was the first time he’d found her outdoors by her own choice.

  ‘Leila?’ He halted behind her. The stiff set of her body made him pause instead of reaching to touch her.

  ‘Joss.’ She straightened but didn’t turn.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He frowned. Had he been wrong then about her not wanting to leave the apartment?

  She laughed, a short, harsh sound that grooved deep through his belly. ‘Getting some fresh air.’

  He closed the space between them till a mere hand span separated them. Tension radiated off her in waves.

  ‘How long have you been out here?’

  ‘Nine minutes.’

  Nine. Not ten. A precise nine. He peered over her shoulder and realised she was staring at her watch. Timing herself?

  Her hands were white-knuckled. His heart kicked hard against his ribs.

  Joss reached out and brushed his hand down the dark glory of her hair. It was soft and sun-warmed but beneath it she shivered.

  Hell! He’d been right. A turbulent roil of anger and anxiety filled his belly.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get you inside.’ He closed in on her, bending to lift her into his arms.

  ‘No!’ She turned, gifting him with a view of stark eyes. She swallowed hard. ‘Why do you always think I need carrying? I can walk.’

  Before he could stop her she stepped past him. She moved like an automaton, stiff and jerky, but she walked. Even as he reached for her, instinct intervened and he dropped his hand. She didn’t need him to carry her. Even if he wanted to. Nevertheless he shadowed her, a pace behind till she walked through the door he’d left open.

  She stopped a couple of steps inside, breathing deeply. Behind her Joss snicked the door closed.

  ‘Are you going to tell me about it?’ No matter how often he told himself theirs was a business arrangement, Leila stirred protective instincts that had lain dormant since Joanna. The need to safeguard her was so strong it made a mockery of all he knew about himself.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  So she was going to play it like that. Stubborn, independent woman!

  If she wouldn’t talk about that there was plenty more on his mind.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’

  She speared him with a glare. ‘Why? So you could lower your expectations accordingly?’

  Joss stared as her luscious mouth flattened in a mutinous line and couldn’t prevent a bark of laughter.

  Leila’s hands went to her hips.

  ‘Was I that amusing?’

  Joss shook his head and took her hand. She tried to tug free but he held her easily. ‘Warn me, don’t you mean, to prepare for the most potent sexual experience I’ve ever had?’ His thumb stroked her pulse point and he felt tremors race through her.

  ‘There’s no need to pretend.’

  ‘You truly have no idea, do you?’ He closed in so she was flush against him. Predictably she stood her ground, tilting her chin so she could watch him. ‘What we shared, Leila—it was...’ he sought words ‘...spectacular. Memorable.’

  That was why he’d been preoccupied all morning. He let his finger trail from her palm up the inside of her arm to her elbow and saw her eyes dilate. Good. She felt it too, this powerful undercurrent between them.

  Her cheeks coloured. ‘Yes, you’re very good at sex.’

  ‘No, Leila, we were good together. The two of us. The chemistry is...explosive.’ He paused. ‘I just wish I’d known it was your first time. I’d have taken it slower and made it better for you.’

  Her blush deepened to a delectable rose madder and she looked away. ‘There was no need. I...enjoyed it too.’

  Joss bit down the bubble of laughter that rose at her understatement. He’d watched her come apart beneath him, had ridden the lingering vibrations of her long climax and read the wonder in her eyes. ‘Enjoyment’ hardly covered what they’d shared. But he’d give her latitude since she was so inexperienced.

  ‘I’m glad,’ he murmured, lifting his hand to palm her cheek. Her skin was as soft as he remembered. His blood quickened. ‘It will be even better next time.’

  ‘Next time?’ Leila’s voice was unsteady. ‘You said we’d get it out of our systems. Enjoy it then move on.’

  It struck Joss that for all her fiery spirit and stellar social skills, Leila was incredibly naïve about what went on between a man and a woman. He drew a deep breath. He looked forward to teaching her.

  Joss wrapped his other hand around her waist, drawing her up to feel his arousal. Surprise crossed her face and a fleeting instant of furtive feminine pleasure.

  Oh, yes, he was going to enjoy this thoroughly.

  ‘And so we will move on.’ He lowered his mouth to her neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and sweetness. ‘After we’ve had our fill.’ He planted a kiss beneath her ear and revelled in her quiver of response. She lifted her hands to his chest and his heart pounded. ‘But it will take some time to reach that point.’

  ‘I see.’ Her words were a soft exhale. Her hands crept up his shoulders and Joss smiled.

  ‘Until we reach that point I suggest we enjoy it.’

  Leila leaned back in his arms, her eyes more pewter than green as she surveyed him intently. ‘But no strings?’

  Joss frowned. She asked for no strings? That was a turnaround. It was usually him insisting on independence while women wanted more. For some reason that niggled at him.

  ‘Absolutely.’ His mouth hovered over hers. ‘Simple mutual pleasure.’ After all, he didn’t know any other way.

  * * *

  Simple? There was nothing simple about what she shared with her husband.

  Leila lay under his massive form. Her breath came in desperate gasps, aftershocks of bliss rippled through them and she knew with absolute certainty that sex had complicated their relationship.

  But she couldn’t regret it.

  Her chest constricted on a surge of emotion as she palmed the damp luxury of his back and felt his growl of approval reverberate through her. She’d never known such wondrous pleasure. They were joined, were still one, and, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, the feelings that evoked were profound. Peace. Pleasure. Trust.

  Would it be like that with another man? Was this what any woman felt with her first lover or was there something special about Joss? Without words, with the gift of his passion he’d reached deep inside her to emotions she’d repressed and drawn them to the surface.

  In the last
weeks Joss had ceased to be a stumbling block to her new life. He’d become vital to it.

  That scared her. Her strength came from self-reliance. She couldn’t afford to need anyone, especially not the man who’d chosen her for the commercial benefits she brought.

  ‘Back in a moment,’ he murmured and rolled away, heading for the bathroom.

  Leila sighed, telling herself it was relief she felt being alone, not regret. Yet her arms were empty without him and the bed cold.

  Annoyed with herself, she rolled away. She’d been caught up in the glamour of receiving Joss Carmody’s full attention and the sensual onslaught of his lovemaking. She shivered and drew the sheet tight around her. He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world, the only woman who mattered.

  Did all his lovers feel that way or was that a sign of her inexperience?

  For a moment there she’d felt something so profound it was hard to believe it wasn’t real and permanent.

  The bed shifted as he got in, reaching for her. Leila stiffened. She should move away, assert herself instead of succumbing to his touch. But her body had other ideas. Already she was snuggling close as he settled her against his shoulder.

  ‘Are you going to tell me now?’

  ‘Tell you what?’ Her breath caught as his hand circled lazily along her ribs and grazed her breast.

  ‘About the roof garden. What you were doing, timing yourself.’

  ‘You said there’d be no strings.’ Leila fought to inject power into her voice as her body softened like sun-warmed chocolate at his touch. ‘I don’t have to answer questions.’

  ‘No, you don’t. But I’m...’ he paused so long she wondered if he’d continue ‘...concerned about you.’

  There it was again, that fillip of sensation at the idea someone cared. That Joss cared.

  Did it take so little to winkle out the weakness she’d striven so hard to hide? A weakness revealed was a weakness to be exploited. She’d learned that from Gamil.

  ‘There’s no need to be concerned. I’m fine.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

  Leila braced herself against his chest, trying to rise. His arm wrapped around, holding her close. She tried not to enjoy the feel of his hot, bare chest beneath her cheek.

  ‘Why do I have to tell you anything? You never tell me about yourself.’

  Her curiosity about the man she’d married grew daily. Instead of a brash, bossy, self-important tycoon, Joss had proven himself not only intelligent and with a keen nose for business but affable, sexy and likeable. Initially he’d angered her with his demands and the assumption she’d starved herself deliberately. But these past weeks she’d come to enjoy his company. Though she was a trophy wife he somehow made her feel more, as if he truly valued her, as if he cared for her well-being, even her opinions.

  ‘All right, then. Answer a question of mine and I’ll answer one of yours.’ He stroked the underside of her breast and she shivered. She tried to summon anger that he used her response to his touch against her, but it was delight she felt, not annoyance.

  ‘Tell me why you dislike Murat so much.’

  The question took her by surprise. She’d expected him to ask about her fear of going out. She was almost certain he’d guessed it.

  ‘And then you’ll answer my question?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’ Yet it was the upper slope of her breast that he crossed with his index finger. When he’d finished his hand trailed provocatively to her nipple, awaking every nerve in a clamour of sensual delight.

  Leila grabbed his hand and clamped it at her waist. He wouldn’t have this all his way.

  ‘I dislike Murat because he reminds me of my stepfather. They’re two of a kind and I despise them both.’

  A charged silence followed her words. Leila could almost hear Joss digesting that and considering its ramifications.

  She was breathing hard and fast, her grip on Joss’s hand vice-like with the strength of her feelings. Deliberately she lifted her hand away but had nowhere to plant it but his broad chest. That was solid beneath her touch, wiry hair tickling her palm, the even thud of his heart calming after her rush of emotions.

  Before he could question, Leila spoke again. ‘Why do you want a business arrangement instead of a real marriage? A wife for show, not a real one? And no children, no family?’ It had puzzled her ever since she had realised Joss wasn’t the cold tycoon she’d imagined. ‘Most people want love, belonging, children.’ Leila paused, realising suddenly how much she asked. No doubt he’d avoid answering.

  ‘Remind me to think twice about negotiating with you again.’ His deep voice held reluctant admiration and humour. She imagined that sexy half-smile grooving his cheek.

  ‘You won’t tell me?’ She ran her fingertip over his chest, watching his nipple harden intriguingly as she circled it. His hand caught hers, imprisoning it flat against his chest.

  ‘I left myself wide open, didn’t I?’ His other hand stroked her hair and she tilted her head into his touch.

  ‘How can you want something you’ve never known or seen?’ he said at last. ‘I know there are people who swear their family life is wonderful, but I suspect they exaggerate.’ He breathed deep. ‘I’m not stupid enough to put myself in a vulnerable situation where some woman has the power to make a fool of me when I discover we’re all wrong for each other.’ He shrugged. ‘Not that it would happen. No woman has ever tempted me to consider a long-term relationship.’

  Leila digested that. ‘You’re scared to trust?’

  His hand tightened on hers. ‘Not scared. Just understandably doubtful.’

  ‘Because you don’t trust women?’ He wasn’t a misogynist. His attitude surprised her.

  ‘Because I’ve seen how destructive families can be, especially for kids.’ His voice was grim. It tugged something deep inside her and she turned her head, pressing her lips to his chest in a gesture of sympathy. Whatever had happened in his childhood it had scarred him.

  ‘You don’t need to feel sorry for me, Leila.’ Yet his palm caressed the back of her head as if to keep her close. She breathed deeply of his intriguing, masculine scent.

  ‘I know.’ He was big and tough and in control of his life—well able to take care of himself.

  Yet even she, after Gamil’s brutal treatment, held out hope of trusting a man with her happiness one day. She had her parents’ example as a model and not even the last years had extinguished her belief in the power of love.

  What was it like not having hope to hang onto? She slid her arm around his torso, hugging him, and his hand settled in her hair.

  ‘I’m sorry your childhood was hard,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yours wasn’t?’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Mine was sunshine and laughter and lots of love. My parents adored each other and made me feel special every day of my life.’ She’d never imagined telling Joss any of this, but the words slipped out easily. ‘I was very lucky.’

  ‘You were.’ His deep voice held a new note. ‘My earliest memory is of my mother screeching abuse and the sound of china smashing.’

  ‘She was violent?’ Leila shuddered, burrowing closer.

  ‘Only with breakables.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘My mother made her point with maximum drama when she didn’t get her way. As her expectations exceeded her income and her vanity, that was often. My father, on the other hand, specialised in aloof disapproval. He’d cut anyone down to size with a few words.’ He paused. ‘One passionate, the other cold, both focused on themselves. They should never have had a child, much less two.’

  ‘You have a sibling?’

  The hand stroking her hair stilled and the fine hairs at her nape prickled.

  ‘Had. Joanna died when I was ten.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Joss.’ She
hadn’t meant to cause pain. ‘An accident?’

  ‘For someone who doesn’t want to talk about herself, you ask a lot of questions.’

  It was true. The depth of her curiosity surprised her.

  She lifted her head. His eyes glowed dark indigo and his face was pared to stark, powerful planes. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. Fellow feeling welled up inside her. She wanted to wipe his hurt away, give him ease.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

  ‘It’s okay, Leila.’ His lips quirked. ‘Don’t look so worried. It’s all in the past.’

  She shook her head. ‘Some things stay with you.’

  His smile faded and he gathered her close.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll never forget Joanna and what she went through. Our parents made her life hell, pulling her between them. Six months in England with our mother, being taught society ways, then six in Australia, berated for being too delicate instead of athletic and academically gifted. Her life was a struggle to conform to what they wanted. They played out their feud using her as a pawn. Never once did they think about what she needed.’

  Leila noticed he talked about his sister, not the impact his parents’ feuding had on him.

  ‘By the time she was thirteen she was depressed. At fourteen she was severely anorexic.’

  Leila gasped. Now it made sense—his accusations about her weight loss. He hadn’t just been crass, but genuinely worried. ‘So that’s why—’

  ‘It seemed possible,’ he said flatly. ‘I’d seen it before.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ Leila’s throat dried.

  ‘She ran away at fifteen and I never saw her again.’ His voice was empty. ‘When my mother told me she’d died of her illness she tried to make me believe it was because Joanna had been selfishly wrapped up in herself rather than caring about her like a daughter should.’

  Leila propped herself up. ‘That’s outrageous!’ What a thing to say to a grieving little boy.

  ‘That was my mother, generous to the bone.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve seen too much of dysfunctional families to want another. I’m alone and that’s how I like it. I’ll never bring a child into this world to suffer because its parents grew to hate each other like my parents. Even on opposite sides of the world they fought their petty battles through us. The last thing I want is children. My family genes aren’t something I want to pass on.’