She didn’t resist. She didn’t want to. Was she really that stupid?
His corded thigh deftly parted her legs, his powerful gaze keeping her captive as he pulled their bodies closer together.
And still, she didn’t protest.
Pleasure erupted through her, hot and wicked and tormented. It claimed her. Shamed her. “Oh God.” The words slipped from her lips, a surrender to her memory of their previous connection. An acceptance of his power over her body and desire.
“I wanted to kiss you the very first moment I saw you.”
His whisper stole her breath. “When?” How was she even talking when her heart hammered so much? “In the art gallery? Or on my door just now?”
“Both.”
He kissed her, his lips as dominating and masterful as she’d always fantasied they would be. The way she’d known they would. His arrogant kiss invaded her senses, filled her core with liquid heat. He swept his tongue over hers, confident and determined. The subtle hint of toothpaste teased her, delighted her. His distinct scent joined in. A shiver rippled up her spine.
Idiot. Sucker for punishment.
She stiffened in his arms, her blood roaring in her ears. What was she doing? What was he doing? They hated each other. He’d told her just as much on the steps of the church the day Clinton was buried. So what the hell were they doing now?
She slammed her bare heel down onto the instep of his foot. Hard.
“Hey!” The protest burst from him in a strangled grunt. He dropped his arms from around her body and jerked back a step, his frown furious.
Ignoring the pain screaming in her heel, she retreated her own step, determined to stay out of his reach. She couldn’t let him touch her again. With the ridiculously easy way she’d melted in his arms, it would be suicide. Once upon a time, before life screwed her over, melting in his arms would have been the most natural thing to do. But now? No.
Until she knew what was really going on, what game he was playing, she needed to keep her distance.
Narrowing her eyes, she balled her fists. “What are you doing, Mr. Dyson? What do you want?”
He studied her, his expression once again enigmatic. “As I’ve already explained, I want to get to know Clinton’s muse. I want to know what he craved so much about you.” He paused, eyes unreadable. “What drove him to his death.”
Ice filled her veins. Her heart slammed into her throat “You bastard. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“The brother of the man you manipulated, used, and then rejected.”
Anger sliced through her, stole her breath, but she held her ground. “Clinton was my friend.” She couldn’t crack. She had to keep control of her voice. Inside, her stomach churned.
James snorted with disgust, his lip curling. “Clinton was your target. You manipulated his feelings for you, you exploited his weakness for beautiful women, you teased him into a sexual frenzy until you had him exactly where you wanted him, and then, when he told you our father had disinherited him, you refused his proposal. Cut him loose.” He took a deliberate step toward her, destroying the space she had made between them. “So, Sienna, I’m independently wealthy, Dad can’t touch my money, and I like what I’ve tasted so far. Am I good enough to sleep with?”
She slapped him. Hard. The sound of her palm smacking against his cheek cracked air, bounced around her studio. “Get out. Just get out.”
They stared at each other, the heat from his body radiating against hers, his eyes regarding her with equal fire. Sienna glared back, her ears roaring, her heart pounding. “Leave. Now. I never want to see you again.”
James didn’t stir, his body completely still as a slow smile played with his lips. “Can’t do that.” He shook his head, his voice low but oh so smug. “I know how desperately broke you are at the moment, what with your young half brother to care for and your father’s legal bills piling up. And I also know how important your benefactor, Mason Xavier, is to you. After all, it’s only his financial backing that’s keeping you fed and your art career alive, isn’t it? But what you don’t know is I happen to be very close to Xavier. Close enough, in fact, for him to arrange a rather unique birthday present for me this year. A portrait. Painted by a young, emerging artist he’s discovered.”
A chill swept through her and she stared at James. Had she heard right? Had he said what she thought he said? Disbelief—no, horror—crept over her, cold and clammy at once.
His smile widened, never reaching his eyes. “That rather large commission you accepted two nights ago?” he continued, his voice no longer smug but triumphant. “Xavier’s gift to me. I’ve just become your next subject.”
…
He stared into Sienna’s jade-green eyes, a distant part of him unable to deny the hypnotizing intensity of their depths despite who she was. Regardless of how she’d fooled his brother, Clinton had been right about her eyes. They were the eyes of a temptress. If he wasn’t careful, his well-laid plans could unravel.
He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her delicate but somehow heady scent.
When he first met her, her scent had filled his head with wild thoughts and even wilder desires, desires he’d been more than eager to act upon as they stood almost touching in front of one of his brother’s more ridiculous paintings.
Right now, in this very moment, it sank straight to his groin, raw and carnal and animalistic.
Lust was not unfamiliar to him, but he had to remember who she was. He had to remember why he was here. He had to forget the playful heat of their flirting a lifetime ago. He had to forget everything he’d discovered about her since.
He had to remember what she’d done to Clinton. What she’d caused his only brother to do.
“When do we begin?” he asked, still staring into her eyes.
“Never.” Her response was exactly what he’d anticipated. Short. Final. Angry.
“And disappoint Xavier?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” He took another step forward, his thighs brushing hers. “It’s just a painting.” He paused, letting a lazy grin pull at his lips. “That is, unless you’re afraid of what will happen if we’re alone together?”
She glared at him. “You flatter yourself.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I remember the way we flirted at Clint’s exhibition. The way you looked at me. And I certainly remember the way you melted in my arms just now.”
“And you’ve forgotten the way I stomped on your foot? The way I slapped your face? Or do you call that foreplay?”
Her words were sharp, like barbed wire, and he could almost believe she wanted nothing to do with him. But she hadn’t taken a step back when he’d closed the distance between them. In fact, she remained so close to him her thighs still brushed his, the barest contact sending hot charges through his body.
Yet at the same time, her eyes were wide and nervous, and the pulse point at her neck fluttered like a trapped butterfly. He frowned, puzzled. This was not how he expected the calculating vixen Clinton had so thoroughly described to behave. As much as she wanted him to think otherwise, she appeared confused, almost innocent. And vulnerable.
The dull ache in his foot made him rethink that last one. Perhaps vulnerable wasn’t the right word.
Slight movement drew his eyes, instant sexual hunger roaring through him as she quickly wet her bottom lip with her tongue.
He pulled in his own long breath. Christ, did she know how hot that simple act looked?
A manipulating prick tease. That’s what she is. Remember that. She can’t get under my skin. I won’t let her. I will use her and destroy her. Just like she did Clinton.
“Foreplay, Sienna?” He let his voice become a murmured drawl. “I know other ways to whet the appetite. Far more delicious ways. Whenever you’re ready to begin…”
She leveled a cold stare at him, her jaw bunching. “Take a hike, Mr. Dyson. I want you out of my studio. Out of my home. Now.”
“No, you don’t,” he corre
cted her. “And I’ll tell you why. Not just because of how well we connect, but because you need money. Your half brother is sucking you dry, your father’s legal bills are still piling up, and you cannot afford to disappoint the only benefactor you have at the moment. And if Mason Xavier is told his favorite little artist refused a commission…” He cocked an eyebrow and left the sentence unfinished.
She stared at him, wide eyed. “How do you know all that?”
“How do I know?” He chuckled, letting his gaze roam over her face. Such a beautiful face for one so calculating. The face of a true femme fatale. “I know everything about my dead brother’s girlfriend. I know everything about the woman who caused his death.”
Anger glinted in her hazel eyes, like chips of ice. “Well, I guess you don’t know everything, James Dyson, because I was never Clinton’s girlfriend. We were good friends. Roommates. He turned to me after his family rejected him for choosing to go to art school instead of following in the footsteps of his older brother.” She tilted her head to the side. “Tell me, Mr. Dyson, how much do you pay the federal government each year for them to turn their back on the fact Dyson Media Corporation has almost complete monopoly of this country’s media?” She lifted her chin. “As for my causing Clinton’s death…I was not the one who forced him to choose between his love of art and his family. That was your dear old dad.”
He narrowed his eyes. “He didn’t choose art. He chose you. And when he told you our father had cut him from his will because he wouldn’t come home… Well, you didn’t want him if he didn’t come with the Dyson fortune, did you?”
She stepped back from him and folded her arms across her breasts. Breasts that would feel firm and heavy and perfect against his palms. “It’s definitely time you left.” She looked up at him, a faint pink painting her checks. The glorious copper mane of her hair tumbled around her face in wild abandon, brushing her serious, straight eyebrows, emphasizing the creamy velvet of her flawless flesh.
She looked completely and utterly sexual, a creature of heightened passion that would willingly throw herself at the mercy of her desire.
Her legs were parted and her bare feet planted firmly on the studio’s wooden floor. James noted the painted burgundy of her trimmed toenails and a delicate butterfly tattoo on her right ankle. That butterfly had featured more than once in his dreams. It had stirred something in him the night of Clinton’s exhibition, something completely male. It stirred that same something in him now.
He devoured the length of her legs exposed to his gaze. So smooth and toned and sun-kissed. He had imagined more than once how they would feel wrapped around his naked hips, her skin slicked with perspiration, her breath short and panting.
Did he need to imagine any longer? Despite her obvious hatred for him, something else smoldered below the icy fury. He’d witnessed it burning in her eyes the very first time they’d met. He’d recognized it then because it had surged through him as well. Primitive and carnal. Hungry and eager.
It throbbed through him now. It throbbed through her as well. He had no doubt. The way she looked at him, the way her body spoke to him…
A hot lump filled his throat. Christ, he wanted her.
“James…” Her voice played with him, her gaze as confused as he suddenly felt. “If only we could talk about what happened?”
“Talk?” He shook his head. “That’s not my plan.”
“I can’t believe you can be this much of a Neanderthal. I don’t care how sexy it is, you—”
She stopped, her hand pressing to her mouth, her eyes wide above it.
“You think I’m sexy?” Why did the admission stir him so much?
“Sure.” She narrowed her eyes, hands back on the delicious curve of her hips. “And arrogant and smug and narcissistic and…and…too damn tall.”
He chuckled.
She glared at him. But she didn’t back away. In fact, she’d inched toward him during her tirade. Drawn closer. Close enough the warmth of her body caressed his own.
He met her eyes, enjoying the defiance—and excitement—he saw there.
Why deny what he wanted? He’d never done so before. Why now? And he wanted Sienna Roberts. More than he could fathom.
A sudden rap on the door sounded through the studio, shattering the charged silence arcing between them.
“Sienna?” A female voice called from the other side. “Open up, girl.”
“Coming, Carrie,” she called back, holding his stare. A small frown dipped her eyebrows, a flash of disappointment filled her face a second before triumph danced in her eyes. “I told you it was time for you to leave. I’m sure I’ll never see you again.”
He returned her smile. “And I’m sure you’ll see me tomorrow.” She opened her mouth, no doubt to lash him further with farcical contempt, but before a word could pass her lips, he covered the distance between them to tower over her. “And let me assure you, tomorrow we won’t be interrupted.”
He kissed her then, demanding and taking, his entire being igniting as she immediately kissed him back. Perfect. Wild and untamed. Just as he’d imagined.
Just as he’d fantasied.
He let her go and strode away. If he didn’t now, he never would.
“I hate you,” she whispered at his back.
He swung open the door. “Hate has never stopped good sex, Sienna,” he replied over his shoulder before dropping a wink at the blonde gaping at him from the step. “And from the moment we first met, great sex is exactly what we were destined for. You know it, just as much as I do.”
Chapter Two
Carrie’s eyes grew wider than normal as she walked into the studio and dumped her bag on a chair. “What the hell am I missing? Who the hell was that?”
Sienna pulled a face. “Nobody important.”
“Really? Why am I finding it hard to believe you? Oh, I know, because he was super hot and going on about great sex. Are you sleeping with him? Fantastic! I’ve been saying for months and months you need to get laid.”
Sienna’s breath caught in her throat. “No, I’m not sleeping with him.”
“I see.” Carrie raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t explain the whole great sex thing? Clearly, you two have been wanting to bonk for ages, or have been bonking for ages. C’mon girl, tell me, tell me. You know how much I hate not knowing things.”
“I’m not sleeping with him.” Damn it, her cheeks were on fire. “Now shut up and get your clothes off.”
“Oh.” Carrie wriggled her curvaceous hips with haughty enthusiasm. “Who’s a touchy artist today?” She stopped, casting Sienna a contemplative look. “Are you okay?”
Sienna let out a ragged sigh. “Yeah. Just a little annoyed.”
“Because of Mr. Destined for Great Sex?”
Dropping into a nearby chair, Sienna tucked a few wild strands of hair behind her ears. “Okay, you’re my best friend, Carrie. You know that, right? I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to get through Dad’s trial sane without you.”
Carrie preened with comic exaggeration. “I know I’m indispensible in your life. Which is kinda why I’m wondering why I don’t know what’s going on now. I mean, really, some Adonis is at your place going on about the pair of you getting it on, and this is the first I’ve heard of it.” She pouted. “I’m cut to the bone, girl. Cut to the bone.”
Sienna let out a soft chuckle. “You know I love you, but…” She shook her head. There wasn’t much Carrie didn’t know about her, and vice-versa, but she’d never been able to tell Carrie everything about her teenage years as Platinum Joe’s daughter, nor about what happened with Clinton. It was too painful.
She closed her eyes and rubbed them for a second. God, this is going to hurt.
“Okay. You remember Clinton?” She looked at Carrie, her stomach a mass of butterflies. “That guy I shared an apartment with for a while after you abandoned me for Richard?”
Carrie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t abandon you. I got engaged. And, yeah, I do remember that
guy. I always thought he was cute. A little mysterious and a touch stuck-up at times, but cute. I could never work out why you didn’t go for him.”
“He was just a friend. We were close, but that was it. At least that was it for me. He used to joke about us running off together to Hawaii, or Bali, or someplace like that.” She ran her fingers behind her ears again. Stupid nervous habit. One day she’d kick it.
Yeah, just like I’ll kick my masochistic attraction to James Dyson.
Carrie frowned. “Are you sure he wasn’t serious? I know Richard and I took off for Europe only a little while after Clinton moved in, but it looked to me like he was gone for you even in that short time. Big-time gone.”
Big-time gone. That was an understatement.
She snorted, the sound wry and full of embarrassment. “I figured that out the night he proposed.”
Carrie’s eyebrows shot up. “God, Sienna, couldn’t you tell?”
Sienna shook her head. “I didn’t know. Not really. I mean, I suppose at times I suspected his feelings were more than just friendship, but I thought it was because I’d helped him face up to his father. I’ve got great experience in that, remember? Besides, after you abandoned me, I desperately needed someone to share the rent. There was no way I was asking Dad for help, and Clinton offered to pitch in.” She pulled her knees up under her chin and let out a wobbly sigh. “In the beginning, I thought I might fall for him. He was cute, sensitive, a brilliant artist, but it never happened. It just wasn’t there.”
Carrie chewed on her bottom lip, her eyebrows pulling into a frown. “So what’s the connection with the hunk that just left?”
“The hunk that just left is his older brother, James Dyson.”
Carrie’s mouth fell open. If the situation weren’t so damn unsettling, Sienna would have laughed. “James Dyson? As in Dyson Media Corporation? Richest man in Sydney? Richest man in the whole of Australia?”
“The very same.”
“The richest man in the country wants to have sex with you, and you’re sitting here looking like the Grim Reaper has just paid a visit? What the hell, girl?”
The Stubborn Billionaire (a Muse novel) Page 2