The Millionaire's Daughter (The Carew Stepsisters Book 1)

by Sophie Weston

  Annis hesitated. He was holding a well-thumbed copy of Jane Eyre.

  ‘Though it’s interesting stuff for a lady who despises romance,’ he said softly.

  Annis gave in.

  ‘One coffee and then you go.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  He gave her a bland smile and flung himself back in the old sofa. She had bought it at auction years ago when she was first looking for furniture, any furniture, and these days she flung an ivory-coloured throw over it. That made it blend in with the rest of the room, all cream and beige with touches of toffee colour to pick up the golden gleam of the polished wooden floor.

  It was light and airy and very cool. And, apart from the crowded desk, meticulously tidy.

  ‘I don’t know why you keep people out of here,’ he said when she brought the coffee back to him. ‘You don’t give much of yourself away.’

  Annis thought of her fantasy bedroom and bit back a smile. She had put her whole heart and soul into that room and no one had ever seen it, not even Jamie, whose departure had precipitated her artistic efforts. Kosta Vitale was certainly not going to.

  She said in a neutral voice, ‘The place suits me.’

  He looked at her narrowly. ‘You’re laughing at me. What have I said?’

  She shrugged. ‘Nothing. I didn’t invite you in to give me a run-down on what is wrong with my decor.’

  ‘You didn’t invite me in at all,’ he agreed. He leaned back among the pale cushions and surveyed her. ‘Why do I make you nervous, Annis?’

  She came back, quick as a whip. ‘You don’t.’

  ‘But I do. Much more nervous than that guy you were fighting off this evening.’

  Annis was silent. It was true.

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Just a boyfriend.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Ex-boyfriend?’

  It felt like a duel. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the first time we met you told me you didn’t date.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on that,’ said Annis irritably. ‘I told you there was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry about it.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen how true it is. You do date.’

  She swallowed. ‘Well, sometimes…’

  ‘Proves my point, don’t you think? I make you defensive and you take refuge in silly exaggerations.’

  Annis did not say anything. He stood up.

  ‘Who is he?’

  He was very tall. Why did she keep feeling shocked at how tall he was? She did not like tall men. They gave you a crick in your neck. And those were the good ones. The bad ones used their height to intimidate you…

  Kosta doesn’t intimidate me. He makes me want to—

  Annis’s thoughts shuddered to a shocked halt as she realised exactly what he made her want to do.

  ‘What?’ she said distractedly.

  ‘This man you date sometimes. Or used to date.’ Quite suddenly the accent was back. It made him seem very foreign, like someone who didn’t know the local rules. Or wasn’t going to abide by them even if he knew them. ‘Who is he?’ he demanded harshly.

  Annis folded her lips together. ‘Just a guy.’

  He gave her a calculating look, then shrugged. ‘I suppose his name is unimportant. Is he the reason you don’t date any more?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sure? You didn’t know he was going to be there and dress yourself up like a fairground to get him back?’

  ‘No!’ said Annis, revolted. ‘And I don’t look like a fairground. I just fancied a—er—new look.’

  ‘Good.’

  He put down his coffee cup untouched and stood up. Strolling over, he took her own cup away from her and, to her astonishment, took her face between powerful hands.

  ‘A new look, hmm? Well, I’ll drink to that. But why stop at the clothes? See what this does for you.’

  Her head went back. She was right. Tall men put a strain on your neck. At least until they slid their hands round it, supporting it, and slipped long, sensitive fingers into your hair, while their mouth drove you crazy.

  Not raising his head, he whispered, ‘Admit it. You deliberately set out to get under my skin tonight, didn’t you?’

  He trailed one finger down the line of sensitivity at the back of her neck. Annis shivered voluptuously.

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His arms went round her, hard.

  ‘Why?’ he murmured against her lips.

  ‘I—don’t know.’ And she didn’t.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ His hands were moulding her body restlessly. ‘Chemistry. You’re getting the hang of it at last.’

  ‘No.’ She could not think straight. ‘No—’

  The cloth of Gillie’s dress bunched and stretched and glided under his hands as if he wanted to rub it off. But he did not try to remove it. He was just sensitising her every nerve and reflex. Annis felt her body give up its watchful tension.

  So this is surrender.

  If he felt like a foreigner, so did she. The Annis she knew would never have dreamed of making love to Kosta Vitale. Even now, she was not at all sure that she was whole-heartedly in favour of it.

  At least the careful, sensible part of her didn’t want to. But the careful, sensible part had got lost somehow in the sheer enjoyment of her battle with Kosta. The heady sensation of being able to make him look at her like that had swamped every bit of judgement she had ever had.

  It was much too late now to get it back. Now he was not just looking. And nor was she.

  Every last inhibition had gone. Annis writhed, trying to wind herself closer and still closer…He bent his head and buried his mouth in her neck.

  Annis gasped and her senses flamed. His open mouth on the vulnerable skin was new and frighteningly erotic. And he felt it. Moving against her, he left her in no doubt of his own desire.

  Annis trembled, not with nerves, though heaven knows she had never felt like this before, but with the sheer electrical force of their response to each other.

  ‘Take me to bed,’ she said, her voice raw.

  He did not ask if she was sure. He did not ask anything at all. Instead he swung her off her feet like a pirate raider.

  ‘Third door,’ gasped Annis, nearly incoherent with longing.

  When they got there, she reached out across him and turned on the lights. He almost dropped her in astonishment.

  It was the décor: her private project, her secret indulgence, the heart of the apartment where the real Annis unfolded and let herself just be. Even Annis, seeing it for the first time through the eyes of a newcomer, blinked.

  Each wall was entirely covered, floor to ceiling, with a Canaletto street scene. Annis had designed it, then painted it herself over some long, lonely evenings. The painting was in Renaissance pastels, picked out with little flashes of jewel colours in a cloak here, a curtain there. The general impression was that her bed, with its four striped Venetian gondola poles, one at each corner, had somehow beached in a Palladian square by the side of a canal. Between the buildings, with their balconies and candy-twisted columns, dark alleys ran away to the distant lagoon, shimmering silver at the horizon.

  ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’ said Kosta in a stunned voice.

  The only furniture in the room was the bed and a dark antique chair under the window. All the cupboards were hidden behind the street scenes, peopled with a bustling crowd of merchants and street entertainers.

  ‘This is—unexpected.’

  ‘I did it all myself,’ she said loudly, too loudly in the quiet room. She wished she had the courage to turn on the Pergolesi mandolin concerto that she had been listening to before she went out. But somehow she did not want to share any more with Kosta than was already inevitable.

  She slid out of his arms. He let her go without protest and began to wander round the room. He touched a parrot on the shoulder of a merchant coming up the steps from her scarf drawer. Then moved on to run his fingers down the filmy dr
apery swathed around the bed.

  ‘Why this?’

  Annis shrugged, defensive.

  ‘I was thinking of a boat’s sails, I suppose.’

  He warmed to the fantasy. ‘Or a Renaissance beauty hiding herself from the world’s eyes.’

  She flinched from the word ‘beauty’. ‘More likely protecting her skin against the sun.’

  ‘There would be plenty of that,’ he agreed.

  The Mediterranean sun gleamed out of those murals. But just at the moment it was not visible, because Annis had designed the room to reflect the time of day and currently a star filled sky was on duty. Annis was proud of that ceiling—she had painted an authentic array of Mediterranean stars and wired the lights behind them. She would lie on her bed and listen to lutes and almost feel the spice-scented breezes from the lagoon on her skin.

  But she had always done it alone. She had never let anyone else look round her fantasy creation before. Yet here was Kosta Vitale, serial womaniser and her employer to boot, drinking it in—and learning far too much about her in the process.

  She retreated to the window, edgy and embarrassed.

  Kosta did not seem to notice. He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it.

  ‘Amazing.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be amazing,’ Annis said desolately. ‘It was meant to be private.’

  Kosta did not notice that either. He was still marvelling. He looked up at the starscape and his lips twitched.

  ‘And this is the woman who had the gall to call a few fairy lights naff.’

  Annis jumped. That was what she had said to Jamie. Had Kosta been listening? Following her because he could not bear to be bested?

  She folded her arms round herself. She was still shaking with little eddies of lust but it was like reaction after shock. It no longer meant anything. She did not want him to touch her any more. She turned away.

  ‘This was a mistake. I’m sorry.’

  Kosta noticed at last. He took a step towards her, registered her reaction and stopped.

  At last he said carefully, ‘What was a mistake?’

  Annis made an embarrassed gesture. ‘You. Me. You—here. Everything.’

  He came over to her but did not touch her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re very different. Too different.’

  She thought he would go then. Or try to seduce her. He did neither. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched her thoughtfully.

  ‘Different?’ he mused. ‘Well, I’ve never tried to go bed in the middle of a Venetian market-place. But I’m willing to learn.’

  In spite of herself, Annis gave a small laugh. But she said, ‘It’s more than that.’

  He digested it for a moment.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  No, thought Annis, shocked. She was not sure at all. That was just the point. At the ball she had been in a daze of vainglorious delight at having rocked him into awareness. For a few hours she had felt beautiful. More than beautiful. She had felt desirable. Kosta had desired her.

  But Kosta Vitale never desired a woman for longer than a month. Annis had seen the e-mails to prove it. So now she had to sober up and listen to her wiser self. Her wiser self told her to keep him at arm’s length on any excuse she could muster. Any mention of the real reason—his track record, e-mails and all—would somehow betray her.

  She said desperately, ‘All that jet-setting. You’re so much more sophisticated than I am.’

  The green eyes were frankly sceptical.

  ‘That’s silly,’ Kosta said calmly.

  ‘I mean it.’

  He did not move, just shook his head a little as if he had detected her lies and deplored them.

  ‘I’d like you to go, please,’ said Annis firmly.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he returned with equal firmness.

  Annis couldn’t believe it. This was not playing by the rules with a vengeance! ‘What?’

  Kosta stood up and came to stand in front of her. He did not touch her. But what good was that when her body swayed towards him in pure instinct?

  ‘We’ve got this far,’ he said levelly. ‘If we stop now, how long do you think it will take us to get back to this point?’

  Annis fought her instincts. ‘Never.’

  ‘Oh, it will happen.’ His face was harsh suddenly. ‘There’s no escaping chemistry like this.’

  She was silenced. Wasn’t her every pore telling her the same thing?

  He said, quite kindly, as if he were a tutor persuading her to take an exam, not an urgent lover desperate to have her in his arms, ‘I’m not going to let you run away from this, Annis.’

  She met his eyes and saw that he meant what he said. She gave a small sob, half of temper, half of sheer panic.

  ‘You can’t stop me,’ she said, like a child in a tantrum.

  He smiled. ‘No. You’ll do that.’

  He touched her cheek fleetingly. Annis clenched every muscle in rejection.

  He wants me now. But in another month he’ll be in New York, or wherever, and I’ll be back painting murals instead of sleeping. He’ll break my heart and he won’t even notice.

  ‘No,’ she said under her breath, appalled.

  The green eyes flickered. But Kosta did not retreat.

  He wants me now. And I want him. I’ve never felt like this. If I send him away now will I ever feel like this again? Will I ever know what it is to desire and be desired? Because I don’t know yet.

  She looked into his eyes and trembled. He was not making any move on her but she recognised the hunger that was almost a pain. Because she shared it.

  He wants me now.

  She gave a long sigh and swayed. At last he reached out to her, steadying her with hands that tried to be undemanding and were not.

  The hell with tomorrow. I don’t care.

  Annis walked into his arms.

  His height, his strength, his sheer certainty, overwhelmed her. She twisted and turned around his body, tearing at his clothes and her own. She was desperate not to think, only to feel. And, for all his assurance, Kosta was no less desperate. His breathing was uneven. Once before she had thought that his hands were only just the civilised side of cruel. Now they were like a vice. And shaking.

  Annis heard herself crying out with a need that sounded almost like pain. And Kosta responded—with care, with determination and, ultimately, with a total absorption which filled her with awe. She convulsed, throbbing in every pore. She heard him call her name. Gripping him, she was spiralled into the stars…

  Later, he slept. Annis lay in his arms. They were both slick with sweat, every muscle relaxed, but she could not sleep. She was filled with a peace too deep for sleep. She had never felt so cared for. More than that: treasured. Or so safe.

  She cupped her hands round his jaw. It was already rough with the darkening beard. She savoured the sensation of stubble against her palm, of an alien arm around her naked shoulders.

  Smiling, she turned her head and kissed the hand cupping her naked shoulder in sleeping possession.

  ‘My love,’ said Annis softly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANNIS never liked Sunday mornings. Ever since the day she woke up to find that her mother had left after a loud Saturday night party she had equated Sundays with dangerous unpredictability. Anything could happen on a Sunday.

  So if there was going to be a day on which she woke up in bed with the world’s most fickle architect, it was going to be a Sunday. She opened her eyes.

  Oh, no!

  She had made love with a womaniser whose attention span was a maximum of a month! What was more, to crown it all, she was working for him! She had to be out of her mind! She shut her eyes again with a groan.

  The trouble with shutting her eyes was that instantly she slipped back into awareness of her other senses: the softness of her flesh against his; the luxurious warmth of snuggling against him, like two animals in a burrow; the herbal scent of his cologne on her pillow
, on her; the sheer bliss of utter relaxation.

  Beside her Kosta stirred comfortably and hooked an arm round her. He did not open his eyes. But suddenly utter relaxation was no longer an option. Annis gritted her teeth and lay as still as a mouse, waiting for him to go to sleep so she could sort her head out.

  Unpredictable as always, he did open his eyes then. His eyes were surprisingly alert.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  Annis smiled weakly. ‘No.’

  His arm tightened. ‘Sure?’

  ‘I—er—think I’ll get a drink of water.’

  She eased out of his embrace and swung her legs to the floor.

  ‘Dehydrated,’ he said professionally. ‘Too much champagne last night.’

  ‘Too much everything last night,’ muttered Annis.

  ‘What?’

  She did not repeat it, rummaging for something to cover her. Nothing came to hand so she had to pad across to one of the cupboards to fetch a robe. Kosta plumped the pillow up behind his head and watched with deep appreciation. Annis could feel his lazy gaze on her nakedness and could have hit him.

  How on earth did I get myself into this?

  She extracted a kimono and pulled it round her, tugging at the embroidered silk as if it were a dish-rag. She was furious with herself, even more than with him. She had known he was a serial sensualist. Why hadn’t she remembered it last night?

  ‘Something is wrong.’

  Annis deliberately misunderstood. Keeping her back to him she said, ‘I’ll be all right after I’ve had a drink of water.’

  ‘Come here,’ he said softly.

  Oh, the temptation of it! Her body knew his now. Treacherously, it felt they belonged. Annis had to fight not to turn and rush back into all that warmth and delight.

  But no woman in her right mind was going to let herself be trapped into belonging for a month, she thought grimly.

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘In a bit,’ said Annis in a strangled voice.

  She fled.

  She drank her water but she did not go back to bed. Instead, she made herself some tea and took it into the sitting room. In their mad passion last night, she and Kosta had left all the table lamps glowing.

  Annis flinched. She never left lights on. Even when she was catatonic with tiredness, she still had a ritual of tidying that left the room spick and span, waiting for her to start the new day tomorrow. Annis relied on that ritual. Now she looked at last night’s disorder and felt as if she had walked into another dimension. As if she was no longer Annis Carew and her life had no more certainties in it.