She came back up, sputtering and coughing, sluicing water from her face, gathering her hair and pushing it out of her eyes. Then, remembering her breasts were bare, she hastily lowered her hands and covered herself again, glaring at him in anger and humiliation.
He closed the distance between them, grabbing her chin with his hard fingers and forcing her head up to look at him. Trapped in the glittering fury of his gaze, she swallowed hard, holding back the urge to whimper. “Can you deny that you respond to me, Leah?” he asked in a low, angry rasp. “You’re the most responsive woman I’ve ever met. You literally come to life beneath my touch, like a flower opening to the sun. Admit it. No man has ever touched you the way I touch you. No man has ever made you feel the way I make you feel, not your ex-husband, not Everett Burke. Especially not Everett Burke. You’re not marrying him, Leah.”
“Oh, no?” she asked, her voice shrill with fear. “And just who’s going to stop me? You?”
He gave a curt nod. “If I have to.”
“Oh, yeah?” Leah’s short bark of laughter echoed wildly from the surfaces all around them, giving it a faint tinge of hysteria. “What are you going to do, kidnap me? Hold me against my will?”
“If I hold you, it definitely won’t be against your will.”
Narrowing her eyes, she peered more closely at him to see if he was teasing. He was not. His jaw was clenched, his lips set in a grim line. In fact, his expression was downright savage, his glittering eyes reflecting the coldness of the moon.
Leah shivered, her anger replaced by a cold, numbing fear. Lord, why did she keep provoking this man? Why couldn’t she just tell him the truth about Uncle Everett? Why did she feel she had to keep lying to him?
But she already knew the answers to those questions. To preserve my heart. To keep from being destroyed by him when he takes all I have to give and leaves me with a gaping hole in my soul. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, “what do you want from me?”
His hold on her chin gentled, then he slid his hand up to cup her cheek. It took every bit of effort she could muster not to turn her face and press it into the warmth of his palm. “Everything,” he said simply, with a blazing certainty which terrified her. “Everything you have, everything you do, everything you are. And in return, I will give you everything that I am. You belong to me, Leah. I’ve known it since that day on the beach three years ago, and if you would just be honest with yourself, you’ve known it, too.”
She shut her eyes, unable to bear the honesty shining from his, helpless to stop the low, tortured moan that escaped her lips. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to respond to such words? Words that demanded so much, yet promised so much more? No one had ever said the things Clay Knight said to her. No one had ever done the things he had done to her. Oh, sure, she’d been kissed before, caressed before. But compared to the sensual mastery of Clay’s lovemaking, every other man’s efforts now seemed clumsy and laughable.
“You’re mine, Leah,” he murmured, his voice dark and soft and velvet-smooth. “I don’t give a damn who you’re engaged to.”
In a last-ditch effort to steel her resolve against him, she stiffened her spine. “Too bad your mother didn’t teach you that you can’t have everything you want,” she said tartly, proud of herself for managing to sound so cool and detached. “I’ve already told you I’m not interested in a casual affair, not with you or anyone else.”
His lips twitched. “Believe me, lady, my feelings for you are anything but casual.”
She shook her head. What was she doing out here, standing half-naked in a swimming pool in the middle of the night arguing with a man who, if she gave in to him, had the power to destroy her? A man who had awakened her body as no one ever had before. A man who stirred her emotions and aroused her to heights of passion and sexual desire she had never even known existed. Retreating a step, she turned to go. “It doesn’t matter,” she said over her shoulder, seeking refuge once again in the lie that was her only hope of salvation. The lie it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain. “I am going to marry Uncle Everett, and nothing you say or do is going to stop me.”
Heedless of her bare breasts, she jack-knifed in the water and struck out for the steps at the shallow end of the pool. She climbed quickly onto the deck and ran, dripping, over to the chaise, where she retrieved her towel and slung it around her bare shoulders, preparing to run back into the house. When his next word stopped her cold.
“Uncle?”
Even though he hadn’t raised his voice, it carried across the water and she heard it as clearly as if she were still standing next to him. Stricken, she half-turned, only to find him eyeing her, one black eyebrow raised mockingly. “Now why would a woman refer to her fiancé, the man she claims she’s going to marry, as ‘uncle’?”
“Get out!” she blazed, white-faced, her voice trembling with all the emotions spilling through her like an overflowing dam, “Just pack your bags and get out. As far as I’m concerned, you are no longer employed here, not even temporarily. I’ll see to it that Mr. Burke forwards you a check for whatever he owes you.” She turned and strode away, forcing herself not to run. Wrenching open the door, she re-entered her room. Closing it quietly, she stood for a moment, one hand pressed to her breast as if to keep her heart from bursting through her rib cage. She was panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Slowly she turned her head and risked a look back out toward the pool.
Clay was standing exactly where she’d left him, in the middle of the pool. His arms out to his sides, raised slightly, his palms turned up in a strangely supplicatory gesture, as if he were silently begging her to return to him. Pale and remote, he appeared to be sculpted out of shadow and light, his expression distant and unreadable.
Realizing her entire body was trembling, she managed to stagger across the foyer, through the living room, down the hall and back into the sanctuary of her own room. Moving almost mechanically, she went into the bathroom, wrapped a towel around her dripping hair and stripped off the rest of her swimsuit, draping the sodden pieces over the shower rod to drip dry. She dried first herself, then her hair, knowing that if she went to bed with it wet, it would be a hopeless mass of untamable curls the next morning.
She returned to the bedroom, where she donned a fresh nightgown of pale peach satin and crawled into bed. She lay on her side under just the top sheet with her knees drawn up to her chin, shivering all over, trying not to think. But thoughts continued to buzz annoyingly through her brain like swarms of gnats, robbing her of the ability to sleep. Thoughts, inexplicably, of Richard Gordon and the vast difference between his lovemaking and Clay Knight’s.
Richard had been cold and often cruel when it came to sex, eschewing foreplay as unnecessary and placing all the blame for her inability to have an orgasm squarely at her own feet. Clay had been masterful, his kisses lessons in the art of seduction, beguiling her, priming her, building her need with every word, every touch, every swipe of his tongue, until she’d been vibrating like a tuning fork, ready to come apart in his arms. Not only would he have gifted her with an orgasm, he would have seen to it that she’d had several.
Instead of calling her frigid and less than a woman as Richard had often done, Clay had called her the most responsive woman he’d ever known. He had used his knowledge of a woman’s body and his mastery of sensual technique to arouse her as she’d never been aroused in her entire life. Hugging her knees more tightly against her chest in an attempt to deny the creamy warmth spilling through her, she mentally catalogued every detail that made Clay Knight so unforgettable. The smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of his smooth skin and rippling muscles beneath her questing fingertips. The coarse silk of that glorious mane of hair.
How could she react so strongly and so instantly to a man she barely knew? A man who, on a beach three years ago, had simply held her and let her cry in his arms? A man who seemed willing to go to any lengths to get what he wanted. And what he wan
ted was her, Leah Stanhope, naked and in his bed, in total surrender. He’d made that plain from the very beginning. There’d been no words of love…no words of commitment. Just plain, old-fashioned sex—okay, maybe not so old fashioned. After all, he had said something about spanking her and tying her to the bed. But still, without that emotional commitment, he would eventually grow tired of her and, just like Richard, seek his pleasure elsewhere. And she would be left hollowed out and devastated
Leah’s body stiffened. No! She had been used like that already and she was damned if she would allow any man to use her like that again. Not Clay Knight, not anybody, no matter how attractive they were or how drawn to them she was. The point was academic anyway. She had fired him, and after tonight she would never see him again. Why that thought could create such a tight, painful feeling in her chest mystified her. Of course she wanted him gone. Right? Right?
* * * *
“Goddamn it, Burke, pick up! Pick up the damn phone!” Muttering beneath his breath, Clay pressed his cell against his ear, listening to the endless ringing. As he waited for the old man to wake up and answer, he paced back and forth across the Navajo rug at the foot of the iron four-poster bed in his bedroom. The irony of the fact that he was a full Apache and had been given the only room in the entire house decorated with Native American artifacts and antiques was not lost on him. But that was the furthest thing from his mind right now as he paced and muttered, willing the old man to answer the phone.
Finally, the ring-tone ended mid-ring and a groggy voice at the other end said, “’Lo?”
“Burke,” Clay rasped, “you need to hire another man for this job. I quit.”
There was a brief pause. “Clay?”
He sighed. “Yeah.”
“Did you just say ‘I quit’?”
“Yeah.”
Burke paused. Clay could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose while he gathered his thoughts. “Might I ask why?”
Because I want her. Because I can’t keep my goddamn hands off of her. Because I can’t keep her safe if I’m too busy fucking her. “I don’t like lying to her.”
“I take it you’re still attracted to her?”
“That’s not up for discussion,” Clay said sourly.
“I see. Is she still attracted to you?”
“Neither is that. Besides, she’s engaged to be married.”
“What?” A bray of laughter from Everett Burke’s end of the conversation had Clay jerking the phone away from his ear and looking at it, before gingerly putting it back. “Sorry, my boy,” Burke finally said, still laughing, “but that was just too funny. Did she say who she was supposed to be marrying?”
“You.”
Another bray of laughter, this one lasting twice as long, until the older man was struggling to catch his breath.
“Plus she fired me.” By this time Clay was fighting his own laughter.
“Oh, dear.” Burke sounded like he was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Did she say why?”
“Probably because I dared to ask her why she kept referring to her fiance as her uncle.”
This time both men laughed heartily, and Clay suddenly felt a lot better about things. More Dom-like. More in control. With someone as unpredictable as Leah, it was helpful to at least maintain the illusion of control. Otherwise, things could easily get out of hand.
“So I take it you’re not leaving?” Burke asked hopefully when he finally sobered enough to speak.
“Hell, no. I’m just telling you to get another man to monitor the perimeter and the surveillance cams because I’m going to be much too busy.” Doing a little close monitoring of my own. Of Leah Stanhope’s delectable body. Tied to my bed and shuddering with climax after climax as I pleasure her with my hands, my lips, my tongue, my cock—which had hardened so fast, his vision had blurred. Jesus Christ!
“…you care to recommend?” Burke was asking.
Recommend? Recommend for what? Oh. Right. “Uhhhh, yeah, let me call Adam and see who’s available.”
Burke just chuckled. “I’ll trust your judgment. Good night, Clay.”
“Good night, Uncle Everett.” He hung up to the other man’s laughter.
* * * *
She awoke to the strident ringing of her cell phone on the nightstand beside her bed. Propping herself up on one elbow, she glanced groggily at her travel alarm clock as she reached for the phone. Ten o’clock. She’d slept for three hours—four, tops. Stifling a huge yawn, she pressed the icon, then castigated herself for not looking to see who it was. “Hello?” she said, trying to inject an I’ve-been-up-for-hours brightness into her voice. If it was Uncle Everett calling to check up on her, she certainly didn’t want him worrying about her inability to sleep.
“May I please speak with Leah Stanhope?” inquired a male voice with a slight British accent.
“This is she.” Who on earth—?
“Ah, Ms. Stanhope, I’m so happy I caught you in.” He actually did sound happy and Leah couldn’t resist a tiny smile. “My name is Peter Ryan. I own an art gallery over on Worth Avenue—Ryan’s Roost—perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Leah opened her mouth to frame a negative reply, but he hurried on before she could utter it.
“But of course you haven’t. That’s not important. What is important is that I had occasion to speak with your uncle a couple of weeks ago and he happened to mention that you were going to be in town.”
Wait. What? Uncle Everett knew two weeks ago that I was going to be coming here? He didn’t tell me until two days ago! All of a sudden she found herself paying closer attention to Mr. Peter Ryan and what he was saying.
“…business associates for years, and I would consider it an honor if you would allow me to take you out to dinner. Perhaps this evening?”
“I-this evening?” Leah was thinking rapidly. Why not? After all, going out was infinitely better than staying home alone, brooding about Clay Knight. And she would be brooding about him, she knew that for a fact. The whole, brief, unsettling interaction with him had triggered something fundamental deep inside her and she feared that now she would never be able to forget him. That he would haunt her thoughts and dreams forever. That he would leave her body hungering for his scent, his heat, aching to feel his touch for the rest of her life.
Oh, yes, a nice dinner with a nice man is totally in order here.
“I realize I’m a total stranger,” Peter Ryan went on smoothly as Leah’s silence stretched beyond the point of politeness, “but if you have any doubts about the sterling quality of my character, please call your guardian. I’m sure he’ll be happy to confirm your worst fears.”
Leah laughed, but something inside her urged her to caution. “Thank you, Mr. Ryan—”
“Peter. Please.”
“—Peter,” she capitulated, “I would love to go to dinner with you. C’mon, Leah, it’s just dinner. In a public place. With people all around. What could possibly happen?
“Oh, splendid. Shall I call for you around seven?
“That sounds fine.”
She tapped the phone off, staring at it thoughtfully. Strange. It was completely out of character for Uncle Everett to divulge information about her to anyone, much less a total stranger three thousand miles away. Especially since someone—most likely Richard—had begun sending her those awful notes and the dead flowers. Maybe he just wants you to get out a little more, do a little socializing. Maybe he thinks you might hook up with Peter Ryan. Maybe…
She selected Uncle Everett’s number. As soon as he answered, she said, “Do you know a Peter Ryan?”
“Yes, he’s a competitor of mine. Can’t say I like him very much. He’s a bit unctuous for my taste. Why do you ask?”
“Did you tell him to look me up while I was here in Palm Beach?”
“Absolutely not! I would never divulge your whereabouts to anyone. Are you telling me he’s contacted you?” Alarm made his voice shrill.
“Yes, I just hung up from talki
ng with him. He asked me out to dinner tonight. He said you told him two weeks ago that I would be in Palm Beach, even though you didn’t tell me I’d be here until two days ago.”
There was a brief pause, then Burke said, “All right, Leah, I want you to do exactly what I tell you. Take your phone and give it to Clay Knight and tell him what just happened.” His voice was tight, urgent.
She felt a cold ball of fear settle in the pit of her stomach, spreading ice through her veins until she was shivering. “But he’s not here. I fired him.”
“He’s there,” Burke countered. “Go find him. Do it now.”
“But I haven’t had my shower yet. Or breakfast.”
“Do as I say, Leah.”
She’d never heard Everett Burke say anything to anyone in anger before. But she was hearing it now and the ice skated up her spine. “Uncle Everett, you’re scaring me. What’s going on here?”
Another pause. Finally, he just said, “Go find Clay. Now.” And hung up.
Well, crap. She wasn’t kidding about wanting a nice, hot shower and some breakfast.
Take your phone and give it to Clay Knight.
Dressing quickly in white slacks and a red knit top, she thrust her feet into a pair of red sandals, grabbed her phone and went in search of the man she’d never expected to see again.
She didn’t have to search very hard. The sound of a lawn mower led her through the front door right to him. He was wearing another pair of denim cut-offs, not quite as threadbare as the ones he’d worn yesterday, but still...holy crap. Her belly did a slow roll. The man was sin personified. She just stood there and stared at him, mesmerized by the way his dusky skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. By the rippling steel of his back and shoulder muscles as he guided the small tractor away from the house to cut a fresh swath through the emerald velvet of the lawn. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered how powerful those bunching muscles had felt beneath her hands, how smooth that glistening skin…oh, God. She shut her eyes and for one brief moment lust battled with fear for control of her brain. Take the phone to Clay. Tell him exactly what you told me.
Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) Page 9