Captive in the Millionaire’s Castle

by Lee Wilkinson

  Drawing her close again, he kissed her while he stroked his hand down her flat belly to the nest of black silky curls between her thighs.

  She shuddered repeatedly as his long fingers found their goal and started to explore, luring all sensation downwards.

  Normally his foreplay was both skilful and leisurely, a game he enjoyed and excelled at, a game he could play until he’d driven his partner almost wild with pleasure.

  But no woman had ever affected him as Jenny did, and for the first time since he was a teenager he found it almost impossible to hold back, to keep his self-control.

  When the little inarticulate murmurs she’d been making changed to pleas, shaken by the depth of his longing, he lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the bed.

  Pulling aside the covers, he laid her down, and, with hands that weren’t quite steady, stripped off his clothes before joining her.

  She received him back silently, willingly, her arms going round his neck once more while she gladly welcomed his weight.

  It was like making love to an eager flame, but after their first skyrocket trip to the stars he contrived to take it slower, delaying the climax, drawing out and intensifying the pleasure until it spilt over into ecstasy.

  Temporarily spent and sated, his breath coming quickly, his heart still racing, the blood still pounding in his ears, he lay quietly.

  Blissfully happy, and loving the feel of his dark head pillowed on her breast, Jenny lifted a hand and stroked his hair tenderly.

  Strangely content, he lay for a while before lifting himself away. Then, turning onto his back, he gathered her close and settled her dark head at the comfortable juncture between chest and shoulder.

  Nestled against him, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, she was fast asleep within seconds.

  He could hear her light breathing, her breath occasionally fluttering in her throat as if she was still in the grip of some powerful emotion.

  Having had his fill of women, he hadn’t meant to get involved, and he should be regretting what had happened, what complications might ensue.

  If it hadn’t been for Paul’s phone call, and the doubts it had raised, he would have sworn she was inexperienced.

  But whatever the truth of the matter, what they had just shared had been shared on equal terms.

  Jenny hadn’t sought to make the running, nor had she merely surrendered, rather she had returned passion for passion in what had seemed to be an innocent, untutored way that had shaken him to the core.

  Had she been an obviously worldly woman, and anyone other than his own PA, it would have been a sexual encounter he would never have forgotten.

  As it was, with everything else that was involved in the equation, his feelings were in chaos, his well-ordered life turned upside down.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JENNY surfaced slowly, reluctantly, unwilling to break the spell of the previous night. Still half asleep and basking in the golden glow of the most wonderful experience of her life, she lay with her eyes closed, savouring the glory of it.

  For perhaps the first time, she felt truly like a woman—contented, fulfilled, blissfully happy, as though she had finally found her heart’s desire.

  But as she became fully awake the reality of making love with Michael was dawning on her.

  As she was shocked into complete wakefulness all the pleasure drained away, and she lay quite still, her body frozen, her mind jarred.

  It was a few seconds before her brain accepted the fact that she was lying in Michael’s arms, in Michael’s bed.

  Following her less than happy relationship with Andy, hurt, disillusioned, and bitterly humiliated, she had sworn never to get involved with another man.

  Now, after months of keeping any would-be suitors at bay, she had gone to bed with her boss. A man she scarcely knew.

  What on earth had made her do it? she wondered in growing horror.

  Perhaps, because he had come to her and kissed her so gently, so sweetly, her defences had been down, and before she had even started to appreciate the danger it had been too late.

  Passion had flared between them, the kind of passion she had never felt before, the kind of passion that swept away any doubts or fears.

  She had rejoiced in the certainty that here was the man she had been waiting for, that the two of them were meant to be lovers, meant to be together always.

  But in the cold light of day she realized that that had been just a fantasy, an illusion.

  In reality, passion—she shied away from the word lust—was all it had been.

  In the past, when other girls had gone to bed with men they scarcely knew, she hadn’t judged them, but she had wondered at the wisdom of their actions.

  Now, without intending to, she had joined their ranks, and with a vengeance.

  The whole episode had been a terrible mistake, something she could only regret.

  Except that she couldn’t regret it. It had been the most wonderful and earth-shattering experience, and she would never be the same again.

  The memory of last night would stay with her for the rest of her life, even though Michael didn’t care a jot for her, and had just wanted to use her.

  But even as the charge went through her mind, she knew it was false. Though he couldn’t possibly feel anything for her but lust, he had been tender and caring, careful of her…

  In contrast to Jenny’s slow awakening, Michael’s brain was instantly alert, and even before he opened his eyes every minute of the preceding night was crystal-clear in his mind.

  He hadn’t meant it to happen, but he couldn’t regret that it had.

  Though by nature a caring, passionate man, in the past he had found love-making satisfying and pleasurable rather than earth-shaking.

  With Jenny it had been an entirely new experience. She had burnt in his arms like an eager flame, arousing a storm of feeling that had rocked him to the core.

  She was like no other woman he had ever met. From the moment he’d set eyes on her she had been special, his awareness of her so intense that at times he had felt almost befuddled.

  And now he had once made love to her, he knew that he wanted her, craved for her and all she could give him, as an addict craved a drug.

  Though she was lying quite still, he knew that she was awake, and he wondered what she was thinking, what the previous night had meant to her.

  But of course that would depend entirely on what kind of woman she really was, what she wanted from him, and how she viewed their new relationship.

  Did she still want him as much as he wanted her?

  He felt instinctively that she did.

  But there was one way to find out.

  Jenny caught her breath as the arm that was lying over her tightened, and a warm hand closed lightly around her breast and began to stroke and tease the nipple into life.

  She wanted to ask him to stop, to tell him that though she’d been foolish enough to let last night happen, it didn’t mean that she was prepared to go on with it. But her heart was in her mouth and the words wouldn’t come.

  He raised himself up on one elbow, and his lips brushed her shoulder before travelling up the side of her neck.

  As she shivered in response he turned her onto her back and smiled down at her.

  In the morning light that filtered through the closed curtains, she could see the creases either side of his mouth, the gleam of his white teeth, and the intriguing cleft in his chin.

  He appeared fresh and vital, in spite of the dark stubble that adorned his jaw.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he told her softly, ‘all warm and seductive, just slightly tousled, and still flushed with sleep.’

  He bent and touched his lips to hers.

  His breath was fresh and clean, and though she longed to kiss him back she didn’t want to be just his plaything, someone who filled a need while he was away from London.

  Summoning all her will power, hoping to freeze him off, she kept her mouth firmly close
d.

  When he gave a slight sigh and lifted his head, she thought she’d succeeded.

  But wanting, needing, to make her his again, to make her come to life and respond as completely and passionately as she had done the previous night, he returned to lay siege.

  For a while his mouth played with hers, stroking, sucking, nibbling, bestowing little plucking kisses that coaxed and titillated and demanded a response.

  A response she tried hard to withhold, and couldn’t.

  When her lips finally parted helplessly beneath his, he gave a little murmur of satisfaction and deepened the kiss, making her forget everything but the here and now, the delight and excitement his mouth was engendering.

  Then his hands began to caress her, and in no time at all she was lost, mindless, any urge to resist swamped by the passion he was so easily arousing.

  Using first his fingers, and then his mouth—the slight rasp of his stubble against her soft skin adding extra stimulation—he teased her nipples into life and found erogenous zones she hadn’t even been aware of, before his hand slid down to the warmth of her inner thighs to bestow fresh delight.

  The earlier urgency gone, he took his time about pleasuring her, finding his own pleasure in her little gasps and moans, and the knowledge that her body was so responsive to his touch.

  Time and time again she thought herself sated, but each time he skilfully rekindled her desire, until finally he moved over her and joined her on that roller-coaster ride to the stars.

  When she awoke for the second time she was alone in his bed. A fire was blazing in the grate, and above the sound of the wind and rain beating against the windowpanes she could hear the shower running and a faint, but tuneful whistling.

  Her thoughts chaotic, she struggled to find some kind of mental stability and not condemn herself too much for what had just happened.

  When she failed miserably on both counts, she bowed to the inevitable and admitted that she had made a complete hash of things.

  Instead of freezing him off, she had kissed him back and triggered off a further bout of love-making that had shattered her good resolutions.

  Though in the past she had never had to question her self-control, when it came to Michael she had thought of herself as vulnerable.

  And rightly so.

  He affected her like no other man she had ever met, and had he felt anything for her beyond lust she would have stayed for as long as he wanted her.

  But he didn’t.

  Which made the situation impossible.

  The only thing she could do was to leave.

  Closing her mind to the fierce stab of pain that decision brought, she did her utmost to concentrate on practicalities.

  He hadn’t been planning to start work today, so she would ask him to take her over to the mainland, where she could get some transport back to London.

  Then the following morning she could call at her nearest employment agency and start looking for another position.

  As if nothing had happened.

  Whereas everything had happened, and she would never be quite the same again.

  When, on her return home, she told Laura her flatmate would be both surprised and shocked.

  Shocked, not for any moral reasons, but simply because she had known Jenny for long enough to be certain it wasn’t in her nature to go to bed with a man she hardly knew, and her boss into the bargain.

  Many a time, since her engagement had ended, Laura had urged her to loosen up, to find another boyfriend and have some fun.

  ‘All this holding back gets you nowhere,’ she said flatly. ‘In fact that’s probably what drove Andy to cheat on you in the end.’

  Then quickly, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jenny asked a shade bitterly. ‘I’ve no doubt you’re quite right.’

  ‘Then why don’t you let your hair down next time you meet a man you like? Live a little while you’re still young?’

  But with her own firmly entrenched standards of morality, Jenny found herself unable to follow that advice.

  Laura’s comment was, ‘I can’t say I expected you to. I only hope Mr Right comes along before you get too old and withered to make the most of it.’

  However, nothing had been said about the possibility that Mr Right, when he did come along, might not fit into the role…

  Becoming belatedly aware that the shower had stopped, and Michael might be back at any moment, Jenny slipped out of bed and, seizing her nightdress, which had been draped over a chair, was hurrying to the door when his voice stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Don’t go…’

  Clutching the nightie to her, she spun round to find he was standing there naked, his hair still damp, his jaw smoothly shaven, a towel draped around his neck.

  Broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, lean-hipped and muscular, his belly flat, his legs long and straight, his smooth olive skin gleaming with health, he was so superbly male that she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Brunch is all ready,’ he went on, ‘and I thought we might have it here by the fire…’

  In the circumstances, eating together in his bedroom hardly seemed a sensible option, but her tongue refused to work.

  Grinning at the expression on her face, he offered, ‘If it seriously bothers you, I could put on some clothes first.’

  When she continued to stand there struck dumb and unable to take her eyes off him, he went on, ‘On the other hand, if you keep looking at me as though I’m Suleiman the Magnificent we could end up back in bed.’ A gleam in his eye, he queried, ‘Which option do you prefer?’

  Blushing rosily, and hastily averting her gaze, she said, ‘Brunch. With both of us dressed.’

  She had meant to state it firmly, but it came out more like a plea.

  He sighed. ‘Well, in that case I expect the pancakes will wait ten minutes.’ Then teasingly, ‘But I’m getting hungry, so any longer and I might have to come and fetch you.’

  Without further ado, still clutching her nightie, she turned and fled.

  Her feelings all over the emotional map, she showered, cleaned her teeth, and brushed and coiled her hair.

  Then, unconsciously hurrying, she found fresh undies, off-white slimline trousers, a fine wool shirt-blouse in olive-green, and a pair of low-heeled court shoes.

  She debated briefly whether to stop and pack, then, deciding to do it after she’d told him her decision, she braced herself and went back to his bedroom, where she was greeted by the appetizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  A heated container, and a low table set with plates, cutlery, napkins, and everything necessary, had been assembled in front of the fire.

  Thrown by the intimacy of the little scene, she wished she had stayed safely in her own room. But if Michael had followed through with his half-threat to come and fetch her, it might possibly have made things even more difficult.

  Looking elegant in well-cut stone-coloured trousers and a fine black polo-necked sweater, he was pouring coffee.

  Glancing up, he said quizzically, ‘Just made it. Now come and sit down and tell me if you prefer honey or maple syrup.’

  From the container he produced a plate of golden, delicious-looking pancakes.

  She had intended to tell him straight away that she was leaving, but instead she found herself saying, ‘Maple syrup, please.’

  As she prepared to spread the syrup over one of the pancakes firelight glinted on the gold ring she wore on her right hand.

  He had noticed the ring previously, but, his attention focused on other things, he had never really looked at it.

  Now, suddenly, his interest roused, he found himself staring at the engraving, recognizing it.

  His voice studiedly casual, he remarked, ‘That’s a most unusual ring.’

  When, scarcely listening, mentally rehearsing how to break the news that she was leaving, she said nothing, he pressed, ‘How long have you had it?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The ring
you’re wearing… How long have you had it?’

  ‘Since I was eighteen.’

  ‘May I ask where it came from?’

  ‘It belonged to my great-grandmother.’

  Noting her abstraction, and thinking it best, he dropped the subject for the time being.

  The pancakes were every bit as delicious as they looked, and Jenny and her companion who, head bent, appeared to be deep in thought, cleared the plate and emptied the coffee pot while she tried to pluck up the courage to tell him what she had decided.

  Breakfast over, and left with no further excuse for delay, she took a deep breath and blurted out, ‘This isn’t going to work.’

  Jolted out of his reverie, he looked up.

  Seeing she had his attention, she repeated desperately, ‘This isn’t going to work.’

  He knew at once what she meant, and his heart sank. Clearly she was having second thoughts, regretting what had happened between them. And really he should have known there was a chance that that might happen.

  Cursing the impulse that had made him rush her into his bed the previous night, he wished he had taken things more slowly.

  Usually he was a great deal more sophisticated, more focused, more laid-back and in control of his actions. He’d always been able to hold back, to wait for something he really wanted.

  But somehow Jenny had got under his guard, and he was having difficulty thinking straight and applying his usual self-control.

  It was a moment or two before, pretending ignorance, he was able to ask evenly, ‘What isn’t going to work?’

  ‘This…’ She spread helpless palms. ‘This whole thing… It should never have happened.’

  ‘You mean sharing my bed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Feeling her colour rise, she went on, ‘I’ve never done this kind of thing before. One-night stands and casual affairs aren’t for me…’

  He was inclined to believe her, which made him wonder just why she had responded to him so ardently. As though following his train of thought, she added jerkily, ‘Nor is sleeping with my boss.’