by Nic Saint
“I’m going to keep you close to me so I can keep an eye on you,” he announced viciously. “Prevent you from making a spectacle of yourself,” he growled as he drew her near, his breath warm on her skin, his powerful fingers digging into her upper arms. Her breasts were so tight now, her nipples swollen, that they painfully abraded against her cotton and lace bra. She was aware of the fact that he was so close now she could feel the heat of his skin radiating erotically against her own, and wrestled to escape the confines of his arms before she succumbed to the irrational need wrecking her defenses—the insane urge to feel his lips on her, his touch, his body pressing into her, skin on skin.
The urge to kiss Kirsty was now so powerful that he had to use every last ounce of willpower not to succumb to this outrageous desire battling for control. The moment she walked into the office he’d seen the way the darkly rosy peaks of her breasts were clearly outlined beneath her blouse, puckering against the darker shade of her areolae. What the hell was she thinking, strutting about the office dressed like that? Was this part of her ploy to win Geoffrey’s affections? Would she walk into his office like this, hoping to make him lust after her?
Her hair was like a shower of lustrous russet around her luminous face, and her chin was tilted in that expression of mutiny he knew so well. Even as a child she’d had a mutinous streak and always wanted to have things her own way. Well, he would make damn sure she didn’t this time. She wanted Geoffrey and she would never have him—he would see to that. The violence of the jealous rage suddenly cutting through him caught him unawares. Jealous? No way!
But before he could stop himself he’d caught hold of her arms and was drawing her near—or pushing her away?
“I’m going to Nice tomorrow and you’re joining me,” he snapped.
“No,” she breathed weakly.
As he caught a whiff of her scent—lemony with a hint of something wild and feminine—he bit, “Yes! Until Geoffrey’s wedding I’m not leaving you out of my sight. Both for your own good and that of the family. Is that understood?”
She was looking at him with such fury in her clear blue eyes that a lesser man might have wilted. But not him. He’d faced down more formidable foes than her. “Is that understood?!” he roared, giving her a vigorous shake.
She nodded, and by rights he should have let go of her, but he found that he couldn’t. The tug of war between them had provoked such a buildup of longing inside him that he found himself incapable of resisting it when it finally crested and he drew her to him in a sudden jerking motion, ignoring the cry of distress escaping her lips, and claimed her mouth in a harsh dominion, his tongue demanding and finally penetrating the soft wetness of her mouth.
Stuart was kissing her again, she thought as she felt dizzy with… delight? No, revulsion, of course. He had no business kissing her. But then why did it feel so good? Why was her hand on his face, relishing in the smooth feel of his skin, so hot under her fingers, and why was she opening her lips to encourage his tongue to stab so furiously and erotically against her own? Why was she arching her back, lifting her breasts against the hardness of his chest, pressing into him, wanting him to rip off her clothes so they could be skin on skin? And why had she opened her legs to allow his thigh to brush against hers? With a soft moan of agonized desire she bucked her hips and became acutely aware of the hard evidence of his arousal surging between their bodies. Stuart’s girth!
She wanted to reach down and free the granite length from the confines of his slacks, to take him into her hand, feel all that power pulsate under her touch.
This wasn’t really happening, Stuart thought as he pressed his burgeoning male flesh against Kirsty’s soft loins, his hands cupping her buttocks to press her more firmly into the saddle of his sex while his tongue rode against hers in sync with the thrusts of their groins moving and grinding in ever rising heat.
Christ! She was his personal assistant, not his personal score!
His hand snuck up between them and firmly molded itself around her breast, reveling in the softness that fit so snugly and perfectly in his large calloused hand, his thumb stroking the rising peak while a deep groan of male possessiveness escaped his throat. He wanted her, all right—he wanted her badly and he wanted her now! Visions of her pushed down on top of his desk held him in its grip, and already they were moving toward the desk, her fingers curling into his chest, nails clawing at his pecs, when finally he was reminded that it wasn’t him she wanted—she was deeply in love with Geoffrey, and probably trying to numb the pain his engagement had caused her by engaging in mindless sex with any male who made himself available to her.
The viciousness of the searing pain this fact caused him had him withdraw from her with a wild snarl, pushing her back so that she almost stumbled.
Panting, she stood gazing at him, with something in her eyes he didn’t immediately recognize but which he assumed was disappointment her plan hadn’t worked. He stabbed a finger in her direction. “Don’t think this changes anything because it doesn’t. Our plane leaves tomorrow at seven. Be there.”
As she staggered from Stuart’s office, her whole body trembled violently. The moment she reached her desk her legs finally succumbed, and she had to scramble to deposit her quaking body into the chair. She pushed her hair from her face, which felt flushed. She was mortified. What had just happened? What had come over her to throw herself at Stuart like that? If he hadn’t stopped her she’d come dangerously close to losing her virginity right there in his office!
She thought she knew what had induced Stuart to behave like this. He wanted to teach her a lesson, of course; wanted to show her that she didn’t really love Geoffrey at all. That she was merely lusting after any male that offered himself to her. Her eyes narrowed, she brought her ragged breathing under control. She didn’t want Stuart, that much was obvious, and he didn’t want her. So why was her head now filled with images of the two of them together, their bodies grinding away against each other on his desk? And why was she suddenly filled with this powerful longing to go back to him so he could conquer her all over again?
She didn’t know. All she knew was that after saving herself for Geoffrey all these years she wasn’t going to offer herself to her cousin now. Sooner or later she was bound to fall in love again—logic told her so. And hopefully it would be with a man she could truly love the way she had always loved Geoffrey.
Had loved? But she still loved Geoffrey, didn’t she? Of course she did.
And for all she knew this engagement with Giselle would never result in a wedding at all. Couples broke up all the time. There was still a small chance that Geoffrey would be hers. She desperately tried to feel elated at this but found that she couldn’t. Each time she tried to conjure up the trusty image of herself with Geoffrey—as she had so many times before—Stuart’s face intruded, shattering the daydream into a torrid maelstrom of desire and need, flooding her core with so much heat she inadvertently pressed her thighs together.
She buried her face in her hands, and willed the tears at the loss of her teenage infatuation to finally burn her eyes and cleanse her soul.
Back in his office, Stuart gazed down at the city of London below. What the hell was going on? Why was he suddenly acting like a horny teenager each time he was around Kirsty? Not Kirsty, he was quick to correct himself. Any woman would likely be able to provoke this kind of response. It was all a matter of hormones, after all. He tried to remember if the shrink he’d seen when he’d returned from Iraq had mentioned this fact. He hadn’t paid attention to the man.
He’d been too preoccupied with Mike’s horror stories of the business going on the fritz to worry about posttraumatic stress disorder. Perhaps he should talk to Steve. He’d been in the service about as long as Stuart had, though he’d been through much, much worse than he had. Steve had actually been badly injured in battle, and still carried the scars, both physically and emotionally.
No, he decided. This was simply the backlash of a man deprived of norm
al sexual activity for too long. Once he got this out of his system he would cease to lust after Kirsty like a horny sixteen-year-old. After all, it wasn’t as if he was in love with her, and she was definitely not in love with him, he decided grimly.
Chapter 6
Kirsty stared out of the porthole window as the private jet gained altitude and quickly soared over London’s azure skies. Even though she was a member of the illustrious Knight family, she’d never flown in the company jet before, the privilege strictly reserved for her three cousins who now ran the company. Lesser family members like her were relegated to less prominent roles in the company hierarchy. The fact that Stuart had handpicked her as his new PA meant a significant rise through the ranks and, as the HR director had assured her when she’d gone in to sign the contract, a proportionate pay hike as well.
Not that she cared much about either of those things. Though initially she’d wanted to work for Knight Enterprises as a way to be closer to Geoffrey, soon after the drama that had ensnared the family she’d discovered an ambitious streak in her personal makeup. After the Caroline Popping disaster had embroiled the family in a debilitating scandal she wanted to help preserve the company that carried her mother’s name. To that end she’d studied hard, earning a top score in her penultimate year. Carving out a career path didn’t include accepting favors from Stuart, however, and most definitely not when his only motivation was to keep an eye on her. She wanted to carve out a career based on talent, hard work and drive, not because Stuart thought she was a liability.
Besides, working this closely with Stuart wasn’t her idea of a great career move and she’d told him as much. His terse and brutal response was that this was a temporary arrangement. The moment Geoffrey and Giselle were off on their honeymoon, she would be back in her old job so fast her head would spin.
She glanced at the choppy channel as the sleek private aircraft crossed to the European mainland on its way to the South of France, where the important telecommunications convention was taking place over the next weekend in Nice, the French Riviera’s capital.
Stuart had settled in his own seat on the other side of the aisle, and was deeply engrossed in his work. The sight of his dark head bent over his laptop gave her a small thrill of awareness as brief images of the way it would feel if he bent over her instead, his lips tormenting her nipples, his strong hands grasping and molding the soft round globes of her breasts. She quickly abandoned the illicit fantasy for what it was: a mere erotic daydream. Why it would be Stuart of all people who suddenly featured so prominently in her fantasies, she didn’t know. Perhaps his mere proximity was wreaking havoc on her, adding to the fact that since his return from the war Stuart had grown even more formidably masculine than he’d always been. She wondered if the scar on his brow was an indication of other scars on his body. And suddenly a vivid image of herself caressing his sculpted torso, her fingers perusing every inch of his dark skin while her lips and tongue followed suit presented itself. She wriggled uncomfortably in her seat, the heat lapping at her core a stark reminder of the dangers of this trip.
Stuart was now simply her boss, she decided, and a presence she had to endure for as long as he chose to keep her on as his PA. Nothing more, nothing less. And she returned her gaze outside and this time stubbornly kept it there.
Stuart looked up from the schematics Knight’s chief IT engineer had sent him. A tendril of russet hair had escaped the confines of Kirsty’s chignon and was caressing the pale silky skin of her cheek, the fine dusting of freckles almost invisible in the early morning sun streaking in through the porthole. His gaze inadvertently lowered to the sensible lilac blouse she’d opted for, and took in the mother-of-pearl buttons, the top ones undone, a hint of lace visible beneath, whispering promises of the fullness of her breasts. The pink buds of her rising peaks strained the sheer fabric and he experienced a painful hardening of his own irrevocable response as he imagined making short shrift of those ridiculously tiny buttons and taking the full weight of her breasts in his hands while his tongue described a wet trail along the lush silkiness of her neckline.
His lips tightened and so did the grip of his fingers on the iPhone he was holding. There was no point lusting after Kirsty when all she could think about was Geoffrey, he told himself harshly. She was probably thinking about him right now, which was why her nipples were hardening into darkly pink raisins clearly visible through her blouse. She was indulging in sexual fantasies of her own, featuring Geoffrey Holland.
He’d watched Kirsty develop from an awkward gangly teenager into the beautiful young woman she was now, and had never ceased to be amazed by her persistence in favoring Geoffrey with her affections. The man might have been his friend once, but he was not the kind of man Kirsty should end up with. What she needed was someone who would introduce her to the world of love and passion with a firm but tender hand. A man who would show her what true pleasure was and who could bring her arousal to a fevered peak that would leave her breathless and fully satisfied. A man who would lovingly guide her along the road to sexual fulfillment.
The notion that he could be that man—that he would take the virginity she so flauntingly dangled in front of Geoffrey’s face—filled him with an urge so powerful, so all-consuming and painfully potent that he heaved a silent grunt and forced himself to renew his focus on his work. But even before the plane touched down at Nice Côte d’Azur International Airport, he reached a decision.
He wouldn’t merely take Kirsty’s virginity—thus preventing any other male from doing so—he would make her his bride. He would honor his grandfather’s wish and marry sensibly, take a woman as his wife who would never harm the family’s name or fortune. And since Kirsty was a member of the family herself, she was perfectly tasked for the role. And as an added bonus he would be saving her from herself—from destroying her life by throwing herself at the mercy of the likes of Geoffrey.
When Kirsty glanced up, dimly aware of the blush her cheeks were carrying, she caught Stuart’s intent gaze and her heart skipped a beat. He was looking at her with a look so fierce that she briefly felt like a child about to be castigated for doing or thinking the wrong thing. And she knew she was guilty as charged!
But then the pilot announced they had reached their destination and before long Stuart escorted her off the plane and into a waiting limousine where they continued their journey in complete silence. Stuart was seated opposite from her, his trousered leg touching her own stockinged one, and even though by rights she should have moved, she simply couldn’t bring herself to do so, as the heat radiating from his body caused a distinct and powerful response in her own and conjured up images of Stuart’s leg pushing apart her legs and his body pinning her down into the softness of the limo’s exquisite leather, his mouth brutally taking hers in a passionate kiss that erased the last vestiges of common sense.
Stuart watched the telltale flush of Kirsty’s usually pale cheeks, the sparkle in her blue eyes and the pulse at the bottom of her throat and wondered what she was thinking. It wasn’t that hard to guess. With a dark frown, he told her, “Geoffrey sent Mike a text that he and Giselle are expecting their first baby.”
Her gasp of shock told him all he needed to know. “What?! Already?”
Viciously, he snapped, “Don’t be so shocked, Kirsty. This is the twenty-first century. Couples do engage in premarital sex.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant—”
“You wish you were the one pregnant with his child?” he cut in harshly.
“No!”
“Face the facts, Kirsty,” he scoffed, “Geoffrey doesn’t love you. Never has and never will, and the sooner you get that through that thick skull of yours the better for all concerned!”
She closed her mouth with a little click and looked away, her cheeks glowing. What she’d meant to say was that she was surprised and dismayed that Geoffrey hadn’t confided in her. She was supposed to be one of his friends, after all, and yet he’d chosen to break the ne
ws to Mike instead. And such important news it was, too. She couldn’t help feeling annoyed and disappointed. What she was not feeling—even though she had expected it—was the sharp stab of pain at knowing that another woman had conceived his child—and she was as surprised by this as by the news itself. She should have been devastated—heartbroken, even—and the confusion that now held her in its grip translated into a quickening of her pulse and a furrowing of her brow.
“Get over it, Kirsty,” Stuart continued harshly. “The sooner you accept the fact that Geoffrey now belongs to another the better for—”
“For the family. I know,” she bit back furiously, surprising both herself and Stuart, judging by the way his eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? The family and its reputation? You don’t care about…” She helplessly cast about for the right word. “About people!” she concluded lamely.
“I do care about people,” he countered.
“But only if those people happen to carry the Knight name!”
She didn’t know what point she was trying to make, nor did she care. All she wanted was to give vent to the frustration she was feeling, for whatever reason.
“Someone has to care about the family.” Stuart’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Since all you care about is Geoffrey and making a total spectacle of yourself.”
“No, I don’t!” she heard herself cry out desperately.
“You could have fooled me,” he meted out tersely.
Stuart was right, of course. If given the opportunity she would have flung herself into Geoffrey’s arms. She had loved him all through her adolescence, after all. She had dedicated countless diary entries to her roseate dreams of him, and the future they would be building together once he saw how great they were together. How perfect for each other. But then why did all of that seem like such a distant memory all of a sudden? Why hadn’t the news that Geoffrey was fathering a child with another woman rock her world and bring tears to her eyes and sorrow to her heart? She shook her head, thoroughly confused, and closed her eyes forcefully, trying to conjure up the trusted and comfortable imagery of herself in Geoffrey’s arms, her lips stirred by Geoffrey’s, his arms pressing her to his chest, her face nuzzling his shoulder while he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, declaring his everlasting love for her. Alarmingly, her mind kept exchanging Geoffrey’s cheerful face by Stuart’s stern features, Geoffrey’s teddy bear frame by her cousin’s hard-bodied embrace and Geoffrey’s full-lipped kisses by the intrusion of Stuart’s passionately thrusting tongue.