"Oh, surely you can do better than that." Her tone dripped icicles. "This is straight out of a book, Mr. Wolfe. Poor spinster locked up in a big old house meets sexy gardener who sets her body free. She's forever grateful for the experience. Blah, blah, blah. Now, if you rather not get back to work, we will consider your job null and void and you can leave my home."
"Ah, so you did read Lady Chatterley's Lover?" he drawled. Slowly, he uncurled over six feet of muscled length and rose from the seat to tower over her. "D.H. Lawrence is one of my favorites. 'Course, I'm the gardener rather than the gamekeeper. And you're forgetting the husband--which you don't have. The rest is similar. Uneducated working-class man shows sexually deprived wife how to let go and be free to let her body experience pleasure."
He paused. Dropped his voice to a rough whisper that raked across her nerve endings like fingernails against naked skin. "Wanna play?"
Her heart pounded so loud the sound in her ears dimmed. "Excuse me?"
He laughed. In one swift movement, he reached out and snagged her wrist. Then tugged hard.
Slightly off balance, she stumbled toward him, where he neatly caught her by the waist and trapped her between himself and the sink. The edge of the marble dug into her back when she tried to retreat. Raw masculine energy assaulted her senses, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest, a mass of carved muscles pressed against the curve of her breasts. The scent of dirt and fresh grass and musk rose to her nostrils in an animal attempt to entice her to mate.
"Role play, love. Do you know the things I could teach you? Give me one night and it'll all be for you. I'll strip you naked and suck on these nipples until they're aching and ruby red."
His fingers tweaked one rigid tip and a streak of raw lust speared between her legs and almost made her moan. Almost.
"I'll pry your legs open and press my tongue against your clit, taste your wetness, and make you come so hard against my mouth you'll only be able to utter my name." His hand slid down the front of her body to cup her mound through her jeans. The heat of his palm burned and she jerked upward, her juices exploding and her clit pounding, as if she could orgasm by the mere image of his tongue in her pussy.
But she was not defeated.
She desperately reined in her body and managed to speak. "Take your hands off me."
"Ah, you're a talker. I can tell by your eyes you like to hear the words, like a true poet. Let me tell you what I want to do right now." He held her still and pressed his thumb over her lips in a rough caress. "I'm going to unbutton these jeans and rip off your panties. Turn you around so your naked ass is exposed. Then I'm going to bend you over, thrust inside your wet pussy and make you come so hard you won't remember another man before me."
The world spun. She fought like a maniac for some kind of reality, reminding herself he was a common gardener who was looking for a quick lay. Probably had a million diseases.
"Mr. Wolfe, I want you to leave now."
"God, you're cute. Might as well call me Jack."
"I will not be having sex with my newly hired gardener. I'm not that type of woman."
His eyes danced with a merry wickedness that made her crave to slap him. "I think that's exactly your problem. Obviously, you haven't had an orgasm in a while. Probably why you're so uptight. Nothing wrong with taking advantage of me while I'm here. I don't mind."
"Out. Now. Unless you want me to scream or call the police."
"Okay."
Her legs almost buckled with sheer relief at her victory, but then a full male grin transformed his face and he lowered his head.
"I'd like to hear you scream. Don't panic. I promise this won't hurt a bit."
Then his mouth took hers.
Julianna didn't have a chance. It was the Alamo all over again. Warm, capable lips molded perfectly to hers and with one push, his tongue slipped into her mouth. Like a marauding pirate, he conquered and enjoyed his territory, his hot tongue thrusting in and out in a teasing game before he dove deep and claimed his treasure. She tried to move away, but his fingers gripped the sides of her head in a gentle pressure and kept her still. Over and over he sipped and explored, learning her taste and texture, luring her deeper into a pool of sensation.
His hands coasted down from her head and dipped into the collar of her shirt to caress her breasts. A moan escaped her lips at the delicious sensation of hard male fingers against her sensitive curves. The fabric of her bra was pushed aside as his thumbs manipulated her nipples in a crazy friction that drove her mad. Her hips arched in demand, her control shredded, and her hands clutched at his naked shoulders and dug her nails deep into solid muscle.
"God, you're a hellcat masquerading as a mouse." He caught a whimper from her lips and kissed her deeply. "You're practically burning up in my arms. Come with me."
He pulled away, took her hand and began leading her out the door. To her bedroom.
To her bedroom.
Reality crashed back and she cried out. She lifted her hands in a half-attempted defense and took a few steps. "Don't."
He stopped in his tracks. Slowly turned around. Then cursed under his breath. "I knew I should've picked you up. I'm such an ass."
"I can't do this."
One bleached brow lifted. "Why not?"
Julianna shook her head and breathed hard. Her body felt painfully irritated--desperate for sexual relief. In a matter of days, her careful barriers were destroyed because of her desire for a quickie with a man she wanted but did not respect. The truth stumbled out of her mouth in her desperation for distance.
"There are things you don't know. I can't have an affair with someone right now. I'm looking for a serious relationship. I want to get married."
That threw him for a second or two. "To anyone in particular?" he asked slowly.
"Not yet. But I don't intend to have an affair, not when I could meet my husband tomorrow."
Another hearty laugh escaped him, which made her frown. "Sweetheart, you may not meet your husband for years. Are you going to lock your body in a prison until then?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped. "I'm going to meet him soon and I can't afford to be distracted." She dug deep and threw her words like weapons. "You're a nobody. A common gardener with a hard-on who probably bangs every client you find halfway attractive." She lifted her chin and her gaze raked over his figure with deliberate mocking. "Sure, you've got a great body, but I'm not going to mess up my chances of a real marriage with a real man for a quick screw with you."
Temper gleamed in his eyes, but she forced herself to finish. "I'm going to marry someone with refinement, education and money. God forbid anyone should find out I've had an affair with my handyman. So, do I have to ask you again? Keep your hands away from me, or leave."
The gloves were off and thrown in the figurative ring. He stared at her hard for a few moments, his face unreadable. Then with a mocking grin, he gave a salute. And as if picking up the glove and tucking it in neatly into his pocket, he said, "Yes, ma'am." He walked with long easy strides right past her and to the door. Then paused. "I'll be finished by the end of the week."
The door shut behind him.
****
Bryce Sinclair settled back on the overstuffed pillows and watched the naked servant girl duck her head in shame. Triumphant satisfaction thrummed through him. "Look at me," he commanded.
She obediently raised her gaze. He studied her in silence, noting her young skin, silky long hair, and not so innocent mouth still dripping from his explosion. She gave a good blow job--her mouth perfectly tight--but she was still underdeveloped. Her mother had serviced him well only a few hours earlier. The thought of getting them in bed together fluttered past him and he filed it for later use. Young women were such a challenge to break, but once used a few times, the lure of the game tarnished.
"Now go tell your mother what we did together."
Her mouth fell open and tears gathered in dark depths. "But, but, I can't! She would kick me out if she knew... you made me
! You--"
"I'm done with you." He waved his hand in disgust. "You were sniffing after me for weeks and I only gave you what you wanted. If you don't do what I ask, I'll hurt her again." Her face transformed into a mask of fear. The power shuddered through him and made him semi-hard. "That's right," he said softly. "And you know I'll do it. In all the places where no one will ever know. And if you both don't please me, I'll make sure you have no job at the castle. Or anywhere else."
A flash of temper shone in her gaze. Bryce watched with interest, but it quickly flared out and she was once again submissive. She left and shut the door behind her, leaving him to his thoughts.
He was so bored.
He reached for his glass of champagne and sipped, enjoying the feel of the satin sheets against his nakedness. In fact, he enjoyed looking at his own body, knowing it was perfection granted him like a gift from the Gods. He knew his dark hair and gray eyes challenged women to unveil the mysteries beneath. He kept his body rock hard with daily workouts and a strict eating regimen. His only downfall was his love of alcohol and the occasional snort of cocaine.
He glanced at his lavish bedroom decorated in rich reds and gold. A room for a king. Unfortunately, he'd never be close as long as his cousin reigned.
Anger burned hot and bright and his fingers tightened against the stem of the glass. Once his dear old uncle finally kicked the bucket, he thought it would finally be over, the endless rivalry to outwit his cousin, only to always be ranked second best. It reminded him of that awful American show, Survivor, where good triumphed even when evil deserved the prize.
There was something going on with Jack. Bryce sensed a rat a football field away. His cousin had disappeared shortly after his father died, and Aunt Victoria refused to elaborate on his whereabouts. Knowledge gleamed in her eyes, but he hadn't been able to break her yet. Whatever it was, he needed the information. If he made one misstep, the kingdom of Woodward Shipping would never belong to him. And he'd be working for Jack for the rest of his pitiful life.
He'd die before that happened.
Bryce loathed his cousin more than anyone else on the earth. When they were been young, he'd thought they would be allies and rule the world. Instead, his cousin showed a disgusting softness, especially around women. When Jack found him forcing one of their classmates to give him oral sex, his cousin went crazy, threatening to tell everyone in the family and shut him out for good. Bryce's mother never stood up to Aunt Victoria. He'd been trapped like a wolf around a bunch of sheep, forbidden to feast. Instead, he starved and he learned. He searched for weaknesses and played his games with stealth.
He detested most women and the way they used sex to their advantage, then screamed foul play. There had been many he'd taught a valuable lesson. They cried rape, but he quickly adjusted their notion, knowing the favor he courted with his aunt and uncle. He was second in command of one of the biggest shipping companies in England. The world belonged to him if he could only prevent his cousin from taking a wife and providing an heir.
The phone rang and interrupted his thoughts. Bryce glanced at the number and clicked on his Palm. "You found something."
A pause. "Yes, sir. He's hiding in Newport, Rhode Island. Took a ship and has it docked in town."
Bryce frowned and tried to figure out the puzzle. "Why?"
"Not sure, sir. I've been trying to get Lady Victoria to confess, but she's been tight lipped, even around the servants."
"Email me a full report. I want to know every move Jack has made so I can figure this out."
"I'll send it now."
He waited a few minutes, and then his phone buzzed. He quickly glanced through the highlights and found a name. Julianna Waters. He had no idea who she was or even if she was important, but it was a good place to start. If Jack planned to spring a surprise engagement, Bryce needed to stop it. He'd lose everything and always be in his cousin's shadow.
He quickly buzzed his contact and gave him clear instructions.
Then he lounged back on the pillows and contemplated taking a necessary trip.
Chapter Three
"Can I help you? Oh, hi love. What'll you have?"
Julianna stared at the man behind the bar and pursed her lips. "Where's Mike?"
He grinned at her obvious annoyance and lowered an eyelid in a naughty wink. "He had a thing he needed to go to with his wife. I told him I'd cover his shift. Let me guess. White wine? Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay?"
Julianna bit her tongue. Hard. "Martini, extra dry, extra olives." She swore she'd drink the whole damn thing if it killed her, and tried not to look longingly at the bottle of white wine she preferred.
He lifted a brow. "You got it. Not driving, are you?"
She bristled and turned to her companion, whom she'd forgotten when faced with her irritating, sex-god gardener. "Tom, this is my handyman. What would you like to drink?"
"Stout, please. Guinness."
Jack poured, shuffled glasses, and served with an economy of motion and grace. The scents of perfume, heat, and alcohol burned through the air as the crowd thickened in the late evening hour. The marina bar courted a tourist crowd. She had scheduled this first meeting with Tom in a public place where she wouldn't have to worry about the locals. After all, he was the first official response to her ad. So far, dinner had been a polite, quiet affair with no sparks. She figured a crowded bar might loosen him up a bit, so she'd suggested a quick drink before ending the evening.
Unfortunately, her companion sat on the bar stool, tight-lipped and unsmiling. He glanced around the rustic, slightly dirty waterfront bar as if he smelled something bad. When he paid for the drinks, he didn't tip. She squirmed and quietly pushed a ten dollar bill across the bar while Jack wasn't looking.
"Interesting place." Tom said. "I prefer the New York scene, of course. Happy hour is always quite raucous."
She nodded. "Yes. I've always wanted to see the city."
Silence.
She watched Jack from the corner of her eye while she searched for more conversational topics. Obviously, he had met many new women this past week. A line of blondes and brunettes laughed at his jokes, cooed over his English accent, and generally made themselves available for a late-night date. She twitched her nose in disapproval. Jack Wolfe didn't seem to care who shared his bed, as long as she was warm, female and willing.
At least he'd stopped sniffing around her place. Thank goodness.
She drank the rest of her martini and a pleasant heat buzzed through her, allowing her to relax a notch. Tom finished his drink, then stood. "Well, I have to get back early in the morning, so I better say good night."
She fought past the disappointment. "Of course."
Jack suddenly appeared. "Another?"
"No, thank you, we were just leaving." To prove a point, she grabbed Tom's hand and forced a merry laugh. She went to walk him out, but he stopped her at the doorway.
"I'll email you and we'll discuss possible arrangements for marriage."
Julianna blinked. The beat of the jukebox blared and pumped out Nelly's "Hot In Herre." "I thought, I thought we'd meet once more before making a decision."
Tom shrugged, obviously bored. "I need a wife in order to climb up the corporate ladder. Damn company's only promoting family men. I want someone who'll stay out of my life but be there for work events. I'll give you the money for the house and we can arrange a wedding in the city. No big deal."
She twisted her hands and fought off sheer panic. "Ummm, well, email me and we'll see."
"Fine. Nice to meet you." He leaned over, placed a peck on her lips, and strode out the door.
Julianna stared at his retreating back, then glanced at the bar.
Jack stood with her empty martini glass in one hand, towel in the other. Whiskey colored eyes burned across the room.
She raised her chin and met his gaze head on.
Then turned her back and ran outside.
Gulping in breaths of salt water air, she went round the back and
leaned against the side wall of the building. Damn him. Damn him for getting her body tied up in knots. Marrying Tom would be an easy business arrangement, but the idea of sleeping with him, let alone bearing him a child, seemed impossible. Not that he appeared interested in her. Maybe they'd each have their separate affairs like a true marriage of convenience. He was polite. He smelled like onions from dinner and had very weird eyebrows that sloped together into one, reminding her a bit of Groucho Marx, but she'd probably be able to stay at the Cliff House and only travel to New York on certain occasions. Actually, it seemed a perfect arrangement.
Despair hit her low and hard in the gut. Alone, she allowed herself to say the one curse word she loved and rarely uttered. "Fuck."
"Didn't know you had it in you, love."
She whirled around. He stood behind her, framed in darkness. A bright orange glow appeared, and she watched him light a cigarette. He smoked with a lazy gracefulness that contradicted his working class stature. Gardener, handyman, bartender. Yet he spoke like an English aristocrat and seemed above petty day-to-day frustrations. The liquor burned through her veins and heated her temper.
"You shouldn't smoke."
He shrugged. "Shouldn't do a lot of things that are fun."
"What game do you think you're playing?" she hissed.
Jack grinned and crossed one foot in front of the other as he leaned against the wall. "I'm not the one with a checklist for a husband. Tom seems like a real fun guy."
She tossed her head. "He's lovely. We'll be seeing each other again."
His lips literally twitched. "Obviously. Make sure he waxes his brows before the wedding."
"You're an asshole."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Two curse words in one night. I must have broken all your records. Really, love, give yourself more credit. Are you that hard up?"
"You're fired."
She spun on her heel to march away, but he grabbed her arm and spun her right back. The delicious scents of rum and smoke and male arousal swam around her. He loomed tall and muscular and dangerous, and her body thrilled to the raw power. Her breath caught, her nipples rose, and her pussy throbbed with anticipation. He seemed to literally smell her arousal like a big bad wolf ready to mark his mate. His nostrils flared.
Sex, Lies and Contracts Page 3