THE moon set early in the Caribbean, leaving it to the myriad stars hanging in the satin-dark sky to provide what light there was filtering into Annie’s bedroom. It was enough, or at least enough to save the room from a total blackout. She could just make out the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, for instance, and the dark shapes of furniture scattered about the room.
Wide awake, even though it had to be way past midnight, she traced the shapes lazily with her eyes, her body very still beneath the white cotton sheet that she had drawn up beneath her arms. But inside she was restless, troubled—disturbed by what was bothering hear and what she could not seem to control unless she lay very still like this and breathed very carefully, and centred her whole concentration on keeping it all severely banked down.
Is this what it feels like, she wondered, to want what you shouldn’t want? To desire what you should not desire? To need it so badly that it actually became the driving force for your life’s blood?
Sighing shakily, she lifted a hand to rest it beneath her cool cheek, settling against it as though it would offer some comfort, some relief.
It didn’t, and the fingers on the other hand began to tap a restless dance against the graceful curve of her long thigh beneath the sheet. Her gaze lowered to watch them, her mind acknowledging that the restlessness was beginning to break out. Perhaps she should get up and take a walk along the beach? she mused. Do something—anything to take her mind off what she knew was trying to break through all her restraints.
Sex. You’ve tasted the elixir, Annie, and now you’re hungry for more.
She smiled at her own mockery, then stopped smiling, the fingers stopping their tapping when her gaze caught the washed-out glint of gold encircling the third finger on her left hand.
Married to a man who made you a millionairess within minutes of putting that ring there. She frowned. What had made him do it? No man in his right mind gave a woman he hardly knew a gift like that!
There again, no man who saw that woman as little better than a whore took her to bed and ravished her. Not a man of César’s calibre, anyway.
He was a strange man—a complicated man. A man who contrarily confused, infuriated and fascinated her with his quick-fire changes in character. One minute arrogant, insufferably domineering—bullish. The next, soft, caring, gentle, considerate—dynamically charming when she least expected it.
Dangerous too, she added to her growing list. Dangerous because he had managed to do what no man before him had ever done, and had got beneath the protective skin she wore so thickly around herself. Dangerous because he wanted her with a hunger that burned constantly behind whatever else they were doing, whether that was slinging insults at each other or just trying—trying—to be civilised towards each other.
And what about yourself? she then countered grimly. Your behaviour is no less contrary than his! You profess to hate and despise him for what he’s done, but you also want him with the same unforgivable hunger.
Every time you look at him you torture yourself with memories of how his lips felt against your own, or how frighteningly superb he looked naked and aroused, or what it felt like to have him deep inside you! If he so much as touches you your skin leaps into vibrant, burning life, your stomach muscles knot and your thighs throb.
Hell, even lying here just thinking of him and it’s all beginning to happen!
Restlessly she moved again, flipping over to lie curled on her side, half considering getting up, going for that walk along the beach that she had suggested to herself, when her bedroom door came open, and all thoughts of any kind were suspended as the disturbingly dark bulk of a man seemed to fill the whole room.
He paused for a moment. She stopped breathing, her very bones tingling as if they’d just received an electric shock.
Then he was stepping inwards and closing the door behind him. Her heart took up an unsteady hammer. Eyes huge, throat locking, she watched him walk slowly towards the bed where she lay.
He was wearing a thin black cotton robe and nothing else as far as she could tell. And she could almost feel the tension in his body as he came closer, bringing with him the scent of male heat and the tantalising freshness of a spicy male soap.
As he came to a standstill right beside where she lay she lifted her eyes to let them clash with his; hers were wary, questioning what this unexpected visit meant when really she knew exactly what it meant. The reality of it was already turning the very tissue of her being to a warm, sensual liquid because his eyes were hiding nothing—nothing.
Yet in silence he waited. Breathlessly she waited. Eyes locked. The tension between them was so fraught that she could almost taste it, even ran her tongue around parched lips as if to do just that.
When long moments passed and she had said not a word he bent down towards her, braced his hands on the pillow either side of her head and murmured softly, ‘Invite me to stay.’
Her senses quivered. ‘I…’ The sound came out frail and breathless—hardly a sound at all really as she found herself caught by the beauty of his sensually moulded mouth hovering a bare inch away from her own.
‘Please.’ He closed the gap and kissed her. It was nothing more than the gentlest touch of his mouth against her own, but her own lips clung as he drew away again.
‘Please,’ he repeated softly. ‘Please…’
At last she breathed, her breasts lifting and falling on the small, constricted action. But other than that she couldn’t manage another single thing. Yet…
Had she answered? she found herself wondering dizzily. She was vaguely certain that she hadn’t said yes, but was also sure that she hadn’t said no.
But whatever she did do César took it as an affirmative, because after a moment he whispered, ‘Thank you.’ Then he was straightening again, holding her gaze with his own darkly burning one as he unknotted and stripped off his robe, paused for a moment as if to give her a final opportunity to make a protest, jaw clenched, the rigid walls of his stomach clenched, his body already wearing the evidence of desire.
Then he lifted the edge of the thin sheet and in one fluid, graceful movement came to lie down beside her.
His fingers were trembling a little as he gently stroked them across her cheek and slid them beneath the heavy fall of her hair. Then he was drawing her towards him, turning her, moulding her, and slowly—oh, so slowly that her senses began to vibrate, her lips to pulse, part, gasp out a single shaky breath—he closed the gap between their mouths.
His lips were as full and pulsing as her own, both so hot that they seemed to fuse, the shock of it sending one of her hands jerking up to press against his chest.
He shuddered. It ran through him like a tidal wave, drawing a groan from him; then he was pushing her gently onto her back and coming with her, his upper body crushing her into the soft mattress as it pressed lightly down.
For a moment her courage failed, memories of that other hot violent eruption of passion making her gasp in shaky fear.
But he soothed her with a caressing hand. ‘No,’ he murmured, as if he knew exactly what had frightened her. ‘This is passion I am feeling for you, not angry desire. It runs through my blood like a fire, but it is not destructive. Some fires cleanse, Angelica,’ he told her softly. ‘I want to cleanse that other experience from your mind.’
Then he was kissing her again, and any hope of forming a conscious decision for herself was lost in the slow, deep sensuality of it.
It went on and on, not even breaking when he began to caress her, his hand sliding against the smooth silk of her nightdress in a long, sweeping motion that followed the delicacy of her ribcage, the flatness of her stomach and finally the length of her thighs where the nightdress ended and satin-smooth flesh began.
She must have moved restlessly because he instantly soothed her again, bringing his other hand out from beneath her head to lay it gently against her cheek.
And still the beautiful kiss did not break. Nor did it when he spent an age seemingly content to stroke her like that. He didn’t touch her intimately, didn’t even try to remove her nightdress, but simply played a kind of magic with her flesh, coaxing, gently coaxing the fine, light tremors to overtake her, and eventually her muscles to begin expanding and contracting to the sensual rhythm he induced.
In the end she couldn’t stand it, and dragged her mouth away from his with a sharp, helpless gasp for air. He let her go, his eyes almost sombre as they studied her, his hand pausing against the quivering flesh of her stomach.
‘What?’ he whispered. ‘What?’
She closed her eyes in confusion. Even his softly spoken voice was having the most overwhelming effect on her. ‘I don’t know,’ she breathed, panting a little in an effort to control what was happening inside her.
‘Then don’t try to think,’ he advised. ‘Just follow me. Trust me, Annie. And between us we will make this the most beautiful experience of our lives.’
Trust him. Follow him. She really did not have any choice. From the moment his mouth captured hers again she was lost—lost in the dark, sensual beauty of the man. Lost in what he could make her feel, and lost in the wonder of what she could do to him.
It was slow and it was rich and it went very deep, each touch, each caress, each accidental brush of their skin heightening an awareness inside them that seemed to encapsulate the two of them in a hot, dark world of their own.
His touch became more intimate, knowing, sending her boneless so she lay there in helpless thrall. The caress of his tongue on her eager skin drew soft gasps of pleasure from her, the silk-like thrust of his throbbing manhood nudging against her thigh filling her with a sense of power that made her bold.
When she began caressing him he fell heavily onto his back, to lie blatant in his desire for more, eyes closed, mouth parted, his gasps of pleasure urging her on. His skin felt like tightly padded satin, the muscles beneath it rigid then rippling in response to her touch. She kissed his damp throat then his shoulder, then, unable to resist it, tasted his sweat on her tongue, trailing it over his chest until she found and began to suck on his tight male nipple.
His hands jerked up to grasp her head tightly, holding her there while he seemed to stop breathing, to go motionless as the sensations she was causing inside him took hold.
Then her hand glided tentatively over his stomach, and he jolted into life like a man shot, startling her as he reared upwards and over her, his hand whipping down to imprison hers as his husky growl revealed the extent of his arousal before he was kissing her hungrily again, stopping her from thinking again, taking control again, slowing things down, drawing it out until she really believed that she was going to die if he didn’t do something to ease the unbearable pressure building deep down inside her.
Her hand jerked to his hair, fingers curling, tightening, tugging with unknown violence, dragging the thin ribbon free so that the black satiny mass slid like a curtain all around her. She sighed against his mouth, restlessly urgent. Someone was groaning and whimpering, and she knew that someone was herself. Her senses were in ferment, rushing in a panicked stampede through her body in an effort to crowd where the tension grew.
He must have understood because he moved then, sliding between her thighs where his fingers still played their magic, keeping up that sensual rhythm until the very moment when he joined them in a single mind-blowing thrust.
Annie arched like a bow, arms flying out and upwards in total abandonment. He arched too, like a giant wolf about to howl its mournful song, his long back, his dark head in a taut arch of pleasure, and for a space out of time neither were of this earth, neither aware of the other as sensation washed their brains of all else.
Then she felt the tug of her own muscles, felt them draw him in deeper, felt him grow and throb and fill her; then desperate fingers were reaching for him even as he came down towards her.
* * *
Afterwards she lay wrapped tightly in his arms, his body curled round her as though she were in need of protection and he was determined to give it. They didn’t speak, hadn’t found the words to cover what had just taken place. All Annie knew was that in the moment when he’d entered her César had become her; she’d felt that right down to the very roots of her being. Whether he’d experienced the same thing she didn’t know, but by the way he’d held her and kept on holding her, even long after he had fallen into a deep sleep, she had to believe that he had.
He woke her once more before morning, bringing her swimming up from sleep to the pleasure of his suckling lazily on one of her breasts. His caresses were already wreaking their magic on her body, filling her with a sweet, moist heat that made her stretch sensuously then sink on a shivery sigh into the rapture he was creating.
It was slow and it was relaxed and it was sleepy, and it seemed to draw a much deeper response from both of them which left them clinging to each other in a lead-weighted aftermath filled with nothing but a silent awe.
* * *
The next morning she awoke to find him still sleeping beside her, the sheet pushed down low over his thighs. He was lying on his side and facing her, an arm thrown heavily across her waist, his hair flowing over one satiny bronze shoulder, lying almost lovingly in that warm, moist hollow that formed the muscular ridge of his neck.
He looked different in sleep—more relaxed, more attractive while those sharp green eyes were hidden from view. His mouth still had that fatally sensual shape to it, but then, she acknowledged, it always did—whether he was tense or angry or just behaving normally. It was his mouth that had first ignited her senses and it had been wreaking its devastation ever since.
Feeling the stirring of excitement take root inside her at this near voyeuristic pleasure she was taking in just looking at him, she blushed and looked away.
Moving carefully so that she would not waken him, she slid out from beneath his arm and moved stealthily up and off the bed. Her body was stiff and aching, and she smiled wryly to herself as she made her way to the bathroom. They said sex was the best exercise for toning the body. She believed it. She felt as though she’d spent last night tied to a toning bed, except—a shiver of something incredibly sexy quivered through her—no toning bed left your senses feeling like this!
The shower was warm and refreshing, and she stood beneath it with her head tilted back, eyes closed while the water gushed over breasts still full and aching. Her nipples were tight and sharply sensitive, and seemed to have forgotten how to retract. She released a soft sigh as the water began to soothe them, though the ache between her thighs remained a dull, pulsing throb.
Was it always like this after a long night of loving? she wondered. This acute awareness of her own femininity? And was this strange yet pleasant feeling that she had been totally invaded all part of the allure that kept the desire to experience it again and again so strong?
‘Good morning. You started without me, I see.’
The sound of that deep, pleasant voice accompanied a pair of long-fingered hands sliding around her wet ribcage.
She let out a startled gasp, her eyes flicking open as a warm mouth bent to nuzzle that susceptible point between her shoulder and throat. Her hands snapped up to cover his where they rested just beneath the heavy swell of her breasts. And she couldn’t control the expressive way that her shoulder lifted, her throat arching to the erotic suck of his mouth.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, drawing her backward against his warm body. ‘You taste of clean water and that delicious flavour called Annie. I am addicted,’ he confessed. ‘I shall now require the taste of her several times a day.’
She quivered at his provocatively teasing banter, but had no equally provocative answer ready to offer him. This kind of situation was so new to her that she was quite frankly at a loss as to what to do or say.
Then his hands shifted upwards, and she arched convulsively on a sharp, indrawn rasp of air. ‘Don’t touch!’ she gasped.
He went still for a moment, then turned her to face him, water gushing over her shoulders to splash onto the whorls of dark hair on his chest as he searched her anxious eyes, then her blushing cheeks, then finally the way her bent arms braced against his chest in an effort to keep his body away from her wet, silky breasts. ‘Ah,’ he said, then surprised her with the smuggest, most sensually triumphant grin that she had ever seen.
‘It isn’t funny!’ she flashed out indignantly. ‘They hurt!’
‘Poor Annie,’ he murmured in sympathy, but his grin widened, the man in him annoyingly proud that his loving could have such a lingering effect.
Then he swooped, taking one engorged nipple into his mouth and sucking so ruthlessly that she cried out, then gasped, then quivered as pain became a piercing pleasure.
If she’d worried about how she was going to face him this morning then that worry became swallowed up by what happened next.
It was as erotic as it was unconventional to her untutored soul. What with the warm water gushing, ignored, over both of them and his hands sliding down her supple spine to gather her against the rhythmic probing thrust of his hips, he ignited her desire for him so quickly that the night before might not have taken place.
His mouth lifted to capture her own, and, hungry, searching, they strained against each other while his loose hair received the full flood of warm water, plastering the satin pelt to both their faces, water running in rivulets down their noses and circling their joined mouths.
He broke the contact to drag in a harsh breath, his big chest lifting and falling in a tortured rasp. Then he was taking hold of her arms and urging them around his neck before he clasped her just below her buttocks, forcing her legs apart and around his tight waist as he lifted her up against him. His smooth, slick entry literally took her breath away.
Then the shower snapped off, and this latest variation on the act of love was achieved in a cubicle engulfed in warm, sensual steam…
* * *
For days they carried on like that—long, lazy, sensual days when they seemed to become so absorbed in each other that they could put the rest of the world right away.
The ate together, they slept together, they played in the sea or simply lazed beneath the shade of one of the big flame-trees together, supposedly content to read a novel each, but really it was usually just another way of enjoying the sexual tension always, always present between them. Her fingers trailed delicately over the fine, crisp hairs on his arm as she read; his hands lightly caressed her sun-kissed thigh as he did the same.
And, of course, they made love all the time—any time. His appetite seemed utterly insatiable, and hers rose greedily to meet his with little encouragement.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t have moments when she allowed her thoughts to drift towards the blunt reality of why they were here at all. But if she so much as mentioned home or work or, more importantly, the obligation they both had to Todd and Cliché, he would simply shut her up in the most effective way he could find.
Sex. But she did allow herself to wonder, during those few brief moments before he made her lose touch with the sensible part of her mind, if these were deliberate manoeuvres applied to stall her for some deep, dark reason of his own.
The trouble was that she wanted to be manoeuvred. She wanted to think of nothing else but this and him and—God—make believe it all really meant something.
Why? she asked herself frowningly one morning when she sat modestly covered by her bathrobe in front of her mirror, rubbing at her damp hair with a towel.
And she was almost bowled over by the power of the answer which suddenly erupted inside her. Her hand went still, she looked up and focused on the new, helplessly vulnerable expression now colouring her blue eyes.
No. She shook her head, glanced away, refused to accept it. She could not be falling in love with him as well!
As well as what? she asked herself tautly.
As well as being so sexually obsessed by him that she could barely look at him without wanting him badly!
‘Damn,’ she muttered shakily, glad that he was still in the bathroom and therefore not there to witness this revealing bit of self-analysis taking place.
Love. She tried tasting the word carefully.
Had she become one of those poor, wretched creatures—a woman in love?
God. Yes, she admitted, and covered those knowing eyes with a decidedly shaky hand.
She was in love with him. Of course she was in love with him, or why else had she let herself become such a slave to all of this?
And it isn’t even real! She pulled her head away from her hand to take that blunt realisation full in the face. This—all of this had begun as one huge set-up!
A week ago he was committed to hurting you, Annie! she told herself. And, despite what happened in between, a few days ago he was still using blackmail to force you to bend to his will!
And what about Todd? Did he still intend using his power as Adamas to make Todd bend to his will?
She knew by experience that he could be downright ruthless with that power. Susie meant a lot to him—he had said as much during their fight down on the beach the other day.
But—now? After all of—this? Was he still intent on forcing a split between herself and Todd simply for his cousin’s sake?
César used that moment to walk into the room, arrogant in his nakedness. Annie—in breathless silence, via the mirror—watched him saunter towards her, bend to brace himself with his hands against the dressing table, either side of her body, smile a heart-achingly tender smile into her wary eyes then lower his head to taste her throat, his damp hair swinging in a slick, heavy pelt to one side.
Could this man who could smile at her like that still want to put his cousin’s feelings before her own?
‘César…’ she murmured hesitantly, her blue eyes anxious as they watched him nuzzle her throat.
‘Hmm?’ She quivered as the soft sound vibrated across her skin. He felt the response and did it again. Only the ‘hmm’ this time was an expression of pleasure.
Annie closed her eyes and tried very hard to concentrate—not on him but on the question she wanted to ask.
‘Todd,’ she said. ‘What are you going to do about Todd and the Cliché launch?’
He went still for a moment, his mouth warm where it rested against her softly throbbing pulse. Then, ‘This is no longer your problem,’ he dismissed, returning his attention to her throat.
‘But of course it’s my problem!’ she insisted, trying to arch away from his seeking lips. ‘I’m worried about the Cliché launch!’
‘Worry about me instead,’ he said huskily, and sucked the small fleshy lobe of her ear into his mouth.
She quivered, lips parting on a soft gasp of stinging pleasure. ‘Stop it!’ she said, determinedly pulling away. ‘We need to talk.’
There was another moment’s silence when she thought he was going to ignore her—once again. His head remained bent, his hands braced either side of her. Then he straightened, and his eyes when they connected with hers via the mirror were suddenly inscrutable.
‘So, talk,’ he conceded coolly.
Her heart gave a small flutter—cowardice, she recognised, wanting to drop the whole subject before she spoiled what they had going here. But…
‘What are you going to do about me?’ she said. ‘And Todd and his magazine launch?’
‘You forgot to add Susie into that equation,’ he inserted, turning away.
‘Susie?’ Twisting around on the stool, she stared up at him. ‘But I don’t understand.’ She frowned. ‘Everything’s changed now! Surely you aren’t still intending to—?’
‘And what has changed exactly?’ he drawled as he moved with a lithe, arrogant grace back across the bedroom.
Her heart took up a slow, heavy pumping as she watched him go, the rear view almost as excruciatingly desirable as the front view. The man had muscles where muscles ought not to be!
‘Y-you know I’m no threat to Susie’s personal relationship with Todd,’ she reminded him huskily, having to struggle to subdue the feelings that were threatening to divert her from the subject in hand. ‘But our business relationship is different! I won that contract fair and square, César. And neither you nor Susie can have any justification in wanting to take it away from me now!’
‘You still want to keep it?’ Reaching around the open bathroom door, he hooked a clean towel from the rail inside while holding her gaze with a cool, questioning look.
She frowned. ‘Of course I want to keep it.’
‘Why?’
‘Why should I not want to?’ she countered.
‘Maybe because I am asking you not to,’ he suggested quietly, wrapping the towel around his lean hips.
Annie came stiffly to her feet, not sure whether the sudden movement was brought on by the discomfiting subject matter of this conversation or because of the blatant sensuality with which this man did everything—even held this damned conversation!
‘And why should you want to do that?’ she demanded.
‘Because this particular contract is just one job among many jobs to you,’ he replied, with a dismissive shrug of one taut, bronzed shoulder. ‘But to Susie it would be the making of her career. Oh,’ he continued when Annie opened her mouth to speak, ‘I know she’s good. But she’s not in your league, Angelica. You can survive without the big boost the Cliché launch will give your career, whereas Susie’s career will probably never really recover from losing that contract to you in the first place.’
Her eyes widened at this cool business assessment he made of both herself and Susie. ‘So you want me to give it all up for Susie’s sake?’ she choked in blank disbelief.
‘Would that be such a very big hardship to you?’
Was that a question or a not very subtle statement of command? she wondered. Then sat down again slowly—very slowly because it suddenly occurred to her that it didn’t matter whether it was a question or not. The very fact that he was making the sounds at all was enough to make her legs tremble so badly that she had a fear that they would collapse if she did not keep them under strict control.
Betrayed, she realised painfully. She was feeling betrayed on every level. Betrayed by the subterfuge he had used to get her here to this island in the first place. Betrayed by his later remorse and apparent desire to put things right once he’d realised his mistake, and betrayed by the depth of intimacy he had used to bring her oh, so cunningly to this moment of truth.
And all of it—all of it done in Susie Frazer’s name. Blow his own sister! Blow Luis Alvarez! This—everything that had taken place over the last week—had simply been manoeuvre and counter-manoeuvre on his part, with this one goal in mind!
To make Annie Lacey malleable enough to do anything for him that he asked of her.
What a bloody fool she had been. Now she felt sick.
‘What are you thinking?’ His voice seemed to reach her from down a long, dark tunnel.
‘I’m thinking you’re a bastard,’ she whispered thickly.
Silence.
Her eyelashes flickered, then lifted to allow her eyes to focus on him. He was standing there across the room like some—some noble Apache chief! she likened wretchedly. Wearing that skimpy white towel like a loin-cloth that left too much naked, bronzed muscle on show! His hair was hanging sleek and straight to the proud set of his shoulders while those crazy green eyes of his looked down that long, arrogant nose at her as if he couldn’t believe that this woman could dare to insult him like that!
Then he sighed and moved in a grim gesture of impatience. ‘Dammit, but you are my wife now, Angelica!’ he exclaimed, with what she saw as an appalling confirmation of his arrogance. ‘You do not need to do that kind of work any more! Whereas Susie—’
‘Wife?’ From somewhere—she didn’t know where—anger took over from nausea and shot her furiously back to her feet. ‘And when exactly did I become your wife, César?’ she demanded with a withering scorn. ‘From the moment you realised that your and Susie’s plans were no longer justified, so you had to find another way to keep me here incarcerated on this island?’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ he snapped, beginning to stride towards her. ‘I told you I had no intention of harming you! Why can’t you show me a little trust?’
Trust. There was that rotten word again.
‘What is there to trust?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘Your word—when you’ve done nothing but break it since I met you?’
‘Just because I asked for a little common charity does not mean I am about to break my word to you!’ he rasped as he reached her.
‘No? Well, my answer is a clear-cut, unequivocal no. I won’t hand over the Cliché job to Susie.’ Her blue eyes lifted to challenge him with a look of fierce contempt. ‘So where do we go form here? César—hmm?’ she taunted dangerously. ‘Where…?’