The Royal House of Karedes: One Family
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His slow, delicious, tormenting caresses didn’t stop. Just one finger, cruising the contours of her lips and she couldn’t look away from the promise of passion in his eyes. She forgot where they were, the low hum of the airplane faded to nothing—only conscious of the sound of her own breathing and the intensity of his attention.
To her equal dismay and pleasure he moved his finger from her mouth, running it down the length of her throat, circling around the hollow at the base of it. Then he slid it first one side, then the other, to smooth over her collarbones.
She wanted to say something, but couldn’t think what. Couldn’t think at all. His gaze dropped, breaking the stare, and the corners of his mouth lifted into that smile that she half loathed, half loved. And his finger went lower, right down the centre of her breastbone. He flicked to one side and with slow deliberation circled around her nipple.
‘This is why,’ he repeated softly.
She looked down and discovered a bra wasn’t necessary when James paid attention to her breasts. He had a better effect than any support or surgery ever could. She could feel the way they’d swollen and lifted, tightening at his touch. Now, in her thin top, her nipples were clearly visible—peaks jutting out, begging for attention. They were so hard it hurt.
She looked back at his sardonic expression and realised that he was still in control. While only the slightest of touches had had her almost on her knees wanting more, he was sitting back—the amused antagonist. She wanted him to be as affected as she was.
She pushed his hand away and sat up sharply. ‘It’s the air-conditioning.’ She inserted as much frost as possible into her reply. ‘Planes. I’m always cold on them.’
His laugh was warm and inside she softened in response. She responded the way she did to everything he did—uncontrollably.
‘Really?’ he teased. ‘Then why are you so hot here?’ His fingers traipsed leisurely across her brow. His voice dropped even lower, a lover’s whisper. ‘Where else are you hot, princess?’
She stared into eyes that were dark and devastating. She knew she was sinking into them. Her body melting; if he kissed her again she’d lose it.
The sexual attraction was like a third force—there was her, there was him, and there was this thing between them—drawing her closer, ever closer.
And she was hot everywhere. Was it the same for him? Couldn’t be—or he wouldn’t have been able to stop so easily last time.
James was making a claim. But he wasn’t relinquishing control—not of himself or of the situation. It made him a challenge she wasn’t sure she had the strength to pass on.
But he was her boss. And there was something else about James that put her even more on alert. Partly, it was the sheer strength of that physical attraction, but partly it was because she had the feeling he’d see right through her if she let him.
What would he see? Anything? It was strangely important to her that he think well of her. Stupid, when so few people in authority like him did. So, for now, she’d retreat. Laugh the whole thing off with some sarcasm. ‘Do you always try to sleep with your secretaries?’
He sat back, obviously amused. ‘Only the ones above average height, with dark hair and who aren’t afraid to bite back.’
She pretended to think for a bit. ‘Maria in Accounts would suit.’
‘Maria in Accounts has a husband and two children. That would be messy. I never do messy.’
‘Really? What do you do, then?’
‘Start it simple, keep it physical, end it clean and final.’
She bit the inside of her cheek. That was honesty from him, then—short and to the point and now she knew where she stood. ‘And you’re thinking of starting it with me?’
‘Sweetheart, you know we’ve already started.’
Yeah, but it didn’t seem that simple to her.
‘It is going to happen, you know.’ His eyes were lasers—truth seekers.
‘That certain bet?’
‘Dead certain—remember?’ He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve finally accepted that.’
‘Gosh, you sound so thrilled about it,’ she said with faux jollity, stung by the comment. Then she glared. ‘It’s not like you’re the only one with the decision to make.’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t already decided.’
Her jaw dropped at that.
‘I’m not being arrogant.’ He pushed her chin back up. ‘I’m being honest.’ He didn’t look that happy about it. ‘Besides, it’s a little bigger than the both of us, isn’t it?’ He spoke lightly, his eyes roaming over her mouth. ‘The want.’
Her lips could almost feel the caresses from his gaze. It took a moment for her to hear his next softly spoken words.
‘And you’ve been a little cautious about it too, haven’t you?’
Of course.
Then he offered a solution for both of them. ‘If we give in to it, it will go away.’
Her chest tightened. So he wanted it to go away. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. But he was—just as she was attracted to him. He wanted to work it through and be rid of it. She suppressed the shiver that ran through her body—a mix of desire and of despair.
He unclipped his safety belt, got a couple of soft wool blankets from the locker and sat again. Reached across and unclipped her belt too.
‘Let’s get you comfortable, hmm?’ He spread one blanket out over her and the other over himself. The two overlapped. ‘Can’t have you getting cold.’ He smiled, oblivious to the mix of hurt and heat she felt inside.
But as he drew closer it was the heat that spread, the desire to have him even closer still. His eyes were huge and seemed to read hers, seemed to know exactly what she was thinking—because they reflected it.
‘You warm enough?’ It was a whisper, spoken as his lips lowered. Still not quite close enough. And she was so focused on them, on willing them nearer, that she couldn’t manage to give the answer that was undoubtedly obvious anyway.
‘Princess?’
She lifted her chin and tasted his smile as she pressed her lips to his.
She meant to play it cool. She meant to stay in control. She meant to hide just how hot she was—how hot she thought he was—and try to find out how affected he was. But her mouth parted hungrily without her consent. Welcoming his wickedly teasing tongue once more, wanting him to work it the way he had the other day—and then some. His hands were firm on her jaw, fingers spread, holding her face up to his. Broad palms and long fingers meant he easily cupped her chin and sent fingers down the length of her throat. In a second the kiss was hot and deep and she was shaking with the joy of having him back inside—she wanted more of him inside.
Too soon he lifted his head. He studied her. She couldn’t hide the way her breathing was fast and out of kilter.
‘Not getting too excited, there, are you, princess?’ he said, half-smile in place. ‘It was just a kiss.’
Nothing of the sort. He knew it. She knew it. He was just proving how hollow her words of the other night had been. But he couldn’t blame a woman for wanting to salvage a little pride, could he? Not when he’d been the one to freeze over faster than a raindrop in Antarctica.
Suddenly she feared that being with James could somehow strip her of all pride—and dignity. But just as the fear sent a chill through her, he banished it, simply by taking her mouth again in a lightning-fast move. She was breathless, her slim control toppled completely. She lifted her hands to his head, feeling his hair beneath her fingers. Eyes closing, she let touch and taste and scent envelop her. Shifting in her seat, wanting to move, wanting to moan.
‘Settle down, sweetheart.’ He lifted his mouth from hers again and stroked hands down her arms in a way she knew he intended to be soothing, not stirring. She was still stirred. He spoke some more. ‘I’m not having quick sex in some tiny toilet, even if it is first class.’
What? The sex or the toilet? Oh, she knew the sex would be beyond first class—if his kiss was anything to go by, it would be the best of her life.
She sucked in three lungs full of air and used the extra to clear her head enough to be able to come back with a sort of smart reply. She had to try to handle him and the only way seemed to be to keep it light—or at least try to. ‘Hell, no. Too small, too smelly.’
‘If we’re going to do it we’re going to do it properly.’
‘Hallelujah,’ she quipped, only half joking.
He sort of smiled but his delivery was soft and serious. ‘It’ll be slow, in a bed, with plenty of space, and no one nearby so you can scream away.’
She suppressed the thrill of the image and aimed for cool and sarcastic. ‘What makes you so sure I’ll be screaming?’ It was too breathy to be believable.
His eyes held hers and told her to quit trying to hide it. ‘I won’t stop until you do.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LISS stood no chance. Her mind was spinning. James Black on flirt offensive? With his playful side unleashed, he was far more dangerous than when in lecturing-boss-man mode. He’d made his decision and now was embarking on a slow, deliberate assault. And she was about to cave. It was too exciting not to, too much of a temptation not to, too much of a need not to.
Under the blanket his fingers touched her breast. She shivered as her nipple tightened even harder.
‘Damn air-conditioning,’ he murmured and pulled the blankets higher—to their necks. Then his fingers went to play some more.
‘James,’ she warned.
‘What? All I’m trying to do is warm you up a little, princess. You’ve gone all taut and goose bumpy.’
She was only going to go even more taut the way he was working her. ‘James. I will retaliate.’
His hot laughter on her neck only turned her on more. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘You don’t know who you’re playing with.’ Bravado all the way—and how she was aching for him to take her all the way.
‘Go on, then. Try me.’
She turned more towards him, got as close as the damn airline seats would allow, and slid her fingers under his tee—just as she’d dreamed of doing in the departure lounge. She smoothed palms across his chest, exploring the breadth and warmth. Then, impatient as always, she slid them lower, tracking down the arrow of hair that felt slightly rough beneath her fingertips. To the belt of his jeans. It was surprisingly easy to push the tongue of the belt through the loop one-handed, without being able to see it under the blanket.
His breathing deepened.
But there was no way she could get the fly of his jeans undone—it was pulled too taut by the straining ridge beneath. She had to be content with stroking the length of it—up and down through the material. Quite desperately she wanted to feel him bare in her hand. She’d take him in her mouth if she thought she could get away with it, if they could somehow be discreet.
He must have read her mind because he looked into her eyes, his own slightly glassy. And his hand moved under the blanket, covering hers, not gripping harshly but firm enough to stop her from her task.
‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Why not?’ she muttered, excited by the feel of him, the thick length. She wanted him free, right up against his stomach, and she really wished she could take a good look because it felt fantastic—big and hard.
‘You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?’
‘I think so.’ She smiled.
And then he smiled back at her—a smile of warmth and want and no hint of mockery or sarcasm. And while she was melting he stole the advantage back.
He easily gripped both her hands in one of his, dragging her half across the seat and almost into his own. He angled her so her shoulder and upper back rested on his chest, so they were both looking towards the windows. Then, under cover of the blankets, he slipped his fingers under her top, pushed aside the lace of her bra and teased her nipple. He nuzzled her neck and she closed her eyes—wanting, wanting, wanting more.
He knew. He moved, worked his hand down the front of her pants, easily slipping between fabric and skin. They didn’t kiss again, not wanting to draw attention from other passengers—not wanting the intensity broken. Instead his hand moved, with almost imperceptible movements—tiny rubbing ones, which she matched with tiny rocking. And his other hand held both of hers and she felt bound to him, to the sensual spell he had her under. He was leading the dance and she seemed to have no option but to follow. There was no escape; she could only ride on the storm he was brewing.
Suddenly the inevitability of it oppressed her and she filled with the need to fight, to gain some control over her raging desires, some control over him.
She clamped her upper thighs together. ‘I’m not going to have an orgasm on an aeroplane surrounded by passengers.’ She choked the words out.
‘No?’ His voice was rough. ‘But you’re close.’ Statement not question.
His breath stirred her ear and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips tighter together, trying to stop the moans, trying to stop the sensations from overwhelming her. How could she want him so badly?
‘You really are built for pleasure, aren’t you?’
Something in the way he said it made her freeze completely. What was she doing having a grope in public? This was a cheap and easy thrill—was that all he thought she was? What about him?
‘James. Stop.’
He did immediately. Got the ice in her tone and got his hand out of her pants. She turned. His frown was almost imperceptible but it was there.
‘And here was me thinking you were a wild child,’ he said. ‘A hedonist. Someone who’d take pleasure any chance she could get it.’
She moved, going to the far side of her own seat—putting what little distance she could between them. ‘I’m not everything you think me, James.’ She smiled and bluffed. ‘It has to be the right place, the right time.’ She paused. ‘The right person.’
‘The right person, for the right moment.’
Momentary. She rebelled against his automatic assumption that this would be short-lived. Why did everyone think anything she was involved in would be transient?
But his attention was still on her body. ‘What will you be like? Will you close your eyes or will you let me see you raw in your ecstasy?’
‘You’re wondering what kind of performance you’ll get?’ Her frustration moved to anger.
His eyes lifted, trapping hers, and it was all serious intensity. ‘I’m not interested in performance. I’m not interested in the princess thing or anything of the trappings. I’m interested in what’s underneath.’
She knew he didn’t mean her clothes. ‘What if there’s nothing?’
That stopped him. Their eyes met—stripped of desire, forced to reveal painful honesty.
He spoke, the words ground out slowly as he frowned. ‘I don’t want to believe that.’ He reached his hand across the seats and spread his fingers slightly to the left of her breastbone. The palm of his hand pressed against her heart. His hand was big and strong and she knew he could hold her heart in that one hand alone. The thought was scary.
He pushed, fingers digging a little into her breast as he emphasised his words. ‘I’d like to think there might be things in there that you don’t let anyone see.’
‘Why, James.’ She laughed, wanting to push him back, not wanting him to feel how much faster her heart beat when he touched her, when he pried too close. ‘You’re a romantic.’
The momentary openness in his gaze was shuttered. His hand withdrew. ‘I’m not, princess. I’ve already told you the way I play it. So don’t delude yourself about me. You do enough of that in other areas of your life already.’
It was OK for him to challenge her, but not for her to question him? All she wanted was the same as what he wanted from her—to find out what was underneath. Yes, he was charming and witty and urbane, but not very far under the surface was this layer of steel that hid a depth to his personality. She wanted to understand why he kept it so reserved. But he wasn’t going to let her. So why should she grant him things that he wasn’t about to give her?
She knew he wanted her. But she also knew he didn’t want to. And while she knew the reasons why an affair with him was a bad idea for her, she didn’t know his reasons. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to want her so badly. She didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
All the heat faded and she truly did feel cold.
He draped his blanket on top of hers, giving her the extra layer. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve got a big night ahead of you tomorrow.’
She felt the finality of his words and got the message. The fooling around was finished. Light, naughty talk was all it was—he might have said he wanted to see what was beneath her surface, but it was just words. He certainly didn’t see her real self, not right now—and she’d never be able to show him. Not when she knew he wasn’t interested in anything more than burning out the flame.
But she still wanted him. And if she was going to have him, then she would make sure he was a slave to it as much as she was.
When they finally arrived on Aristo it was early on the morning of the party. James headed straight into meetings with the contractors and Liss buzzed straight to the ballroom to make sure all the plans were in place. The catering company had use of the kitchen and she was pleased to see all the food had arrived and was being prepared with the finishing touches she’d requested.
With a satisfied air she watched for a while as the army of florists worked. The building itself was spectacular. She’d just added some exquisite details. There was no way it wouldn’t be a success.
In the late afternoon she dressed with care but with speed, hyped on adrenalin. Underneath she bubbled with the kind of excitement that came only from anticipation of what delights the evening might bring. The evening when James would be wearing a tux and, fingers crossed, be totally wowed by all her efforts. Surely, once the party was done, she deserved a little reward? Technically her work for him would be done, so she could kind of argue that he was no longer her boss. And no one else from the Sydney office was here. No one would know…
She paused in the doorway, the earliest she’d ever arrived at a ball, but as she was effectively the hostess she had to be here to greet her guests. She ran her hands over her hips—smoothing the sensuous fabric with satisfaction. She’d gone with black—classic, elegant. A one-off designer number—sexy and sophisticated, and she’d been saving it for just such an occasion.
James saw her immediately; for a moment they looked each other over and the electric attraction pulsed between them. The flash of heat was so intense she wanted to bail out on the ball and have him in her room right then. Nobody, but nobody wore a tux The way James Black did.
‘Princess.’ He was the one who spoke, reminding her of the presence of the manager, of all the wait staff.
‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the decoration of the ballroom,’ the manager gushed.
Liss smiled, replied politely and wondered why James wasn’t gushing—he should be. But he stood quiet beside her and then the guests began to arrive. As fun as it was catching up with everyone she only had an awareness of him. Almost on auto she mingled and mixed up the people, kept an eye on the overview, ensuring everything was going as smoothly as possible.
Waiters filled glasses from a fountain she’d had installed—it ceaselessly flowed with Cristal champagne. The room was filled with the heady scent of the orchids she’d had flown in specially. Gathered in large boughs, they were exotic and dramatic and doused the place in an atmosphere of expense.
She couldn’t help frequently glancing at James to assess his reaction. She saw him take some of the caviar that was being offered on exquisite napkins. There was nothing more exclusive. He ate one sample but didn’t take another. She saw him looking round at the guests filling the room, saw him look at his watch. She felt pleased. They were all here, already—all eager to come to what was the ball of the year. The dresses and skin on show were something. She stood and smiled and chatted. A success, right from the start. She’d actually done it. A giddy glow warmed her—heightened by the knowledge that he was so close.
They weren’t even an hour into it when James discreetly gestured for her to join him. She fell into step, her body tightening, teased by the thought of being alone with him. He led her out of the ballroom to one of the little meeting rooms down the corridor.
He waited for her to go in ahead of him. ‘How do you think it’s going?’
She smiled as she heard him close the door behind them and her level of excitement rose another notch. ‘It’s marvelous, isn’t it?’
She looked at him and lost her smile immediately at the hard glare in his eyes. What? What was wrong?
‘You don’t think there’s anything missing?’
She couldn’t think of anything. Incredible food, incredible wine, incredible company—what else was there?
He nodded at her blankness. ‘Why are we having this ball, princess?’
She really didn’t like the way he said ‘princess’. ‘To celebrate the opening of the hotel.’
‘Right. Why else?’
There was another reason for the celebration?
‘To promote it, right?’ He spoon-fed her the answer.
‘Yes.’And it was a wonderful promotion—everyone would see how fabulous the hotel was.
‘So what’s missing?’
She really couldn’t think—everyone who was anyone was here.
His temper started to show then as slowly, super sarcastically, he spelt it out for her. ‘What about cameras, princess? Photographers. Journalists. TV people.’
Oh…
‘This wasn’t just some jolly for you to arrange for all your mates, Elissa. I’m running a business here. I wanted it in every glossy magazine on the planet. Remember?’
Yes. That bit was coming back to her now.
‘You didn’t arrange flights and accommodation for any press, did you?’
Feeling too sick to speak, she simply shook her head. She’d been too busy planning all the exclusive stuff and inviting the who’s who.
‘What did you think was going to happen—that the world’s media would flock just because you’re in attendance? Well, sorry, sweetheart, this wasn’t about some blurry paparazzi shot showing you worse for wear.’
The words knifed deep into her heart.
‘It isn’t all about you, princess.’
The knife twisted.
‘I just can’t believe you could screw this up. What on earth were you thinking?’
She’d been thinking of him.
‘When I ask you to do a job, you do it—properly.’
She’d tried, she’d really tried but…
‘It’s my own fault.’ He spoke more to himself than her. ‘I should never have left this up to you. I should never have thought for a second that you could manage it.’
She had no answer to that.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, visibly trying to contain his temper. She’d really rather he yelled and stomped around the room a bit. But he was too much of a man for that—with too good a rein on his emotions.
And it really hurt. She stood still, not wanting to move, not wanting to breathe in case he flared and said something else in that horrible way. And she couldn’t think of a thing to do to make it better.
‘The champagne is good,’ he finally spoke again—quiet, colourless.
She nodded, hoping for a lightening of the atmosphere. No way could he find fault with her taste. ‘Cristal.’
‘And the decoration on the napkins for the caviar—what’s that?’
‘Real gold leaf.’ She managed to get her voice higher than a thread that time.
He grunted. Maybe it was a snort. Either way it didn’t sound positive. ‘So tell me.’
Tell him what? Hell, this was such a nightmare and he was stringing it out.
‘How much?’ he asked, as if it were obvious.
‘Pardon?’
‘How much did this party cost me?’