Taming the Rebel Tycoon

CHAPTER SIX

B ITING back the surge of panic, Tina told herself not to be ridiculous and said, ‘Richard?’ To her everlasting credit, her voice was steady.

‘I’m here.’ A hand reached out of the pitch-blackness and took hers. ‘All right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was just checking the torch. I’m afraid the bulb’s gone.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘As we’re about halfway, we may as well go on.’

‘Very well,’ she agreed.

His fingers tightened on hers. ‘All you have to do is move slowly and carefully and keep your head down. For a while it’s relatively straight and level, then it starts to gradually climb again.’

For what seemed an age, they moved forward at a snail’s pace and eventually the ground began to slope upwards. Hampered by her high heels, it became more difficult to keep her footing and her ankle started to throb painfully.

She was accordingly grateful when Richard announced, ‘Not far now.’

After a few more yards he released her hand. ‘Wait here a moment.’

Once again she experienced that scary feeling of being abandoned in the smothering darkness and was forced to bite her lip.

Then she heard the brush of feet on stone, the scrape of metal on metal and the protesting creak of old hinges. A moment later moonlight came flooding coldly in to illuminate a flight of crumbling steps.

Richard returned to take her hand and they climbed them together, emerging through a small iron-banded door into a roofless half-ruined tower full of bright moonlight and deep shadow.

‘So this is where they used to meet,’ she said wonderingly.

‘Yes. But of course in those days it was merely deserted, not ruined. However, despite the state it’s in, it’s steeped in history and well worth seeing.’

Closing the door behind them, he turned to look at her and, taking a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned a smear of black from her cheek. Then, wiping the hand he had used to follow the tunnel wall, he continued, ‘However, given the ordeal you’ve just gone through, you must be sorry you ever agreed to come.’

‘No, not at all. It was quite an experience.’

From the picture he’d built up in his mind after reading Grimshaw’s reports, he wouldn’t have thought her capable of exercising such self-control and the fact that she’d taken things so calmly had both surprised and intrigued him.

Raising her hand to his lips, he said quietly, ‘I thought you might go to pieces, but obviously I’d underestimated your courage.’

As he had underestimated her beauty.

Still holding her hand, he looked into her face, made both fascinating and mysterious by the moonlight, his eyes lingering on her mouth.

Flustered by his praise and afraid that if he kissed her she would weaken, she half turned away. ‘At least I wasn’t alone, as Mag must have been. And presumably she had only a taper or a candle.’

‘Which was, I daresay, somewhat more reliable than our torch,’ he commented dryly.

Tina had started to smile when, taking her completely by surprise, he turned her into his arms and lifted her face to his. For an instant he looked down at her with queer darkened eyes, then his mouth covered hers.

Her lips parted helplessly beneath the masterful pressure of his and he deepened the kiss, reawakening all the clamouring demons of that morning and sending pleasure coursing through her like red-hot lava.

Lost in a world of sensual delight, she was limp and quivering, almost mindless with desire, when a warning bell began to ring and she stiffened.

His blood heated with anticipation of the night ahead, Richard found it far from easy to play a waiting game, but, feeling that tacit resistance, he ended the kiss and lifted his head.

Drawing a deep, ragged breath, she told herself that she was thankful he’d called a halt. She had virtually no defences against him and if he hadn’t drawn away when he did, if he’d laid her down there and then on the moonlit grass, she would have been his for the taking.

And he would have thought her easy.

For a moment or two she struggled to pull herself together. When she had, to some extent, succeeded, she found her voice and said a little breathlessly, ‘The tower’s bigger than I first thought. How many rooms did it have?’

He told her and began to point out where the different floors had once been, where the fireplaces had been situated and where the old stone stairs had spiralled upwards.

When she had seen all there was to see, he turned away and reached to take her hand. Afraid of his touch, afraid of weakening, she pulled it free.

Without comment, he led the way through a gap in the crumbling walls, where long grass and weeds were thrusting up between the fallen stones.

Favouring her bad ankle and trying her best not to hobble, she followed him as best she could.

He made no further attempt to hold her hand; indeed he appeared to be deep in thought as they headed back towards the castle.

They were skirting the beechwood—the glorious blaze of colour bleached to a pale bluey-purple by the moonlight—when, wanting to break the silence, she reminded him, ‘You didn’t finish telling me what happened to Mag.’

He roused himself and said, ‘I’m afraid it’s a sad tale. One night, it seems, she waited for Sir Gerwain in vain and the next day she learnt—’

Tina was looking up at him, concentrating on what he was telling her, when her injured ankle turned painfully.

At her little gasp, he stopped speaking abruptly and threw an arm around her to steady her as she wobbled on one leg.

His voice grim, he said, ‘I should have had more sense than to take you walking in those heels.’

‘I should have had more sense than wear them,’ she admitted ruefully.

He took off his jacket and, spreading it on the grass, lowered her on to it. Then, squatting down, he examined her ankle, which was already showing signs of swelling.

‘Well, that settles it,’ he announced firmly. ‘You can’t possibly go back to town in this state. The best place for you is bed.’

‘Oh, but I—’

Rising to his feet, he said, ‘There’s no way you can walk on that. A cold compress, a good night’s sleep and we’ll see how it is in the morning…’

He’d had two objectives and his first had been achieved more or less by chance. Now, with a bit of luck, he could make use of that same chance to achieve his second.

‘However,’ he went on, ‘at the moment our priority is to get you back.’

Gathering herself, she made a valiant attempt to struggle up.

‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered. ‘No doubt we could make it back under our own steam, but it’s a fair distance, so it would make more sense to have some transport.’

She was waiting for him to say he would walk back and fetch the car, when he asked, ‘Do you have your mobile handy? I’m afraid I left mine in my jacket pocket when I changed.’

‘Yes.’ She fished in her shoulder bag and produced her phone.

‘Thanks…I’ll ask Mullins to drive round and fetch us…

‘Ah, Mullins,’ he said after a moment, ‘Miss Dunbar has hurt her ankle walking back from Daland Tower. We’re by the beechwood, if you could pick us up…’

Then, to Tina, ‘He’ll be here directly.’ Switching off the phone, he slipped it casually into his trousers pocket and sat down beside her, his muscular thigh brushing hers. ‘Now, I was telling you about Mag. Where had I got to exactly?’

‘One night Sir Gerwain didn’t turn up…’ she prompted somewhat distractedly.

‘Right…Well, the next day, Mag learnt that he was about to marry a lady of rank. A lady he’d been betrothed to since they were both children.

‘Left pregnant and alone, Mag threw herself off the battlements into the moat.

‘But, if the ghostly legend is to be believed, on moonlit nights she still walks there, waiting for her faithless lover.’

Hearing Tina’s sigh, he said, ‘I told you it was a sad story.’

‘To be honest, I hadn’t expected anything else. I’ve never heard of any ghost who haunted a place because he or she had been happy there.’

His teeth gleamed as he laughed. ‘And I always thought it was men who were practical and women who were romantic.’

‘Perhaps it is as a rule.’

Looking into her eyes, he said, ‘But you’re a fascinating mixture of both.’ Then, sounding almost surprised, ‘I’ve never met a woman who intrigued me as much as you do.’

The intensity of his gaze was as intimate as a touch. It made her senses reel.

Still gazing into her eyes, he leaned forward and, while she sat there as though mesmerized, touched his lips lightly to hers.

Then, a hand on her nape, he deepened the kiss until there was nothing in the whole world but him and what he was making her feel.

Eyes closed, heart pounding, she had just accepted that she was lost, when he drew away and said, ‘Mullins will be here at any moment.’

As he spoke she heard an engine and a second or two later an estate car came bumping over the rough grass towards them.

Richard helped her up and into the car before pulling on his jacket and climbing in beside her.

‘If I’m not going back to town tonight—’ she spoke the thought aloud ‘—I ought to let the hotel know.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll take care of that as soon as we get back.’

When they reached the castle, Mullins drove carefully over the cobbled courtyard and, stopping by the impressive door, got out to open it, while Richard came round to Tina’s side and, stooping, instructed, ‘Put your arms round my neck.’

When she obeyed, he lifted her out effortlessly and carried her inside, saying to Mullins on the way, ‘Thanks and goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, sir, madam.’

‘Goodnight,’ Tina said huskily.

Though she tried to stay calm, being held in Richard’s arms and cradled against his broad chest made her heart start to throw itself against her ribcage and her breathing quicken and grow ragged.

Since she had first seen him standing in Cartel’s loading bay she had been drawn to him, fascinated by him, beguiled and bewitched.

And that dark enchantment and the sexual tension that accompanied it had never slackened. In fact it had increased, so that she no longer trusted her ability to be strong, to follow the course she had set herself…

But somehow she had to hide that growing weakness, otherwise he would take advantage of it and then she would lose what little was left of her pride…

As he carried her up the stairs and into his suite she realised that, like the previous night, though her breathing had quickened, his hadn’t altered in the slightest.

Carrying her through to the guest room, he said, ‘I presume, from all you said earlier, that you’d prefer to sleep here.’

It was a statement rather than a question and it made it easier to answer, ‘Yes, thank you. I would,’ and sound as if she meant it.

When she had dropped her bag on the nearest chair he carried her into the bathroom and, setting her down carefully, helped her off with her coat before asking, ‘Shall I ring for one of the maids?’

‘Oh, no. There’s no need to disturb anyone so late. I can manage perfectly well.’

‘In that case I’ll fetch your bag.’

Returning with them almost immediately, he queried, ‘Sure you’re all right for the moment?’

‘Quite sure, thank you.’

‘Then I’ll ring the hotel and find some strapping for that ankle.’

Handicapped as she was, it took her longer than usual to shower, clean her teeth and put on her nightdress and gown. Finally, warm and dry and scented, she brushed out her long corn-gold hair. Normally, for bed, she braided it, but, fearing a plait might look childish, she returned to the bedroom with it loose around her shoulders.

He was sitting in one of the low chairs, his long legs stretched out, his ankles crossed negligently.

Rising to his feet at her approach, he said lightly, ‘All ready with the first aid kit.’

‘I’m sorry to have been so long,’ she apologized.

‘Considering the difficulties, I think you’ve been remarkably quick…’

He turned the quilt back. ‘Now, then, if you’d like to get into bed, I’ll take a look at that ankle.’

Her calf-length nightdress was relatively modest and, slipping off her gown, she got into bed, praying he would do what he needed to do and go quickly.

When she was settled against the pillows, he examined her ankle once more, his strong fingers gently probing the slight swelling.

Seeing her wince, he said, ‘It should be a lot less painful once it’s strapped up.’

Taking a pad soaked in something cold and a stretch bandage, he sat down on the edge of the bed and proceeded to deftly apply them.

‘There—’he tucked the end in neatly ‘—how does that feel?’

‘Much better already, thank you.’

‘With a bit of luck it will be as good as new by morning.’He rose to his feet and pulled the quilt up in preparation for going.

She was just breathing a sigh of relief when he sat down again and studied her face. ‘You look a bit pale and tense; would you like a hot drink and a couple of painkillers before I leave you?’

Very conscious of him, she shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I don’t really need them. My ankle’s fine while I’m lying down. It only hurts when I try to put any weight on it…’ Realising that nervousness was making her babble, she stopped abruptly.

‘Then if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll say goodnight.’

Leaning over, he kissed her, his mouth brushing hers lightly, seductively. Then, his lips tracing the soft underside of her chin and travelling down the creamy column of her throat, he whispered, ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about sharing my bed?’

Feeling as though she was drowning in honey, she struggled against the temptation to say she had. Though she couldn’t remember anything about it, she was no longer a virgin, so what had she got to lose?

Her self-respect, that was what! And it was important to her. Last night she had been drunk and unable to help herself, but tonight she was stone cold sober and responsible for her actions.

‘I want to make love to you,’ he murmured softly, while his hands found the soft curves of her breasts and the firming nipples beneath the thin satin of her nightdress, ‘I want to sleep with you in my arms, to wake to find you beside me and make love to you all over again…Tell me you want it, too…’

Her lips moved, but no sound came.

‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

‘I can’t!’ It was almost a sob. ‘I can’t…’

‘Why can’t you? I know you want me. Your whole body’s telling me so.’

‘I’ve never…’ She swallowed hard, then went on desperately, ‘I’ve never gone in for one-night stands or casual sex and I don’t want to start now.’

He frowned a little. ‘Who said anything about a one-night stand or casual sex? Neither the way I feel about you, nor my intentions are in any way casual.’

His words held a ring of truth and her heart leapt. If it really was true, it altered everything.

Then common sense told her not to be foolish. How could he feel anything for her when they’d only known each other for twenty-four hours?

But why couldn’t he?

What she felt for him, whether she called it infatuation or falling in love, was anything but casual. In fact it was so strong, so overwhelming, it made anything she had felt for Kevin fade into insignificance.

Shaken and confused, she stared down at the old patchwork quilt, its colours faded and mellowed by time, while a part of her mind, standing detached, aloof, thought how pretty it was.

After a moment or two when, head bent, she remained silent, he rose to his feet and said evenly, ‘Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’

She watched him head for the door, her thoughts racing. Just for the sake of her pride or the fear of what the future might hold, was she going to let him walk away? Turn her back on this chance to be with him? If it all ended in tears, at least she would have known some happiness…

His hand was on the latch when she spoke his name.

Though her voice was barely above a whisper, he turned and looked at her.

‘Please don’t go.’

He came to the side of the bed and, his handsome face alight with satisfaction and triumph, asked, ‘You’ve never slept in a centuries-old four-poster on a goosefeather bed?’

‘No.’ Nor did she know what it was like to sleep in a man’s arms.

Pulling back the quilt, he scooped her up. ‘Then this will be a first.’

In the master bedroom, which was unlit save for a log fire that blazed cheerfully in the wide stone hearth, the air smelt pleasantly of pine-resin, beeswax and lavender. The pillows on the splendid four-poster had been plumped up and the bed-clothes turned down invitingly.

He carried her over to the bed, which was so high that on either side there was a wooden step up to it, and laid her down. Saying, ‘We won’t need this,’ he eased her nightdress over her head and tossed it aside, before pulling up the covers.

When he had quickly stripped off his own clothes and hung them over a chair, he disappeared into the bathroom, promising softly, ‘I won’t be long.’

As the door closed behind him, some lines from an anonymous poem began to run through her head:

The day had faded fast and gone, and in that shining night, he offered me a precious gift, a promise of delight…

A thrill of excitement and anticipation ran through her, making her breath catch in her throat and her heart beat erratically.

Moonlight gleamed on the casements and somewhere close at hand an owl hooted with melancholy mirth, while in the grate a log slipped and settled, sending up a shower of bright sparks and making long shadows dance across the ceiling.

The bathroom door opened and he came out, his dark hair still damp from the shower and without a stitch on, as she had seen him that morning.

Was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago.

She had thought then what a magnificent male animal he was. Now, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Every bone in her body seemed to melt with longing and her entire being cried out for his possession.

Her face must have registered what she was thinking and feeling, because he said in a voice shaken between passion and laughter, ‘When you look at me like that you make me feel like Suleiman.’

He slid beneath the covers and joined her.

The moment he touched her she began to tremble.

Running his hands down her slender body and feeling her response, he said softly, ‘You’re all fizz and sparkle, like champagne.

‘But though champagne is heady and exhilarating, it’s light, surface stuff.’

Taking first one pink nipple in his mouth and then the other, he suckled sweetly while his long fingers found the silken warmth of her inner thighs.

Not wanting it to be over almost before it had begun, she tried to push his hand away, to hold back. But he would have none of it.

A few seconds later she gave a little cry as sensation followed sensation, like surface ripples on a pool that spread in ever-widening circles round a flung stone.

When the sensations had died away, unconsciously she sighed. Though he had given her a great deal of pleasure, she had wanted the experience to be a shared one…

As she lay with closed eyes, he kissed her and said, ‘Now the fizz has been disposed of we can go on to enjoy something altogether deeper and more rewarding, like a rich, satisfying Burgundy.’

His hands began to move lightly over her, stroking and caressing, making each nerve-ending spring into life and effortlessly reviving the desire she had thought sated.

By the time he fitted himself into the cradle of her hips, eager for his possession, she welcomed his weight. Even so, his first strong thrust made her gasp and, as though taken by surprise, he paused and asked, ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Yes…No…It doesn’t matter.’ With an instinct as old as Eve, she lifted her hips enticingly and he began to move again, but a little more cautiously.

‘All right?’ he queried after a moment or two.

Caught up now in a spiralling pleasure, she was past answering, but her flung back head and soft gasping cries were answer enough.

Reassured, he carried them both to a shattering climax that sent them tumbling and spinning through time and space.

Wrapped in black velvet, the sensations so deep and intense that she was shaken to the very core of her being, she lay beneath him, shuddering helplessly.

At the same time she felt exalted, omnipotent, the feel of his flesh against hers and the weight of his dark head on her breast a priceless gift.

She knew a sudden poignant happiness. He was her man. Her mate. Her love .