“Are you pregnant, Charlotte?”

“Yes, I am,” she said bluntly. She was thrilled and excited at the prospect, but also frightened, and she wanted nothing more than for Jake to take her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. But by the look on his face she doubted he would.

Jake was madder than hell. It was so obvious she had put him squarely in the frame as the father…but was he? No woman had enraged and inflamed him as comprehensively as Charlotte. He had tried to put her out of his mind, but his body would not let him—a galling admission to make, but not one he intended to act on. He had no intention of being conned by a blue-eyed little gold digger—however desirable, he amended, his hard eyes sweeping back up to her lovely face.

Jake stiffened, and he was back to his cool, arrogant best, all trace of emotion gone, more like the Jake she knew so well. “There is nothing ideal about bringing up a child without a father. So we will get married as soon as it can be arranged.”

He’s got her firmly in his grasp and she has only one chance of survival—surrender to his blackmail…and him…in bed!

Bedded by… Blackmail!

The new miniseries from Harlequin Presents®

Dare you read it?

Coming soon:

Back in her Husband’s Bed

by Melanie Milburne

#2516

Pregnancy of Revenge
Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘EXCUSE me, Charlotte.’ Ted Smyth, the owner of the prestigious London art gallery, gave the woman at his side a smile. ‘But the prospective Italian purchaser of “The Waiting Woman” has just arrived. I must speak to him and get him to sign on the dotted line.’

‘Of course.’ Charlotte Summerville, Charlie to her friends and daughter of the artist whose works were being exhibited at the gallery, watched Ted vanish into the crowd and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

Alone at last. She glanced longingly at the exit. The bald old man who leered back at her must be the Italian purchaser Ted was chasing, she thought grimly. In fact, the whole event was grim to Charlie. Mingling with the top echelons of the London art world was not her scene, and she wondered how soon she could decently leave. Now would be good, she suddenly decided, and edged through the crowd towards the exit.

Jake d’Amato exited Ted Smyth’s office having concluded a deal on a painting he had been determined to obtain from the moment he had discovered it existed. He had arrived in London a few hours ago from Italy, and gone directly to a business meeting. But as he’d checked into his hotel afterwards he had glanced over a stand of leaflets advertising forthcoming events, and the name Robert Summerville had caught his attention. He had unfolded the pamphlet announcing that an exhibition of the late artist’s work was to open that evening, and an image of his foster-sister Anna had assaulted his vision. Filled with cold black rage, he had determined to prevent the showing.

A call to his lawyer had informed him that the artist’s estate owned the copyright, and legally he could do nothing. Frustrated, he had realised he was too late to stop the portrait going on display, but he had made an immediate call to the gallery owner and reserved the painting.

By the time he had arrived at the gallery he had control of his temper. He knew Summerville had a young daughter, and the executors of his estate were entitled to sell the paintings for her benefit.

But Jake had been surprised to discover from Ted that the same daughter had opened the exhibition. What had really captured his interest was the fact she was not the young girl Anna had described to him as a spoilt little selfish brat, but a shrewd businesswoman. It had been her decision to sell the paintings. Robert Summerville was dead and beyond his reach, but a mature daughter put a very different complexion on the situation.

‘So which lady is the artist’s daughter?’ Jake asked Ted with just the right amount of curiosity in his tone. ‘I’d very much like to meet her and offer her my condolences on the sad loss of her father.’

And ask her what she intended doing with the exorbitant amount of money she was going to inherit, if the price of the picture he had just bought was anything to go by, Jake thought cynically. Not that he needed to ask—greed, plain and simple, had to be her motivation. Why else would she expose her late father’s lovers to public scrutiny without having the grace to inform them first?

He hated Robert Summerville, although he had never met the man. But at least Summerville had had the decency to keep the paintings a secret. Not so his daughter. Jake could have forgiven a young girl for being influenced by the executors of the estate. In his experience most lawyers would sell their own grandmother if the price was right. But for an adult female to have so little respect for the women involved, and one in particular, Jake found disgusting.

His dark eyes narrowed. He could do nothing about the exposure the painting had already received. But he was going to put the woman down verbally and publicly, so neither she nor the assembled crowd would be left in any doubt as to his low opinion of her.

Charlotte Summerville deserved to be shown up for the avaricious bitch she was.

No trace of his true feelings showed on his hard dark face as he watched Ted look around and then point to a woman at the far side of the room.

‘That’s Charlotte, the blonde over there in black—standing by the portrait you’ve just bought, as it happens. Come on, I’ll introduce you. I can remove the painting at the same time and have it sent to your home as we agreed.’

Musing on the vagaries of the artistic world, Charlie was totally unaware of the interest she had aroused in one particular male patron of the arts.

In life her father had been a modestly successful landscape artist, and it was only after his death that his private collection of nude portraits had come to light. Suddenly Robert Summerville was famous—or perhaps infamous was a better word, as it was rumoured he had been the lover of all the ladies he had painted.

It was probably true. Because, much as she’d loved her dad, there was no escaping the fact that he had been the most self-absorbed, self-indulgent man she had ever known. Tall, blond and handsome, with enough charm to woo a nun out of her habit, he had lived the life of the bohemian artist to the full. But he had never truly loved any woman.

No—she was being unfair. Her father had loved her, she knew. After her mother had died when she was eleven, her dad had insisted she spend a few weeks’ holiday every year with him at his home in France. And he had left her everything he owned.

Charlie had known about one of the nude portraits, but she had discovered the rest when clearing out her dad’s studio with Ted. It had come as something of a shock, but no great surprise. That was partly because, on her first visit to her father in France after the death of her mother, she had met Jess, his then lady friend, and liked her. But when Charlie had walked into his studio uninvited one day and found her dad naked with Jess, and saw the portrait he was working on, her dad had reacted with shame and fury. From then on he had always sent his current lover away when Charlie spent time with him. For a man of his morals to be so protective of his daughter was ironic, to say the least.

Ted had taken one look at the portraits and suggested arranging an exhibition. He’d advised Charlie to open it, to add human interest and help the sale of her father’s work even more than his sudden death at the age of forty-six had done.

At first Charlie had flatly refused. She did not need the money. She had earned her own living for the past six years, when after the death of her grandfather she had taken over the running of the family hotel in the Lake District that had been their business and her home for all her life. But she knew thousands of people who did need the money.

Eventually she had spoken to Jess and offered to give her the painting she had posed for. Jess had been in favour of the pictures being exhibited, and approved of Charlie’s idea to give any money made to charity, and Charlie had finally agreed to Ted’s proposal.

At least something good would come out of her father’s death, she thought with a tinge of sadness as she proceeded towards her goal.

Almost at the exit, the last canvas arrested her attention for a moment. The lady portrayed had incredibly long dark hair curving over one shoulder and falling almost to her thigh. But it was the face of the woman that really disturbed her. The artist had captured the love, the need in the dark eyes to a point it was almost painful to see.

Poor fool, Charlotte thought with a rare cynical smile twisting her full lips. How had the woman never realised what a philanderer Robert Summerville had been? Of the thirty paintings in the gallery, ten were nude studies of women. With a wry shake of her head she turned to walk away.

Jake d’Amato’s narrowed gaze never wavered from the woman Ted had indicated as he moved through the elegant crowd at Ted’s side.

She was about five eight, he judged: shapely with long legs, a simple black wool dress moulding her figure, outlining high, firm breasts and the gentle curve of her hips and thighs. Her hair was ash blonde and swept up in a twist on top of her head. Jake’s dark eyes glittered with primitive male appreciation, and surprisingly he found himself drawing in a stunned breath. She wore little make-up and yet she was quite beautiful. She had obviously inherited her father’s good looks but in an innocent, understated way.

Then his body tensed, and his dark eyes flared with barely leashed rage. Anna had been right. Charlotte Summerville had refused to meet Anna in life, and in death her disdain for her father’s last lover was obvious in the knowing cynical smile that twisted her full lips, followed by a dismissive shake of her head as, with a sexy sway of her hips, she turned away from the portrait. As for innocent—he doubted a woman with a body like hers even remembered the meaning of the word.

‘Charlotte, darling.’ Ted’s voice rang out loud and clear. ‘I have someone here who wants to meet you.’

Charlie stiffened, cursing under her breath. Dwelling on the past, she had left it too late to escape. Reluctantly she lifted her head, resigned to wasting yet more time being polite to some wealthy fat old man who got off on looking at paintings of nude women. All in pursuit of the great god Mammon. Bare mammary glands were obviously a great money-spinner. Her lips curved up in a naughty smile at the thought.

‘Allow me to introduce you to Jake d’Amato. He is a great admirer of your father’s work, and has just bought this painting.’

Charlie’s blue eyes, still lit with humour, met Ted’s. ‘Yes, of course.’

Privately she thought the man must be mad or blind. In her opinion her dad had been a much better landscape painter than portrait—apart from the last one; that did have character in the face. But she let nothing show on her face as, lifting her hand, she raised her eyes to the man at Ted’s side.

There her gaze stuck as though hypnotised by the sheer physicality of the man. He wasn’t the fat old man she had thought—anything but.

From his bronzed skin taut over high cheekbones to the straight nose and the firm mouth beneath, and finally to a hard, square jaw, the man was devastatingly attractive. Tall, something over six feet, and broad of shoulder, he exuded an aura of supreme confidence and masculine power that eclipsed every other man in the room. With his well-groomed black hair falling casually over his broad brow and his dark good looks he was clearly of Mediterranean descent. He was the most compellingly attractive man she had ever seen, and he was smiling down at her.

‘Charlotte. I am delighted to meet you, and may I say how sorry I am at your sad loss?’

Somehow Charlie found her small hand enfolded in a strong male grasp, and he did not let it go. Not for him the brief handshake; and the piercing quality of the dark eyes that held hers was almost frightening in its intensity. She felt the power of his overwhelming masculinity like a blow to the heart, and her breath lodged in her throat.

A black brow quirked in amused enquiry as the silence lengthened and belatedly Charlie managed to respond with a mouth that had suddenly gone dry. ‘Thank you, Mr d’Amato.’

‘Oh, please, call me Jake. I do not want to stand on formality with you.’ He lightly squeezed her hand. ‘I too have recently lost a member of my family and I know exactly how you feel.’

Charlie fervently hoped not, because the warmth of his hand holding hers was sending an incredible surge of awareness through her whole body. But along with her purely physical reaction, she could not help being impressed by his sympathy. Her blood tingled and a curious spiralling excitement sizzled through her that made her even more tongue-tied, and she simply stared at him.

‘But it must be a great consolation to you that your father has left you such a remarkable body of work.’

Body being the operative word. Charlie had the irreverent urge to giggle, and she could not prevent her lips parting in a broad smile.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she agreed, and tore her sparkling eyes from his to stare down at their joined hands. For heaven’s sake, get a grip, she chided herself, and strove to control her erratically beating pulse. Finally she made a tentative effort to withdraw her hand from his, a responsive quiver lancing through her as he tightened his grip. In that moment she knew she would happily have held onto the man for ever, so fierce was her response to Jake d’Amato.

Jake noted her brilliant smile and it only added to his anger, but he let nothing show on his impressive features. ‘It is my pleasure,’ he said softly, and, bending his dark head, he pressed a swift kiss on the back of her hand, before finally releasing it. ‘It is an honour to meet you. And now, please, you must give me your honest opinion on the painting I have purchased.’ Placing a guiding hand at her waist, he turned her back to look at the portrait. ‘Lovely, don’t you agree?’ Jake was determined to make her look at Anna’s face—a woman she had insulted in life, but was happy to exploit after death.

The sound of Jake’s deep, melodious voice sent another responsive quiver through Charlie, and his hand on her waist and the warmth of his great body seemed to envelop her. For the first time in her life she experienced the bone-melting awareness at the touch of a man, a sensation that overwhelmed her, and she knew with a feminine instinct as old as time that this man could be her destiny.

Charlie frowned. She wasn’t given to flights of fantasy and it scared her, plus her intense awareness of him was tempered by the distaste she felt that he had bought the nude. Gathering together the shreds of her control, she said, ‘Lovely, yes,’ then added dryly, ‘if you have a penchant for pictures of naked ladies.’

‘You show me a man who does not, Charlotte, and I will show you a liar,’ he said teasingly, his heavy lidded eyes sweeping over her beautiful face and lower to linger on the provocative thrust of her breasts. ‘Though I must admit, I much prefer the live variety.’ The brown eyes darkened, an unmistakable message in their depths, leaving Charlie more flustered than ever.

She could not believe it. Jake d’Amato was flirting with her. She didn’t know how to respond so she simply smiled like some idiot teenager. She felt her nipples harden beneath the lace of her bra, and, hopelessly embarrassed, she blushed scarlet and was lost for words yet again.

Jake d’Amato stilled. The sexual attraction visible in her brilliant blue eyes plus the invitation in the tight nipples starkly outlined beneath the fabric of her dress had an unexpected effect on his powerful body. It had been a long time since a woman had so instantly aroused him. That it should be this woman would have shocked him rigid—if he had not been rigid already for a much more basic reason.

He did not like it. He had had every intention of putting her down in public. Revealing her as the selfish, money-grubbing parasite she was, and leaving. But suddenly that scenario no longer held such great appeal. Instead he found himself imagining what her lush lips would taste like—the high, firm breasts in his hands, in his mouth…and the only place he wanted to put her down was naked on a bed under him.

He must be going crazy. The Summerville family were responsible for the untimely death of Anna Lasio, and for the grief of her parents. Embarrassing Charlotte was nothing compared to the turmoil the Summervilles had caused in what was the closest thing to a family Jake possessed. Given that Charlotte Summerville was not the young girl he had been led to believe, but a mature woman who should know better, a much more satisfactory course of action sprang to mind.

He was here on business, with meetings lined up over the next fortnight. For once in his life combining business with pleasure held great appeal. Without conceit, he knew he was a good lover and it would be interesting to slowly seduce the lovely Charlotte until she was desperate to share his bed, as her father had done his foster-sister…

Turning on the charm, he murmured softly, ‘Ah, I see I have embarrassed you, Charlotte.’ His dark eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You think I am some old lecher who spends his day ogling naked women, perhaps?’ he prompted, and noted the deepening flush in her pale cheeks with amusement. It was a long time since he had seen a woman blush and Charlotte Summerville did it beautifully. She played the innocent to perfection, even though he was sure she was anything but.

‘Let me set your mind at rest, Charlotte. I am a businessman first and foremost, and when I see a good deal I snap it up, whether it be a company or art. The painting is an investment. I do not wish to sound callous, but you, who sanctioned the exhibition, must be well aware work by a dead artist is much more marketable than that by a living one.’

The ease with which he had read her thoughts was scary. But Charlie knew his cynical assessment was correct. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, finally finding her voice.

‘And let me reassure you…’ his deep voice thickened as he turned back to the painting ‘…this is the only nude I want to own. I believe it is your father’s best and last.’

Following the line of his gaze, Charlie looked once more at the picture, in which her father had captured the mood of the woman perfectly.

‘Yes, she is beautiful,’ she agreed again. But, though it might be his best, she knew it wasn’t his last. There was a half-finished portrait in her possession of a red-headed woman. Determined to try and match his sophistication, she looked up at Jake. ‘But not, I think, his last,’ she said archly, and was about to tell him of Robert’s last affair in what she hoped was a sophisticated attempt to keep his interest. But her effort was wasted; he wasn’t listening. She saw the glazed look in his dark eyes, and reality hit her like a slap in the face. The man was transfixed by the portrait.

But then, he had just paid a hefty amount of money for the picture—why wouldn’t he be fascinated? she told herself firmly. What was she thinking of, trying to impress a man she had just met? A man, moreover, who was captivated by the portrait of a luscious brunette. Where did that leave her, a very average blonde? Precisely nowhere, and she castigated herself for being a fool.

Her first assessment had been right before she’d ever seen Jake d’Amato. He was certainly no fat old man. The very opposite—a more striking male would be hard to find. But as for the rest, she had been correct. He was wealthy—it was evident in the supreme confidence he displayed, and in every line of the designer suit right down to the handmade shoes, never mind the fact he had bought the painting. But that aside, she told herself firmly if a little regretfully, he was also the type of guy who got off on looking at pictures of nude women.

Not her sort of man at all. She had been here far too long and it was scrambling her brain. She tightened her grip on her clutch bag and with a swift sidestep put some space between them.

‘Well, I wish you joy of your purchase, Mr d’Amato. Nice to meet you, but now I must be leaving.’ And, spinning on her heel, she dived headlong into the crowd before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had.

Safely in the ladies’ cloakroom, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her blue eyes unusually bright. She could not believe a man who was obviously from the same mould as her father could have such a startling effect on her, and it scared her witless. She had loved her dad, but only a complete idiot would willingly get entangled with a philanderer of the same ilk.

The only reason Charlotte existed was because Robert Summerville, nineteen and studying art, had got her mother pregnant, and her parents had insisted they marry. It was probably the only time in his life Robert had been coerced into anything. When he had graduated two years later he had left wife and daughter with the maternal grandparents in the Lake District and gone to find his ‘true artist’s soul’. Charlie and her mother hadn’t seen him for three years, and only then to obtain the inevitable divorce.

Charlie suddenly thought it was quite possible Jake d’Amato was also a married man, and she had been so overwhelmed by his effect on her she had behaved like a fool. How embarrassing was that? She needed to get back to her own world, and quick. A taxi back to the apartment her friend Dave had lent her, a simple dinner and an early night were what she needed, not swooning over some man. Straightening her shoulders, she walked out of the cloakroom, and hastily left the building.

She stood on the edge of the pavement and glanced up and down the street. Not a taxi in sight. ‘Damn it to hell,’ she muttered.

‘Now is that any way for a lady to talk? Shame on you, Charlotte,’ a deep, dark voice drawled mockingly.

Charlie spun around, and found herself only inches away from a large male body. ‘Mr d’Amato,’ she said coolly, but she could do nothing about the surge of colour in her cheeks.

‘Jake,’ he corrected. ‘Now what seems to be your problem, Charlotta? Maybe I can help.’

The accented way he said her name was enough to give her goose bumps. ‘Most people call me Charlie, and I am trying to get a taxi back to my flat.’

‘Charlie is no name for a beautiful woman and I refuse to use it,’ he declared firmly. ‘As for the taxi, that is no problem.’ The smile accompanying his words held such devastating charm Charlie could not help smiling back. ‘My car is here.’ He gestured with one hand to the sleek navy blue saloon parked on double yellow lines about ten yards away. ‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—’

‘Preferably to dinner, and of course you can.’

Five minutes later she was seated in the passenger seat of a luxury car and Jake was in the driving seat, having ascertained she’d intended to eat alone, and bulldozed her into dining with him at a well-known London restaurant.

‘Do you always get your own way?’ Charlie asked dryly.

Jake turned slightly, his thigh brushing hers in the process. ‘No, not always,’ he said seriously, his dark eyes capturing hers. Reaching out, he clasped her small chin between his thumb and finger and tilted her face towards him. ‘But when it is something or someone I truly want, I always succeed.’

Charlie swallowed hard and sought a witty comeback, but words failed her as his hands dropped to curve around her shoulders. He made no attempt to pull her into his arms. He didn’t need to. His mouth covered hers and he coaxed her lips to part to the gentle invasion of his tongue. The steadily increasing passion of his kiss ignited a slow burning sensation deep down in her belly that was entirely new to her. Suddenly Charlie wanted him with a hunger that shocked even as it thrilled her, and instinctively her hands lifted to his broad shoulders, but she didn’t reach them.

‘Dio mio!’ Jake exclaimed shakily, and, grasping her hands, he pulled back and pressed them to her sides. His heavy-lidded dark eyes swept over her dazed face, and lingered on her softly swollen lips.

‘You are some woman,’ he commented, and for a moment Charlie thought there was anger in the dark eyes that stared down at her. Then he pressed a brief kiss on the tip of her nose and added, ‘I promised you dinner, the rest must wait.’ He slanted her a wickedly seductive smile, before starting the car and driving off.

Charlie didn’t say a word. She could hardly believe what had happened; it was so unlike her. Where had her common sense, the steely nerve she was noted for, gone? Banished into oblivion by one kiss. Her entire body thrummed with a strange excitement and she had never in her wildest dreams believed a man could make her feel so wonderfully, vibrantly alive. But what was even more unbelievable was that Jake seemed to be as captivated by her as she was with him. She had felt it in the pounding of his heart, his shaken reaction when he had ended the kiss.

Suddenly the dinner she had tried to refuse held great appeal.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS an exclusive French restaurant and at first glance appeared to be full, but within seconds of them entering the head waiter was at Jake’s side, and declaring it was a great pleasure to see him again, and his charming companion. His shrewd eyes flashed an appreciative glance over Charlie as he bowed courteously and led them to a small table set for two in an intimate corner of the room.

She looked around the dining room, her blue eyes widening in awe as she recognised a couple of politicians and a few famous faces from television. ‘You must have friends in high places,’ she said, grinning across the table at Jake. ‘I read an article about this restaurant in a Sunday supplement. But it’s even better than I imagined, though I never thought I would ever eat here.’ Eyes shining, she leant forward slightly. ‘Apparently one has to book months in advance.’

‘Obviously not in my case,’ Jake said arrogantly as the waiter arrived with the menus.

Disconcerted by his cool reply, Charlotte felt her smile fade as she realised her mistake. He was a big man and every inch the dominant male. Add wealth and sophistication, and it would take a very brave man or a fool to turn him down. As for women—she only had to recall how easily he had overcome her objections to dining with him to know the woman probably wasn’t born who could say no to him.

She gratefully accepted the menu from the waiter and buried her head in it, telling herself to get a grip. Instead of spouting off like some overenthusiastic teenager, she would show Jake d’Amato she could be as sophisticated as any woman.

‘What would you like to eat? I am going to have the hot smoked salmon followed by the steak. How about you? The same?’

She placed the menu on the table and lifted her head. ‘No, Jake,’ she said coolly, before turning to the waiter and asking him in perfect French what he recommended. A lively debate ensued on the relative merit of the red sea bass or the chef’s special stuffed trout. Finally Charlie gave her order for a starter of seasonal spring salad followed by the bass to a now beaming waiter, with a brilliant smile of her own.

‘So, Charlotte,’ Jake commented mockingly as the waiter departed. ‘You are a woman of many talents, it would seem.’

Charlie turned sparkling eyes to the man seated opposite. ‘Well, I’m not an idiot.’ She smiled, her confidence restored.

‘No, but, French aside, you did turn the poor waiter into a drooling idiot.’ His eyes flashed with a hint of some dark emotion, then softened perceptibly as his gaze roamed down to the soft curve of her breasts. ‘Though I can’t say I blame him,’ he added huskily.

She felt a flush of heat creep from her stomach to cover her whole body at his sensuous gaze, and she had to take a deep breath before she could respond steadily. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’

‘My pleasure, I assure you.’

Out of nowhere the thought of Jake at her pleasure deepened Charlie’s colour, and she frowned. In the sexual stakes she was not in his league, and she wondered what she was letting herself in for.

Jake reached out to cover her slender hand resting on the table with his own. For some reason the reservation in her eyes bothered him. ‘Charlotte, don’t look so serious,’ he said softly. Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifted her hand and pressed a tiny row of kisses across her knuckles. ‘Please, relax and enjoy your meal, and let us see if we can get to know each other a little better. We can become friends—can we not?’

Friends? With every nerve in her body quivering at his casual touch, Charlie doubted she could ever be just friends with such a supreme specimen of the male sex as Jake. But it was a start.

‘Friends. Yes.’ Striving to appear cool, she continued conversationally, ‘So, tell me, why the name Jake? It doesn’t sound very Italian.’

‘My mother was engaged to an engineer in the US Navy. She gave me his Christian name because he died in an accident at sea before she could give me his surname.’

‘That is so sad.’ Her eyes softened on his. ‘Your mother must have been devastated, losing her fiancé like that.’

‘Strange,’ Jake said with an odd note in his voice. ‘Most people respond with embarrassed silence or embarrassed laughter and a quip like, “I always knew you were a bastard.” But you are obviously romantic at heart.’ The fingers entwined with hers tightened slightly. ‘And you are right. My mother was devastated. She never looked at another man to her dying day. Except me, of course, whom she adored,’ he added with a soft chuckle, his dark eyes smiling warmly into hers.

‘I’m not surprised.’ Charlie grinned, relieved her casual query about his name had not embarrassed him. In fact, suddenly the atmosphere between them seemed much more relaxed. Maybe friendship with Jake was not so impossible after all, she thought happily. Though she wasn’t sure she agreed that she was a romantic. She had always considered herself the most realistic of women. But then that was before she had met him…

‘A compliment. I am flattered.’ Jake grinned back.

‘I didn’t mean you. Well, maybe I did,’ she added with a chuckle. ‘But really I was referring to your mother. Having committed to getting married, she must have been as distraught at his death as any widow.’

‘In my mother’s case, yes, but that is very rare.’ He leant back in his chair but still retained his grasp on her hand. ‘In my experience, plenty of women see an engagement as simply a way of getting money out of a man.’

His cynical attitude appalled her. ‘In your experience? You were engaged?’

‘I was, once, when I was twenty-three and naive. I bought the ring, gave her money for the wedding, the whole nine yards.’

‘And then you left her, I expect.’ Charlie pinned on a smile as it struck her again that he might be married, and she hadn’t asked—a glaring omission on her part, which she immediately rectified. ‘Or else you’re married.’

For a moment Jake looked astonished, then he laughed, but the humour didn’t reach his eyes. ‘How like a woman to blame the man.’ His cool dark gaze held hers. ‘But you are wrong. My fiancée left me, and spent the money on something else. So, no, I am not married, nor ever likely to be. It is not an institution I believe in.’

Feeling foolish, Charlie realised appearance could be deceptive. She could not imagine any woman turning Jake down, but she had been wrong, and that long-ago rejection must have hurt. Her soft heart went out to him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I am not. But enough about me. Tell me how you learned to speak fluent French—and do you speak any other language?’

‘No, just French.’ She accepted his change of subject. Obviously it still hurt him to talk about his ex-fiancée, and it made him seem more human somehow. ‘I learned French at school, but I became fluent mainly because from the age of eleven I used to spend a few weeks’ holiday every year with my father at his home in France. Not so often in recent years, but I did stay with him last year, a little while before he died.’

‘Ah, yes, your father. I should have guessed.’ He dropped her hand, and a shadow seemed to pass over his face. Charlie wondered what she had said to cause it—or perhaps he was still thinking of his ex-fiancée? Then the wine waiter arrived with a bottle of Cristal champagne and filled two glasses before placing the bottle in the champagne cooler and leaving, and she banished the dark moment to the back of her mind.

‘To us and the start of a long friendship,’ Jake said, raising his glass, and Charlie reciprocated, her blue eyes shining into his as another waiter arrived with their food.

‘So tell me, have you any other family?’ Jake asked casually as they both tucked into their first course.

‘My mother died when I was eleven, my grandmother when I was seventeen and my grandfather three years later. My father was an orphan, so I’m alone in the world now he’s died.’

‘With a father like yours, can you be certain of that?’ Jake queried sardonically.

‘Yes, I’m certain.’ She glanced up, surprised by his cynical question, and thought she saw a bitter look in the dark eyes, but she must have been mistaken, as the next moment he grinned.

‘Ah, another illusion bites the dust. I should have known the exploits of your father were more fiction than fact—probably circulated to increase the price of his work.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Charlie murmured, pushing her empty plate away. There was something in the tone of his seemingly jocular comment that struck a discordant note and made her wary. Plus she was not comfortable talking about her father or about money.

‘No, of course you wouldn’t,’ Jake agreed smoothly, and for the rest of the meal he endeavoured to keep the conversation general while trying to discover more about the woman before him. Though he was loath to admit it, Charlotte was beginning to intrigue him more than any woman he had met in a long time.

For Charlie the next hour passed in a hazy bubble of happiness. Jake was a great conversationalist and, without her realising it, she had soon told him where she lived and how, after the death of her grandmother, she had left school to help her grandfather run the small family hotel overlooking Lake Windermere.

‘And you inherited the hotel, of course,’ Jake prompted when she fell silent for a moment.

‘Yes. Yes, I did.’ The thought of the family she had lost dulled the sparkle in her eyes for a moment.

‘Lucky you,’ Jake said. Charlie frowned and she was about to argue there was nothing lucky about losing one’s family, when he added, ‘But I was very lucky in a way,’ and to her surprise proceeded to tell her more of his own past. After the death of his mother when he was eight, he had been placed in an orphanage and got involved with a bad crowd. But miraculously he had been fostered at the age of ten by a man whose pocket he had tried to pick. It had saved him from a life of crime and had been the incentive he had needed to study and become a marine engineer, and owner of his own company. His foster-parents were still alive and he visited them regularly.

Charlie simply beamed at him, and thought how kind. He must have a very caring nature.

Also a very sensual nature, because as they ate the meal and drank the bottle of champagne Jake subtly managed to keep her in a state of simmering sexual tension. A forkful of his food offered to her willingly parted lips, a casual touch of his hand, an intimate smile. By the time they got to the coffee stage Charlie was unaware she had consumed the lion’s share of the champagne, and as she spooned sugar into her cup and added cream any resistance to his sophisticated charm was well and truly vanquished.

‘I am glad to see you are not one of these women who have to watch their figure all the time,’ Jake said, glancing at her coffee cup, then allowing his gaze to glide slowly up over her high firm breasts and to her beautiful if slightly flushed face. A lazy smile curved his sensuous lips as his dark eyes finally met and held Charlie’s. ‘Though it is well worth watching—quite perfect,’ he declared throatily.

She recognised the male appreciation and the suggestion of more on offer in his gleaming dark eyes. She wasn’t totally naive; she had experienced sexual chemistry before, but never as potent as this. Her pulse started to thud under her skin, and instinctively she lifted her hand to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her tongue slipped out to lick over her suddenly dry lips and she saw Jake’s gaze drop to her mouth, and she heard his sharp intake of breath.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he commanded suddenly, rising to his feet and dropping a pile of notes on the table. He reached a hand around her upper arm and almost hauled her to her feet, muttering something in Italian under his breath.

‘Why the rush?’ she queried as he hustled her out of the restaurant, tension in every line of his long body.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know, Charlotte,’ he said, his voice raw and thick with a sensual hunger that made Charlie shiver. Then he dropped her arm and curved his own around her waist in a possessive hold that thrilled and slightly frightened her as he led her to the car.

‘Get in,’ Jake said, wrenching open the passenger door and guiding Charlotte inside. Walking around the bonnet, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He had nothing but contempt for her type of woman, and yet he found her incredibly desirable. To his unemotional, analytical mind it did not make sense. But right now all his thinking processes seemed to be centred below his waist, and the quicker he got her into bed, the quicker his problem would be solved.

Alone for a moment, Charlie began to wonder what on earth she was doing, but seconds later, when Jake slid into the driving seat and reached for her, she knew.

His hand slid around the back of her head as he covered her mouth with his, his tongue thrusting between her softly parted lips with a hunger that awakened the same fierce need in Charlie.

She slid her hands around his neck, all of a sudden wild with wanting something she had never had. Her fingers tangled in his thick dark hair, and her entire body trembled as one strong hand stroked down her throat and over the proud swell of her breasts. His dark head lifted and her dazed blue eyes meshed with molten black. ‘Jake.’ She breathed his name.

It had been a very long time since any woman had turned Jake d’Amato on so fast or so fiercely. Hard as a rock and hurting, he felt her tremble, heard the plea in her tone, and he wanted to rip the all-encasing black dress from her body and take her hard and fast. But while his hot-blooded nature was urging him to do just that, the sound of a police siren growing to ear-splitting levels brought him back to his senses.

His dark head jerking up, he saw the police car flash past. He cursed under his breath in Italian and, thrusting Charlotte back against the seat, he slammed back in his own.

‘Damn!’ He ran a hand through his dark hair, and glanced at the woman beside him. ‘I haven’t made out in a car since I was a teenager, and now twice in one evening.’ His accusing eyes swept over her beautiful, bemused face, and lingered on her softly swollen mouth, and he almost groaned out loud.

‘I never have,’ Charlie breathed honestly, slowly surfacing from the whirlpool of passion that had engulfed her.

Jake stared down at her, shocked at her revelation, and he almost believed her. No, it couldn’t be true. Her father had been a master seducer. Different gender, but it was obvious she had inherited his talent, as his taut body was painfully confirming. With a less than steady hand he jabbed the key in the ignition and started the car. He was furious with himself, but even more so with the blue-eyed siren who was causing him to act so out of character.

‘Where are you staying?’ he demanded. If she had told him, he had forgotten—most unlike him. He knew she lived in and owned the Lakeview Hotel, but as for where she was staying in London, he had no idea. Jake breathed in deep. He was a man who prided himself on always being in control, and the knowledge she could shake that control only increased his inner anger still further.

The rasping edge to his deep voice sent a shiver through Charlie, and through her bewilderment she managed to retain enough hold on reality to ask herself what she was doing kissing a relative stranger. She straightened up in the seat, shocked by her own reckless behaviour. ‘Dave, a friend of mine, has lent me his flat while I am in London.’ She rattled off the address in what she hoped was a cool voice.

‘Nice location,’ Jake said, his teeth clenching as he changed gear with less than his usual fluency. That left him no longer in any doubt there was a man in her life—a wealthy man, it would seem, if he owned an apartment in that area. It wasn’t surprising; it only confirmed what he already suspected. Like father, like daughter. A woman like Charlotte was never going to be without a man for long, and the thought did nothing for his temper.

‘But perhaps you would prefer a nightcap at my hotel before I take you home?’ His original intention had been to move slowly, hoping to enthral her, the way her father had Anna. But now his only intention was to get her into his bed as soon as humanly possible, and keep her there until the memory of any other man was wiped from her mind. And at the same time cure his own irrational need for a woman whom by nature he should despise.

Colour swept Charlie’s face. Was that the equivalent of, ‘Your place or mine?’ Whichever, she wanted to cry, Yes!—and it shook her to feel so vulnerable. She was hopelessly out of her depth and sinking fast. She had never met a man like Jake before.

Charlie had grown up in a home full of adults, and she had to some extent been left to run wild around the mountains and crags of her beloved Lakes. Her hobbies were sailing and rock climbing. She was a member of the local rescue team, and also of the International Rapid Rescue Team. With a good manager to run the hotel on a day-today basis, Charlie took care of the accounts and it worked out well. She kept her gear packed at all times at home, and simply postponed the paperwork when she was needed elsewhere.

She had recently returned from a trip to Turkey, where she had helped in an earthquake recovery, and gone straight into the hectic Easter holiday at the hotel. The two weeks she was spending in London were at the suggestion of Dave, her team leader. He thought that with the recent death of her father and running two jobs, she needed a complete change. Time to take an ordinary holiday, instead of being at the beck and call of other people all the time.

Charlie had agreed. She had visited hot spots all over the world, but now she was taking the chance to visit some of the highlights of her own capital city, something she had never done before.

As for men, she knew plenty on a professional level, but they all treated her as one of the boys, which was how she liked it. Glancing at Jake’s perfectly chiselled profile, she realised that never in a million years could she think of him as one of the boys. In fact, she had trouble thinking at all around him.

The car came to a smooth stop, and Jake turned slightly in his seat, his black eyes gleaming with intent, capturing hers. ‘So what is it to be—a nightcap? This is my hotel.’

She knew what he was offering, and it wasn’t just a drink. The air in the close confines of the car positively crackled with sexual tension as he waited for her answer and suddenly Charlie was afraid. She tore her gaze from his and glanced out of the window. It was a very plush hotel, one of the best in the city, and she knew she couldn’t do it…not yet.

‘I think I have had enough to drink,’ she said carefully, ‘Thank you all the same.’

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and she wondered if he was angry. But as she watched he shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Your decision.’ Dropping a brief kiss on her brow, he turned and started the car before adding, ‘I will pick you up for lunch tomorrow at twelve,’ his attention on the road ahead. ‘And we can move on from there.’

‘Can we indeed?’ she shot back. ‘It would be nice to be asked instead of told.’ But there was no bite to her words; secretly, she was relieved her attack of maidenly modesty had not ruined her chance with him after all. ‘I’m here on holiday, following the tourist trail, and I intend to visit the British Museum tomorrow.’

Jake’s every masculine instinct had been screaming out at him to persuade her into his bed, but the almost frightened look in her blue eyes had disconcerted him. She might be selfish and money-grubbing in her love affairs—in his experience, most women were—but it didn’t necessarily follow she was promiscuous. Jake was very choosy himself. He preferred to pick his lovers with care and his affairs were always as discreet as he could make them, given his high profile in the international business world.

The only reason he was without a lover at the moment was, ironically enough, because of Charlotte’s father. His death had created a set of circumstances that had kept Jake at home in Italy and caused him to neglect his last lover, Melissa, a New York model, who had therefore moved on to another wealthy man.

It hadn’t surprised him. Melissa had been a high-maintenance lady, he thought cynically as he stopped the car outside the apartment block, and slipped out to open the passenger door.

‘Come on, Charlotte, I will see you inside.’ He reached for her hand. ‘And there I promise to leave you until tomorrow,’ he reassured her with a dry smile. ‘And before you argue—’ he placed a finger over her lips ‘—we will do both. Lunch and the museum.’ Fingers entwined, he walked her to the lift. Again he registered the wariness in her incredible eyes, and grinned. Little did she know she was in no more danger from him tonight. He drew the line at making love to her in a bed she had shared with another man. ‘Until tomorrow.’ He kissed her brow and left.

CHAPTER THREE

JAKE D’AMATO prowled around the enormous hotel suite. He was too frustrated to sleep, and it was all the fault of a particular blue-eyed blonde. Not quite all, he allowed—the painting of Anna played heavily on his mind as well.

It had taken all of his considerable powers of self-control to stand in that damned gallery and stare at the portrait, which, as the purchaser, had been expected of him. Anna was the nearest thing he had ever had to a sister and it had seemed almost incestuous to see her exposed in such a way.

As for the title, ‘The Waiting Woman’—how apt, he thought grimly. She had waited and hoped for two years for Robert Summerville to marry her. A deep, dark frown marred his austere face as the memories flooded back. Jake had been twelve when Anna was born, and to his foster-parents her birth had seemed like a miracle. Jake had adored the new baby, and had watched her grow into a delightful little girl by the time he had left his foster home at eighteen.

He should have kept a closer eye on her. But after university he had been totally involved in his work as an engineer and building his own business. He had not had much time to visit his foster-family, mainly birthdays and holidays, but when he had Anna had always seemed fine. And as the Lasios had never appeared to have any worries about her, neither had Jake.

When Anna had turned twenty-one, Jake, then the head of the vast d’Amato International corporation, had thrown a lavish party on board his yacht for her birthday. Anna had seemed to be a happy, well-adjusted young woman, full of enthusiasm for her fledgling career as a graphic artist. Satisfied she was okay, Jake had carried on his own very busy life and respected that, as an adult, Anna was entitled to do the same.

But not any more.

Rage and regret welled up inside him. How could she have had an affair with, and posed naked for, a man who was old enough to be her father? How could she have driven when hopelessly drunk and killed herself? How could she have let a man do that to her?

There was no answer, and the burden of his own guilt had weighed heavily on his mind since Anna’s death. He had lived with Anna from the moment she was born until she was six and with hindsight he knew he should have done much more to protect her.

He had known about her relationship with Summerville. She had told him over one of their infrequent lunches in Nice two years ago. At that time she had still been working and living in an apartment Jake had bought for her, and although Jake had never heard of the man, he had not queried her choice, because she had so obviously been happy, and confident it was only a matter of time before they married.

But now, remembering how appalled he had been when Anna had turned up at his home in Genoa five months ago, he bitterly regretted not investigating Summerville as soon as he’d heard the name.

Looking a shadow of her former self, Anna had cried on his shoulder and told him the whole sorry story of the affair. How she had given up her job and had been living with the man for over a year, but Robert had sent her away three months before he’d died, all because of his daughter.

He had explained she was his only child and had been spoilt by her mother. She was a bit insecure and very possessive of him, and flatly refused to meet Anna. He didn’t want to upset his daughter, so Anna had to leave while she was in residence. But he had assured Anna it would only be for a few weeks. In other words, to quote Anna, ‘Robert’s daughter was a selfish little spoilt brat.’ Anna had not even heard of his death in time to attend the funeral. For himself, after hearing the tale, if the man had not been dead already, Jake would have quite happily killed him.

Anna’s tragic death a few weeks after their last meeting had gutted him, and it didn’t help that the man who in Jake’s mind was indirectly responsible was already six feet under and out of his reach. As for Anna’s parents, they were crippled with grief.

Jake had spent the past three months simply being there for his foster-parents, his work for once taking second place.

This was his first trip abroad since her death, and catching sight of that catalogue in Reception had ignited his fury all over again. But at least he now knew the painting was safely on its way to his home in Italy. He was still angry he had been unable to prevent its showing, but, as he intended to destroy the painting, with a bit of luck Anna’s parents need never know it had ever existed. It was the least he could do for them.

Jake considered himself a modern, sophisticated man of the world. He enjoyed women and was rarely without a lover. Over the years he had had several affairs, and at least two of the women, as models, had been displayed naked on countless magazine covers. It hadn’t bothered him at all. Yet he saw nothing paradoxical in his reaction to the public exposure of Anna.

But what he did see after meeting the lovely Charlotte was a way to get revenge on the family that had brought about her death…and thoroughly enjoy doing so.

Spinning on his heel, he headed for the bathroom, and a cold shower. His last for some time, he reckoned, a predatory smile curving his firm mouth.

Charlie took one last look at her reflection in the mirrored door of the wardrobe. Slim-fitting grey trousers traced her long legs, and with them she had teamed a soft pink cashmere sweater. A heavy chain belt that fastened with a large clasp was slung low around her hips. A grey hide purse and matching loafers completed her outfit. Comfortably casual, she told herself, but in reality she hadn’t much choice: the only dress she had with her was the one she’d worn last night and the rest of her holiday clothes consisted of trousers and casual tops. She tweaked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, and wondered again if she should pin it up. As it was it fell in loose curls to her shoulders. No, you look good, girl, she decided with a broad grin.

Last night, tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep for thinking about Jake, replaying in her mind his every kiss and touch, her body aching for him, she had reached a momentous decision. Given the chance, she was going to pursue her relationship with Jake. He had said they could at least be friends, but innate honesty forced her to admit that she wanted much more from him. She had only known him for a few hours but he had tilted her world. She had no experience of love, but this intense physical desire for Jake, this flood of feeling that consumed all her senses, had to be love or something very like it.

In her work with International Rapid Rescue she had witnessed death and destruction on a huge scale. If the job had taught her anything, it was that life was precious but could be snuffed out in an instant by an act of nature. She was a twenty-six-year-old virgin, probably because all her life she had been a tomboy and the few men she knew considered her more of a buddy than a woman. She was not totally inexperienced—she had kissed men, but had thought the experience vastly overrated. But all that had changed last night when she had met Jake.

This holiday, the first she had taken in years, was supposed to be a complete change, a chance to rethink her hectic lifestyle. She was her own woman; she could do whatever she wanted, and what she wanted was Jake. She knew deep down on some elemental level that Jake could be her soul mate.

The voice of the doorman boomed over the intercom telling her a Mr d’Amato had arrived and should he send him up? She dashed to answer it. ‘No need, I’ll be right down.’

Her legs were shaking as she rode the lift to the ground floor and when the doors opened Charlie drew in a deep, calming breath, stepped out, and froze to the spot, her blue eyes fixed on the spectacular male animal leaning against the reception desk.

In a business suit Jake had looked stunning, but today he took her breath away. He was wearing black jeans that lovingly clung to long legs and taut, masculine thighs. A black button-down shirt, left open at the neck, revealed the strong column of his throat, and a black leather jacket fitting casually across broad shoulders completed the picture.

Telling her foolish heart to stop bounding, she wondered what it was about Italian men that enabled them to wear clothes with such casual elegance. She could not tear her fascinated gaze away. She saw his proud head lift as though scenting the air like some great jungle beast suddenly aware of his prey, and, straightening up, he turned towards her.

‘Charlotta-a…at last.’ He lingered over her name like a caress, his hooded dark eyes sweeping over her in blatant masculine appraisal as in a few lithe strides he covered the space between them. ‘You look exquisite.’ Before she could draw breath, a large male hand curved around her hips, another up her back to tangle in the loose fall of her hair.

The swift, exquisitely gentle brush of Jake’s lips against her own turned her legs to jelly, and when he teased her lips apart, the arousing sweep of his tongue in the moist interior of her mouth suddenly filled her body with a molten heat.

Charlie had thought the kisses they had shared in the car last night mind-blowing. But now, held in intimate contact with every hard inch of his big powerful frame, she was shocked by the force of his obvious arousal and secretly thrilled she could do that to him. Weak at the knees with wanting, she pressed unconsciously closer into his taut strength, and felt his great chest heave.

‘I promised you lunch,’ Jake rasped against her mouth and lifted his head.

Charlie stared up. ‘What?’ she murmured, flicking the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, an invitation in her sapphire gaze she didn’t realise was there.

‘Lunch.’ Jake stepped back, his hands resting on her shoulders to keep her steady. ‘Before we really give the doorman something to talk about.’

Realising where she was and that she was staring at him far too hungrily, she dipped her head, a tide of red scorching her cheeks. ‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled.

‘A lady who can still blush. I like it,’ Jake drawled, keeping an arm around her shoulder as he walked her out of the building.

‘No car?’ Charlie queried as his arm fell from her shoulders and he took her hand in his and began strolling along the pavement.

Jake looked at her, amused indulgence in his gaze. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he said smoothly. ‘You wanted to do the tourist bit, and visit the museum. Most tourists pound the pavement. No?’ He shrugged his elegant shoulders. ‘Plus I want to share everything with you, starting with a bottle of wine with lunch.’

He looked so attractive, and so unlike any tourist she had ever seen, Charlie burst out laughing. ‘I might have known you would have an ulterior motive. It’s not me but the wine that motivates you.’

‘You wouldn’t believe my motives if I told you,’ Jake responded dryly and spun her into his arms to kiss her with an urgency that left her dazed and breathless—so dazed she did not see the cynicism in his dark eyes. And for Charlie the kiss set the pattern for the rest of the day.

Jake kept his word and they shared a bottle of wine over lunch at the restaurant in the central courtyard of the British Museum. After lingering over coffee and cognac they eventually got around to touring the various exhibits.

It was seven in the evening when they walked back to his hotel.

The warmth of his arm felt so right around her waist, and when he stopped and asked, ‘What’s it to be, Charlotte? Dinner with me here or do you want to walk on to your apartment?’ they both knew what he was really asking. The whole day had been leading to this point.

Charlie raised her face to him and saw her own need reflected in the gleaming depths of his dark eyes. The force of emotion flooding through her kept her speechless for a moment.

‘We can call it a day,’ Jake heard himself say in a sudden surprising attack of conscience. Amazingly, he had enjoyed Charlotte’s company. In different circumstances he knew he would have dated her anyway—and he would still have been determined to get her into his bed.

He reached out and ran a long finger over her smooth cheek, and down her throat, his finger resting on the rapidly pounding pulse in her neck. She wanted him, he knew it, but she was still hesitating. Real or acting he did not know, but he knew enough about women to realise they all craved permanency in a relationship. Obviously Charlotte was no different. She was here on holiday and seemed determined to follow the tourist trail—and his quick brain had the answer.

He smiled, an intimate curl of his firm lips. ‘Whatever you decide. I am staying in London for a couple of weeks on business.’ He slowly raked her body with his gaze, registering the burgeoning peaks of her breasts beneath her sweater before he let his eyes meet hers. ‘And after the great time we have had today…’ He paused, his hand softly caressing her throat. ‘Work permitting, I would love to explore the tourist trail with you, Charlotte.’

The only trail he was really interested in exploring was every curve of her delectable body, every hill and hidden valley, until he sated himself in her. But he wasn’t crazy enough to tell her so. Though if he did not have her soon, he very well might, and that really worried him.

In the early hours of the morning Charlie had decided to pursue her relationship with Jake and see where it led, and all day she had fallen deeper and deeper under his spell. Now, with the impact of Jake’s deep eyes burning down into hers, and his huskily voiced desire to see her again echoing in her head, she knew it was the moment of truth. He had told her last night he would never marry, so either she had to accept what he was offering, an affair for a couple of weeks, or walk away. With blinding clarity she realised she did not have a choice. She could no longer deny her basic sexual instinct, an instinct she had only just discovered she possessed, an instinct she knew deep down inside she would only ever feel with Jake.

Charlie drew in a slow steadying breath. ‘I’ve done enough walking for one day.’

‘Me too.’ Reaching for her hand once more, he linked his long fingers through hers and led her into the hotel.

On one level Charlie couldn’t believe what she was doing as Jake ushered her into the lift and the metal doors closed on them. But on another purely sensual level the feelings were so immense she could not deny them, however much she tried. She stole a surreptitious glance at him through the thick veil of her lashes. He was so ruggedly attractive, so overtly masculine, simply looking at him made her heart beat faster. It wasn’t just his looks, though; she had seen men with more classically beautiful features. It was some unfathomable intense connection she could hardly believe was real. But every atom in her body was telling her it was.

‘This is it,’ Jake said, dropping her hand and splaying his palm across the small of her back, his powerful body tense as he urged her out of the lift to a door directly opposite. A quick flash of the card key and she was in his suite. He fought the instinct to simply sweep her off her feet and into the bedroom. Instead he shrugged off his jacket as he headed for the bar.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, turning back to look at her, and stiffened. Damn it, but she was gorgeous, and the way she filled that pink sweater had been causing him agony all day.

Standing where he had left her Charlie glanced around the elegant room. It was as luxurious as she had expected. But Jake’s behaviour was not what she had imagined. She had thought he would sweep her into his arms, and make mad, passionate love to her. How naive was that? she castigated herself. Jake was a sophisticated man of the world, a man of discernment; of course he would never behave so crassly, she thought. But she was wrong again.

‘I’ll—’ She was going to ask for a glass of juice, but she never got the chance.

‘To hell with a drink,’ he growled and in a couple of lithe strides he reached her and hauled her hard against his chest. His expert mouth swooped down to capture hers, a soft moan escaped her, and, taking full advantage, his tongue slipped between her parted lips with devastating effect.

Charlie did not know what hit her. Before his kisses had excited her, but had ended abruptly and left her aching for more. This time Jake showed no such restraint. His tongue swirled around hers, igniting a passion that was red hot. His arms were tight around her, pressing her against his aroused body, telling her without words how much he wanted her. Her slender hands lifted to his broad chest, a finger catching on his shirt button.

She felt his smile as he murmured against her lips, ‘Go ahead, take it off for me.’ His dark eyes gleamed down into hers, an invitation explicit in the black depths.

Feverish colour flooded Charlie’s face, and she was stunned to realise he actually thought she was experienced enough to undress him without a qualm. Her body burned and her finger flexed against his chest. Dared she? Yes—this was what she wanted. She freed one button, and her stomach somersaulted as her fingers scraped the hot skin beneath.

‘Don’t stop now, cara,’ Jake husked, his hands sliding caressingly up and down her back. ‘Or perhaps you prefer I undress you first?’ His sensuous mouth swooped down to taste hers again, and went lower to nuzzle the elegant curve of her neck, and Charlie stifled a frustrated groan when he broke the connection.

‘Patience, cara,’ he teased, a knowing smile curving his firm mouth. ‘First let me get rid of this damn belt.’ One strong hand slid around her waist. ‘It could do a man a serious injury,’ he added, his fingers deftly unfastening the buckle, and the offending item fell to the floor. ‘Now tell me what you want, and I promise I will oblige.’

What she wanted was Jake, and her fingers, with a dexterity she did not know she possessed, swiftly unbuttoned his shirt. Then she stopped, her blue eyes widening to their fullest extent at the sight of a wedge of broad tanned chest, and the dusting of soft black curls that accentuated his powerful pectoral muscles. She swayed against him, her hands tentatively splaying on his naked chest. She could feel the heat through her palms, and her awed gaze lifted to his. ‘You are beautiful,’ she murmured softly.

‘I think that is my line,’ Jake mocked, but his eyes glinted with a hint of masculine satisfaction and something more. His dark head bent and his lips brushed across hers as he gathered her hard against him, and kissed her long and deep. So deep that when he suddenly eased her away from the heat of his great body, she was breathless, her legs felt like rubber and she could hardly stand.

But she didn’t need to.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.