Captive at Her Enemy's Command Read online

  Heat settled low in her abdomen and she pressed trembling fingers to her belly.

  She absolutely did want to take it to its logical conclusion.

  She caressed the lean line of his torso with her brush, finishing the final details on the portrait. She was twenty-four years old and she had denied herself the excitement and exhilaration of physical contact based on a lie Lloyd Whittaker had made her believe—that she was somehow responsible for her mother’s sins.

  It wasn’t enough just to acknowledge that, or simply to own her desires, though. It was way past time she went out and demanded they be fulfilled.

  Jared was here, available and obviously willing, and tonight she planned to show him that she too could be emotionally self-sufficient. He said he’d seduced her the night before—maybe it was about time she seduced him.

  The thought thrilled and terrified her as she packed away her paints and left the portrait to dry on the terrace. She showered and changed into a subtly sexy dress emblazoned with poppies and used some of the makeup samples the beautician had left to enhance her eyes and slick her lips. A pair of peep-toe sandals completed the outfit, which she hoped said “purpose and sophistication.” And then she waited in the safety of her room late into the night, trying and failing to read one of the thrillers she had found in Jared’s study, until she heard the low rumble of his bike.

  She listened to the sound of the power shower going on in the adjoining suite and tried not to obsess at the thought of his body covered in steam and soap suds. His footsteps echoed in the room outside. Giddy anticipation intensified the ache in her abdomen as she stepped onto the terrace to find Jared wearing a clean shirt and dark jeans, his damp hair shining black in the moonlight.

  His head whipped round as her heels clicked on the terracotta stone. And she released a tortured breath. He had the painting in his hands.

  The thought that he had been studying her work had need and determination tightening the coil of desire. Sensation rippled over her bare arms, the citrus-scented breeze doing nothing to cool the hum of heat, as she walked toward him on unsteady legs.

  “What’s this?” he asked, lifting up the portrait. “Are you trying to shock my staff?” The tone didn’t sound angry, just strained, but then she registered the lust-blown pupils edging out the pure blue of his irises. The fire blazed at her core, burning off some of the nervous tension skittering over her skin.

  “They left for the night hours ago,” she said. Gathering every ounce of her courage, she nodded at the portrait. “What do you think of it?” she asked, realizing his opinion mattered.

  He stared at the canvas. Something flickered in his eyes, dark and tortured, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  The giddy pulse battered her collarbone.

  “It looks romantic,” he said, propping the picture back on the terrace table and burying his hands in his pockets. The edge in his tone made it clear the observation was a criticism, but instead of being cowed by his cynicism she felt suddenly empowered.

  She wasn’t the one running scared anymore.

  “Do you really think so?” she challenged, stepping into his personal space and watching the rigid muscle in his jaw jump. “That’s odd—I wasn’t feeling romantic when I painted it.” Not entirely true, because it was hard not to feel romantic in such a stunning place while painting such a ruggedly beautiful man, but that was surely just an aesthetic consideration?

  “Oh, yeah? Then what the hell were you thinking?” he asked, his voice so husky now it was barely more than a croak.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked provocatively, her own voice lowering several octaves as she sucked in a lungful of his enticing scent—pine soap and salty male flesh.

  His brows slammed down, the muscle in his jaw going berserk as he lifted his hands out of his pockets and captured her waist.

  “Don’t tempt me, Katherine,” he growled as he kept her at arm’s length. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

  She lifted up on her toes, touched by the battle he was clearly waging with his conscience. “But this is the right thing,” she whispered in his ear, then bit into the lobe.

  Reaction shuddered through him and he swore softly as he yanked her the rest of the way into his arms. She sunk her fingernails into the short hair at his nape and gave herself up to the pheromones rampaging through her system as his mouth captured hers.

  * * *

  To hell with Dario. To hell with being the good guy. To hell with doing the right thing.

  Jared thrust his tongue into the recesses of her mouth, gathering her exquisite taste. He cradled her hips and notched the heavy weight of his erection against the junction of her thighs.

  He had spent hours holed up in his office persuading himself this wasn’t going to happen again. That he couldn’t risk sinking deeper into this emotional minefield. That he’d be taking advantage of her fragility, her vulnerability and her inexperience if he took what she offered again. He’d worked late into the night, forcing himself to stay away from her. But as soon as he’d walked out onto the terrace and found the picture she’d painted of him—those damning scars etched on his forearms, the naked need in his eyes, the aggressive erection captured in bold, unapologetic brushstrokes—he’d known he was lost.

  Somehow, this wild, reckless girl had seen past the facade of success and sophistication to the broken man beneath, and she wasn’t afraid of him.

  She wrenched her mouth away, her body bowing back to increase the friction on her vulva. Her eager, artless response made the hunger claw at his insides.

  She fumbled for his flies and her knuckles brushed the thick ridge which swelled and hardened in response. He sucked in a breath and captured her hand.

  “Slow down, we’ve got all night.”

  Lifting her palm to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the base of her thumb.

  Her breath hitched. “You’re not going to change your mind?”

  A gruff laugh rumbled out of his mouth, the surprised pleasure in her eyes humbling.

  If only I had a choice.

  He scooped her into his arms in answer to her question, enjoying her gasp as he carried her through the dark living room toward his bedroom.

  They only had one more night. But, if they were going to do the wrong thing, he was going to make damn sure they did it right.

  He made love to her as the moonlight glowed on her fragrant flesh, frantic and too fast at first, then slow and easy. He feasted on the soft sobs of her surrender as he brought her to peak countless times before finding his own release.

  He held her afterward, their bodies still tangled together, the sweat drying on their skin and the musty scent of sex spicing the air as he listened to her breathing become slow and even. He should get up and carry her back to her own room, but his own limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, too exhausted to move now the burning ache which had tortured him all day was finally satisfied. At least, for a little while.

  She lay so trusting in his arms, her head nestled under his chin, her hand curled against his chest.

  He tightened his arm around her slim shoulders. The unprecedented desire to wake up with her beside him in the morning scared him as his heart beat an erratic rhythm and he fought to keep his eyelids open.

  CHAPTER NINE

  KATIE WOKE IN the darkness dragged from dreams of heat and desire to the sound of deep, unearthly sobs. As her eyes adjusted to the silvery light, she saw Jared’s body curled in a fetal position beside her—his hands shielded his head, like a child trying to defend itself against a blow. It took her a moment to orientate herself and realize the heart-rending whimpers were coming from him.

  “Jared?” She touched her fingertips to the bunched muscles of his shoulder. He flinched away from her touch. Sweat misted his clammy skin.

  The whimpers turned to broken cries and her heart crashed into her throat as she made out the words he was muttering over and over again like a plea.

  “Please stop... It hurts.”


  She acted on instinct, not knowing whether it was the right thing to do, but knowing she had to do something. Grasping his shoulders, she pressed her lips to the rigid muscles of his spine, then banded her arms around his wide chest and leaned over his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  “Jared, it’s okay. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Violent shudders racked his body, the sweat dripping off him now and running in rivulets down the side of his face. She could see the pulse beating in his temple, hear the harsh rasps of his breathing and feel the screaming tension in the sinews of his arms as he wrestled with the nightmare.

  Sympathy and compassion flooded her as he struggled with a terror so real and primal she couldn’t begin to imagine what horror might have caused it. The broken cries turned to heart-rending sobs, the violent shaking making it hard for her to hold on to his sweat-slicked skin. But she struggled with him, trying to soothe, trying to help him break free from the chains of memory, whispering the same reassurances again and again.

  “It’s okay, Jared. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe. You can wake up now.”

  He surfaced at last with a savage jerk and then stilled. His body went limp and she loosened her grip. They lay for a moment intertwined on the bed, his shoulders lifting and falling as he gulped in lungfuls of air, her hand pressed to his heart, absorbing the ferocious beating as it slowed.

  Cursing softly, the words ripe with misery, he bolted upright on the bed, breaking her hold. With his back to her and his head bent, the sinews in his arms stood out as he gripped the edge of the mattress to steady himself.

  He looked so alone in that moment. And so ashamed.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, but the words seemed hopelessly inadequate.

  “Yeah,” he replied, his voice strained and hoarse. “Sorry I woke you.”

  Releasing his hold on the mattress, he rubbed his palms over the scars on his forearms, then massaged his knuckles into the damaged flesh as if trying to relieve the pain. Did the old wounds still hurt?

  She flattened her palm on the rigid muscles of his spine, desperate to ease his suffering.

  “Don’t.” He recoiled off the bed, as if her touch had burned him. “Don’t touch me.”

  He stalked across the darkened bedroom to the open terrace doors. Naked, his body looked sleek and powerful limed by moonlight, as if he were a caged animal.

  He turned, silhouetted in the moonlight, and she gasped at the sight of his arousal. He was fully erect, the evidence of his need thick and heavy and jutting out from his body at an obscene angle.

  Heat fired through her system like molten lava as emotion closed her throat.

  “You should go,” he said, his voice grim with warning.

  Beneath the threat she could hear the whisper of longing, the distress of that terrified child who had been hurt, who had needed comfort, and who had had no one. Her rational mind told her it was madness to think she could be that someone, but as the heat and desire mixed with the compassion in the milky darkness she knew she had to try.

  She lifted the sheet, climbed out of the bed and walked toward him. The breeze skimmed over her bare skin.

  His head lifted as she approached and she could feel the barely leashed hunger in his body as he straightened.

  “I’m not kidding.” He dragged unsteady fingers through the thick waves of hair. “You need to get the hell out of here...now.”

  She didn’t stop, she didn’t even falter, until she was standing in front of him, inches away, inhaling the addictive aroma of his skin. Absorbing the sight of him, both beautiful and terrifying.

  “I don’t want to get out, I want to stay here...” she whispered, her voice barely quivering, reminded of her wish from all those years ago. The molten heat gathered in her sex and burned through the final barrier around her heart. “With you.”

  Large hands shot out and grasped her upper arms in a bruising grip as he dragged her against him. He dropped his forehead to hers. Tension vibrated through him as the massive erection pushed against her belly and she understood the battle he was waging not to take what he so desperately needed.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he groaned, the tortured rasps of his breathing making her heart kick against her ribs. “I won’t be gentle. I can’t be.”

  She tugged her arms free and cradled cheeks rigid with tension. She forced his tormented gaze to meet hers so he could see the truth in her eyes. “I don’t care.”

  His need exploded with a raw groan and strong arms bound her to him. His kisses rained over her face, exploring her neck, sucking on the pulse point in her collarbone, feeding on her cries until he finally possessed her mouth with the forceful strokes of his tongue. She kissed him back, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  He held her as his mouth claimed her breast, drawing the rigid nipple into the hot suction. She bucked against his hold, the heat arrowing down. Strong fingers found the slick folds of her sex, stretching the tight flesh. After the long love-making session the evening before, she flinched, but he didn’t gentle his strokes. Instead he demanded more, his thumb circling the bundle of nerves with ruthless intent. She shattered, the orgasm battering her in fierce, undulating waves.

  This was not the man who had made love to her for hours the night before with such skill and expertise, coaxing her to peak again and again. This man was raw, basic, brutal, his need primal and desperate, holding nothing back.

  He shifted their positions. Her spine pressed against the cool glass of the terrace door as he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to his wide shoulders, trying to steady herself, trying to prepare for the brutal invasion. But still her swollen flesh struggled to adjust as he lowered her onto the huge erection.

  At last he was seated deep, so deep she felt impaled, not sure where he ended and she began. The waves of orgasm which had never really ceased began to batter her shattered body again as he grasped her hips and rocked.

  She moaned, the hard, heavy thrusts forcing her back to another impossible peak with staggering speed. She clung to him, the only solid object in a stormy sea of exquisite pain, punishing pleasure. Her wild cries matched his hoarse shouts as he drove her past that final edge. And hot seed flooded her insides as he followed her over.

  * * *

  Jared glided on the shocking pleasure of afterglow, only vaguely aware of the tight clasp of her body and the dizzying aroma of sweet feminine arousal. Shudders racked his body and the sea breeze cooled the sweat on his skin.

  But slowly he floated down from the high and awareness intruded...of his fingers digging into tender flesh. Soft breasts crushed against his chest. And the staggered sound of her breathing. He adjusted her weight, trying to relinquish the bruising grip on her hips, and heard the subtle moan. She massaged his length like a velvet fist and arousal pounded back into his crotch.

  Shame engulfed him.

  He drew out swiftly, before the need could overwhelm him, and he took her like an animal again.

  As he placed her on her feet, she staggered and bitter regret tore into his chest. He’d treated her no better than a whore. He lifted her in his arms and walked on unsteady legs. He had to take her back to her own room. He couldn’t be trusted. Why had he fallen asleep in her arms? How could he have allowed this to happen?

  “Jared? Where are you taking me?” she murmured, piercing the thick fog of regret and recriminations.

  “To your room. Where I promise you’ll be safe from me.”

  Trembling fingers caressed his cheek and he was forced to stop and meet her gaze. He couldn’t make out her expression in the darkness but the tender touch had his heart battering his ribs.

  “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do,” she said, touching both his cheeks now as if pleading with him to believe her. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

  Her earnest statement nearly broke his heart. But he refused to accept her absolution. She didn’t know she was worth s
o much more than he could ever give her. That she deserved a better man than he could ever be.

  Hell, she probably even thought she was falling in love with him, and that would be the cruelest trick of all.

  “Sure, but you must be tired,” he said, the struggle to keep his tone casual and dismissive making his arms shake as he carried her into her room and placed her on the coverlet.

  But as he went to leave she refused to relinquish her clasp on his neck. Pulling him back toward her, she placed a sweet, coaxing kiss on his lips.

  “Really, Jared, you didn’t do anything wrong. I enjoyed it,” she said, her voice tremulous and unsure, but with the boldness of the girl he had come to know.

  He reared back, breaking her hold as agony ripped through him—at the thought of all the things they might have had but couldn’t, because of who he was and what he’d come from.

  “Get some sleep.”

  He left the room without a backward glance. But he knew the image of her sitting on her bed in the moonlight, naked and vulnerable, her knees drawn up to her breasts as she tried to protect herself against the hurt he’d caused would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  * * *

  Katie wasn’t a bit surprised to find Jared gone from the villa the next morning. She woke up feeling fragile, both physically and emotionally, after everything that had happened the night before. And she suspected Jared felt the same. She’d witnessed something she was sure he had kept hidden for a long time. The night terrors that she now knew were a regular occurrence had to come from some deep-seated trauma in his past.

  But, while she was desperately sad at the thought of what he must have once endured to be so traumatized, at the same time she felt what had happened between them could only be a positive thing. He’d let down his guard last night, and so had she, and the connection between them had been strong, powerful and life-affirming.