Reluctant Prisoner Page 13

  'Renata's coming here?' The thought of her old friend arriving on the scene was a warming thought. Perhaps, Tanya found herself daring to hope, Renata's presence might restore an element of order and normality to the emotional chaos that was currently afflicting her.

  'She always spends some time in Europe at this time of year. And of course she wouldn't miss the party for the world.' The well shaped lips twisted in a brief, wry smile. 'By the way, it's time you and I started to get this party organised. We usually hold it the last week of July before everyone takes off for the August holidays. That doesn't leave us very much time.'

  'No.' For some reason, the prospect of this party filled Tanya with no enthusiasm at all. 'That reminds me,' she went on, a slight edge to her voice, 'your friend the countess telephoned.'

  'Bea?' The dark brows lifted, interested.

  'She was worried that you might not be back in time for your dinner date.'

  He smiled one of his irritating smiles. 'No doubt you set her mind at rest?'

  'I told her I was sure you wouldn't miss it for the world.'

  'How right you are.' He poured more wine for both of them. 'And what else did my friend the countess have to say?'

  'Not much.' If he was deliberately trying to wind her up, he was making a very good job of it indeed. What little self-possession she could have put her name to at the start of the meal seemed to be evaporating now before her eyes. He was so damned sure of himself, and there was she sitting feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. 'She renewed her generous offer to put me in touch with her many contacts in the furniture trade.'

  'And you immediately sent her packing, I suppose?' He was leaning back in his chair, watching her with a bantering smile.

  'I refrained from leaping at her offer, if that's what you mean. I assure you, I don't need her help.'

  'Just as long as you were polite to her.'

  Tanya felt her spine stiffen aggressively. 'Is it really so important to you whether I was polite or not?'

  He looked at her for a long, hard moment before answering. 'Yes, Tanya, I'm afraid it is,' he said at last. 'Aside from being a personal friend, Bea is a client of mine—and, whatever your private feelings towards her might be, I expect you, as my assistant, to treat her with civility. As I would expect you to treat any other client, come to that.' An ominous glint shone in the dark eyes.

  Bastard! And more fool her for stupidly mentioning the countess's phone call in the first place, she thought. 'I don't need any lectures from you on how I should conduct myself—whether with your clients or your mistresses!' she stormed. 'As your so-called assistant—' she managed a sarcastic little laugh '—I am perfectly aware of my inferior position here. You're the one who calls all the shots. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that!'

  'I'm glad to hear it.' His lips were a thin white line as he stared ferociously across the table at her. 'At least we've managed to get one thing straight.'

  Tanya barely touched the rest of her meal. She was burning inside with a bitter fury that was directed as much at herself as at the darkly composed figure seated opposite her. What a fool she had been to imagine that this man's heart was made of anything but stone, that he might be more than the soulless tyrant she had originally taken him for. And a throb of hurt and disappointment clutched her heart. He cared for no one. Yet, thank God, she bitterly admonished herself, she had come to her senses again before it was too late.

  She was only half listening when he instructed Emma to serve them coffee out on the terrace.

  'I think we could both use a breath of fresh air.'

  She realised belatedly that the remark had been addressed to her. Her eyes snapped up, resentment still sparking in their tawny depths. 'Whatever you like,' she shrugged ill-humouredly. 'It's all the same to me.'

  Heels clicking defiantly against the dark ceramic tiles, she followed him on to the terrace and crossed to lean against the parapet, very deliberately turning her back to him. Behind her she heard Emma lay out the coffee things on one of the slatted wooden tables, then discreetly take her leave of them.

  A silence descended. Tanya remained motionless, staring unseeingly into the night, feeling the faint breeze gently fan her cheeks and wondering how long he was going to stand there watching her. For, though she would not turn to look at him, she could feel the dark eyes probing like sharp fingers into her back.

  'Black or white?' A sudden movement glimpsed from the corner of her eye as he lifted the silver coffee-pot.

  'Black, please.' And still she did not turn her head.

  'I'll leave it here.' A spoon clicked against the porcelain, then there was silence again.

  The sky was filled with stars. The moon hung low. Out in the distance, beyond the trees, she caught the occasional restless glimmer of the lake. It was a perfect summer's evening, she reflected bitterly. Or might have been.

  'Your coffee's getting cold.'

  She hadn't even heard him move, but as she swung round, startled, he was standing at the parapet beside her, mere inches away. She fought the sudden impulse to back away from him. 'Let it,' she retorted, angry that she had let him take her by surprise. 'I don't really want it anyway.'

  He was standing very still, the dark eyes scrutinising her face. 'Don't you think you're behaving a little childishly?' he asked.

  She glared at him, daring him to move any closer to her. As it was, he was already standing far too near. So near she could hear the quiet sound of his breathing, feel the masculine warmth of him prickling against her skin. She scrambled in her mind for something to say, but her mind had suddenly gone blank.

  'Don't spoil things, Tanya. We've got nothing to fight about.'

  Her spoil things! He was the one who had ruined everything! She turned on him. 'Why are you always so—?'

  But he stopped her short, his lips descending with ruthless precision to smother her protests with a kiss. He tasted of coffee, warm and sweet, as his arms slipped firmly around her waist, crushing her body against his, defying her feeble efforts to free herself from him. Not that she really had much heart to struggle anyway. At the very first touch of him, her anger had dissolved, replaced by another emotion, less familiar, but infinitely more powerful.

  She gulped for air as he released her momentarily. 'Why am I always so what?' he teased.

  'So utterly impossible!' Her body suddenly felt so weak that if he were to step back there and then and let her go, she knew for certain that she would fall.

  But he had no intention of letting her go. His arms were still clasped tightly around her waist. 'Am I?' And he kissed her nose. 'I missed you, you know. Did you miss me?'

  She frowned. 'Maybe.' The overwhelming nearness of him took her breath away.

  He smiled. 'I've always hated indecision,' he said. 'Let's see if I can coax a more positive answer out of you.' And he lowered his mouth to cover hers again, plundering sweet kisses from her trembling lips, sending shivers of raw excitement racing down her spine. She could not resist. Helplessly, she raised one hand to bury her fingers in the thick dark hair, her need for him clamouring through her body like a storm as her lips responded to the ravaging urgency of his.

  His voice was ragged with emotion when he spoke. 'That's better.' Then, wordlessly, he took her by the hand, led her across the terrace and through the empty dining-room into the hall. At the foot of the big staircase he paused and planted a soft kiss on her lips before lifting her bodily into his arms, almost as though she weighed nothing at all. And started the long ascent to the upper floor.

  She couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his neck, wondering in panic if she still had time to change her mind, knowing in her deepest soul that nothing in the world could make her change it now. And she shivered as they reached the top of the stairs, clung tightly to him as he carried her with swift, sure strides down the wide and seemingly endless corridor.

  She didn't open her eyes again until they were inside his room. A big room, she registered n
umbly, lit by a single shaded lamp that stood on the table next to the vast expanse of bed. The door closed behind them and her heart almost stopped. Her body felt suddenly nerveless in his arms. The hammering in her chest had grown so loud she wondered it didn't fill the room.

  He laid her gently on the gold silk coverlet, leaned over her and softly brushed her lips with his. Then he lowered himself gently alongside her on the bed and caressed the side of her face with his fingertips. 'Don't be afraid, Tanya,' he whispered with another kiss as his fingers lightly stroked the warm skin of her throat. 'Trust me.'

  She bit her lip and gazed helplessly into the deep, dark eyes. Whatever reservations she had harboured in her heart were all forgotten now, swept to oblivion by the sudden, thundering demands of her body's need for him.

  Unhurriedly, he started to undo the buttons of her high-necked blouse, then deftly slid his hand behind her to release the fastening of her lace-cupped bra. As the full, proud breasts spilled free, he cupped them softly in his hands and lowered his face to drop sweet kisses into the scented valley between. His lips burned like fire against her skin, and the slow, circling movement of his palms was a delicious torment, urging the rosy buds of her nipples into stiff, hard peaks. And she gasped as he drew the swollen flesh into his mouth, teasing gently with his tongue, whipping her senses to a pitch of arousal beyond pleasure, approaching a torment of intensity almost like pain.

  Then his mouth returned to hers, moist and demanding, coaxing her eager lips apart, and she found herself responding without reticence to the silken invasion of his tongue. And all the while, his hands circled the bare flesh of her breasts, the brush of his palms against their aching peaks sending swift tremors of excitement coursing through her, making her groan with ecstasy deep in her throat.

  Without haste, his hand slid down towards her waist, caressing every curve and contour on the way, and she felt the loose skirt slip easily from her hips and the sharp thrill of anticipation as his fingers eased the lacy briefs away.

  He paused then to gaze down at her nakedness, a look of veneration clouding the dark eyes. 'You're beautiful, Tanya.' He kissed her again as he swiftly unbuttoned the black silk shirt, let it slide from his shoulders to the floor, unhooked the leather belt at his waist and quickly freed himself of his remaining clothes.

  She watched him as though mesmerised, then raised one tentative hand to touch the bronzed, hair-roughened chest. He was magnificently built, lean yet deeply muscled, the shoulders broad and powerful, the plane of his stomach hard and flat. He took her hand, let her fingers brush the flat nubs of his nipples, then gently lowered himself on top of her.

  He kissed her again, this time with hungry urgency, and she trembled as his hand moved down between her thighs, touching the moist, most secret parts of her with infinite, tantalising delicacy. Involuntarily, her body arched as his fingers gently coaxed and stroked, driving her senses to an unknown edge of ecstasy, sending Shockwaves of desire pulsing through her throbbing flesh.

  She sobbed as he gently eased her legs apart and she felt the hard male arousal of him press against her thigh. Then she clung to him as he moved in closer to appease the hunger he had so masterfully aroused. She gasped in momentary pain as his hardness penetrated her soft flesh, then sank back, lost in spiralling pleasure as he moved inside her, the gentle rhythm of his passion carrying her relentlessly towards release.

  They lay quietly together for a long time afterwards, their bodies still joined, like two spent craft washed up on the shore after the storm. And as Tanya gazed down wonderingly at the dark head lying so peacefully against her breast, she felt an unfamiliar ache of tenderness clutch at her heart. He had been all that she could have dreamed of, and much more. He had drawn her along that unfamiliar path with gentle, caring expertise, making each unforgettable step an experience of exquisite delight. And for that she felt intensely grateful to him.

  Yet beneath that gentle lover lurked a man of steel, a man who would never allow his sensitivities to gain the upper hand. She knew the cold, hard, ruthless side of him too well to be blinded by the brief, tender interlude they had just shared. And she reached out wistfully to touch the dark, soft hair. It had seemed, while he was making love to her, as though their very souls were reaching out to touch, as though all the barriers between the two of them were suddenly torn down. But it was not so, she found herself reflecting with a sharp twinge of regret. He remained what he had always been to her—a man of bitter, irreconcilable complexity. A man, perhaps, whom she would never understand.

  And she sighed as he stirred and slipped away from her, raising his head to gaze at her with deep and penetrating eyes. Then his arms reached out and drew her close as he kissed the damp hair from her face. 'So you were a virgin, after all. I thought as much.' He kissed the two spots of colour that had risen to her cheeks. 'Don't blush, Tanya. I consider it an honour to have been the first.'

  And I am honoured that you were. The words went through her head but she left them unsaid. The less he knew of the feelings he aroused in her the safer she would feel. Never would she let him guess the strength of the power he had over her.

  He kissed her again, then leaned past her to the little table at the side of the bed and pulled open a drawer. 'I brought you something from New York.' And he opened his hand to reveal a small, square, leatherbound box. He held it out to her. 'See if it fits.'

  She took the box with trembling hands, knowing what it must contain. She lifted the lid with racing heart, hardly daring to glance at him. It was a perfect diamond solitaire, at least three carats, she estimated, judging by its size. As big as a pea, flashing rainbow colours at her from its satin-lined bed.

  'Fausto, I—' She turned to look at him in numb astonishment.

  He took her free hand in his and raised it softly to his lips. 'I want to marry you, Tanya,' he said. 'I want you to be my wife.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'I can't.' Tanya's fingers were still trembling as she snapped the box shut, and sudden helpless tears were brimming in her eyes. Shakily, she made to hand it back to him.

  But firm brown fingers closed over her hand. 'The ring is yours, Tanya, whatever you decide.' And he kissed her arm, sending helpless shudders up her spine. 'I know I've probably taken you by surprise. You need a little time to think.'

  She stared at him dumbly, biting her lip. The torrent of emotions raging through her at that moment made no sense at all. She wanted him so badly—God, how she wanted him. Yet she could not bring herself to say yes, did not dare to throw herself into his arms and surrender to him totally, tell him that she loved him, yet feared him still. For it was fear, she realised, that held her back. Fear that her total capitulation would destroy her utterly. He had possessed her body, even her heart—but her soul, fragile as it felt as she knelt there at his side, was still her own. 'Why do you want to marry me?' she asked at last.

  His hand caressed her shoulder. 'Why do you think I want to marry you? Because I love you, of course.'

  She shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'That can't be true.'

  'Why not?' He caught her chin lightly between his fingers and forced her to look at him.

  'What about all the other women in your life?' she asked.

  Fausto smiled. Don't worry, I'd be happy to give them up for you.'

  Tanya took a deep breath. 'Even the countess?' she asked.

  He leaned his dark head against the pillow, watching her. 'Aren't you prepared to leave me even one?'

  His words were like a knife-wound in her side. Was he joking or was he serious? It hurt almost to look at him.

  He reached out and brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. 'But that's not the reason you won't say yes. Is it, Tanya?' And the dark eyes seemed to bore down to her very soul. 'Do you love me?'

  Helplessly she closed her eyes. How could she ever begin to explain to him the feelings that she felt? The depth and intensity of emotion he aroused in her was something that stirred her to the very foundations of h
er being—but was it love? Surely love was a sweet and gentle thing, not this raging torrent that seemed to consume her and tear apart her peace of mind. Love was reassuring, kind—not the terrifying torment that she felt. And she forced herself to breathe deeply and folded her arms protectively around herself. No, what she felt for Fausto could not be love. This dark obsession could never bring her happiness. If she submitted, it would only end up by destroying her. For a long moment she held her breath. 'I don't think so,' she said at last.

  Fausto slid silently from the bed. 'Think about my offer anyway,' he said. 'I'll know your answer when I see you wear the ring.' He paused on his way over to the bathroom and turned to her with a wry smile. 'But don't keep me waiting too long, Tanya. I'll expect a decision, one way or the other, by the end of the month.'

  She could have said no then, of course, made her decision on the spot, ended the agony before it had begun. But she did not. Could not. Though she feared what might become of her should she capitulate, she dreaded even more the thought of losing him.

  Yet how typical of the man, she thought resentfully. He had set her a deadline as though it were some day-to-day business contract he was negotiating. Which, she reflected ruefully, was probably exactly what it was to him. For, despite what he had told her, she could not accept that he really loved her at all. Those were just words he had spoken because he thought they sounded right. He was probably incapable of loving anyone—but had decided, for reasons she did not even attempt to fathom, that she would make him a suitable wife. He had made his offer, and now her answer—one way or another, as he had so dispassionately put it himself—was required within a fixed and reasonable period of time.

  Many times over the next few days she found herself wishing that she was capable of viewing the matter in as detached a frame of mind as he so evidently did.

  They had never made love again since that first night. He had barely come near her. And she, for her part, had not encouraged him. Their relationship seemed to be down-spiralling into a sort of psychological waiting game, with neither one apparently prepared to make the move or say the word that would release them from the suffocating deadlock in which they both now found themselves.