Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal

‘If I weren’t a perfect gentleman I might move my hands a few inches higher and see whether or not that’s the truth.’

Alarm made her heart race with suffocating speed. Her voice hoarse, she said, ‘You’d be wasting your time. As far as you’re concerned, I’m immune.’

‘I’m not sure I believe you. Your heart’s already beating faster, which, as you swore you weren’t afraid of me, suggests that you want me.’

‘I don’t want you. I don’t love you.’

‘You didn’t love me then, but you’re a very passionate woman and your body always responded to mine without reservations.’

As she made to shake her head, he said, ‘Don’t bother to deny it. There are certain signs that couldn’t be faked. It’s something I’m sure of, and I don’t believe that’s altered. I could easily make you want me…give you a lot of pleasure…’

Boldly, she rejoined, ‘My body possibly…but not my mind…and you once told me that a lot of sexual pleasure is generated in the mind…

‘Now I’d like to go to bed.’

‘Exactly where I want you.’ Taking the pins from her hair, so that it tumbled round her shoulders in a pale cloud, he added softly, ‘It’s high time you made some reparation.’

Jolted, she asked through stiff lips, ‘What is there to make reparation for?’

‘No man likes to be made a fool of, to be taken for a ride then shrugged off—’

‘I didn’t—’ she began.

‘Oh, come! When your long-term lover returned to England you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I have to say it rankled…Now I expect you to make up for it…’

So he was out for revenge, out to satisfy his wounded pride.

Her voice choked, she said, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. I won’t go to bed with you.’ Then in desperation, ‘You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do.’

‘I’ve no intention of using force. It won’t be necessary.’ He sounded so sure of himself.

Shudders running through her, she begged, ‘Oh, please, Rafe, don’t do this to me. I want to sleep in my own bed…alone…’

When he released her, hardly daring to believe she’d won, Madeleine struggled to her feet.

Rising at the same time, he put a light hand at her waist. ‘I’ll see you up.’

Very conscious of his hand in the small of her back, she was partway across the hall when he stopped her, and said quizzically, ‘I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to kiss Mary, and it’s a shame to waste it.’

As he turned her into his arms and tilted her chin, she caught sight of the mistletoe hanging over them. A second later everything was wiped from her mind as his mouth covered hers.

Though his kiss was light to begin with, it had a devastating effect on her, and, shaken to the very core, she parted her lips beneath his the way a flower opened to the sun.

He made a sound almost like a groan and, running his fingers into her hair, deepened the kiss, taking his own sweet time, until her head was spinning.

There was nothing in the world but this man, his lips, his arms, the warmth and strength of his body, the memories of how it had been, and what he’d once meant to her.

When he finally freed her mouth, blind and dizzy, she swayed and clung to him.

He steadied her, then, lifting her high in his arms, carried her up the stairs. It was like something that was happening in a dream, something she was experiencing, yet not quite real.

When he set her down and flicked on the light she saw that she was in a strange room, a masculine room with a dark blue and white decor, a central chandelier and a king-sized four-poster bed with a blue and silver canopy.

‘You told me you wanted to sleep alone in your own bed. If you still want that, you’re free to go.’

Her whole body crying out for him, she could feel the heat running through her, the passionate hunger, the overwhelming need.

She knew with blinding clarity that she was still in love with him, and no matter that he didn’t love her, no matter that he just wanted to use her, he was the only man she would ever love. She was forever tied to him.

‘Do you still want that?’ he repeated.

No!

She wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken the word aloud, or whether he’d read her surrender, but, his eyes never leaving her face, he began to strip off his clothes.

Her throat dry, her heart beating fast, she stood wide-eyed and defenceless, as if bewitched, and watched him.

He discarded his shoes and socks before taking off and tossing aside the black sweater. Then slowly he unfastened the belt of his trousers, dealt with the clip and zip, slid them down over lean hips and stepped out of them. A moment later his dark silk boxer shorts followed.

Naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and said, as he’d once said before, but this time it was a command, ‘Take off your clothes for me.’

With trembling fingers, she began to strip off her things—shoes, stockings, dress and slip. When she reached behind her to unfasten her bra he got to his feet and, gripping her hands, trapped them there. Then he smiled into her eyes, and bent his head to put his mouth to her breast.

Through the delicate lace of the low-cut cups she could feel the heat and dampness, and her nipples firmed, needing more, aching for the exquisite sensations his mouth and tongue could bestow.

She tried to free her hands, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead he traced the upper curve of her breast with his tongue, coming tantalisingly close, but carrying on to the valley between and the other breast without giving her what she craved.

Then, holding both her wrists with one hand, he used the thumb of his free hand to stimulate without satisfying, while his mouth worked its way up to the warm hollow at the base of her throat and lingered there sensually.

Then suddenly she was free and he was back on the bed, watching her with green eyes that had gone dark and smoky.

She tossed aside the bra and slid the matching panties down over slender hips.

‘Come here,’ he ordered softly.

When she went to him he turned her round and pulled her down between his spread knees. Then, sliding his hands beneath her arms, he began to fondle her small, well-shaped breasts.

She could feel the roughness of his legs against her thighs and his firm flesh pressing urgently against the base of her spine. Even so, he seemed to be in no hurry, but to enjoy pleasuring her.

In the cheval-glass opposite she could see the pair of them reflected, the blonde head and the almost black, his tanned, muscular body in sharp male contrast to her pale, very womanly curves.

See what he was doing to her. How, his lean fingers dark against the creamy skin of her breasts, he was alternately stroking and teasing the dusky-pink nipples, pinching and tugging slightly, rolling each of them between a thumb and forefinger.

In some indefinable way the erotic sight added to the sensations, making them more intense.

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it a moment longer he slid one hand between her thighs, and with long, probing fingers drew all the exquisite sensations into a glorious whole.

When she jerked and began to shudder helplessly he put an arm around her and, drawing her back, held her more firmly against him. It was like holding a lit sparkler, all fire and light.