Captive but Forbidden. Lynn Harris Raye

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СКАЧАТЬ been too long since she’d had sex. That had to be the only reason he could make her flush like an innocent virgin.

      “I can’t imagine that Brady approves of your methods,” she said coolly. It was the first thing she could think of to say that might bring the conversation back from the brink.

      “Not always. But he knows I’m the best.”

      She wanted to sit. The heat was going to her head, making her feel faint. Or perhaps her dress was too tight. Whatever the case, she was moist with perspiration. She sank onto the bench, uncaring what he might think, and clasped her hands in her lap. Though what she really wanted to do was grab one of the fluffy white towels stacked on one corner of the vanity and dab her forehead with it.

      “The best, Mr. Vala?” A sudden thought occurred to her. Brady had told her just this morning that she was too wound up—but he wouldn’t hire a gigolo to relax her, would he? A gigolo who outfoxed her bodyguard and caught her in the ladies’ room? A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it.

      God, it was ridiculous. And maybe, just maybe, Brady truly was that crazy.

      “I am a … security consultant,” the man said, watching her curiously.

      Did he think she would pat the bench and suggest they get cozy together? Was Brady so insane as to think she had bodyguard fantasies? That a handsome, too-sexy tiger in a tuxedo could rock her world in the ladies’ powder room of an expensive hotel and she’d suddenly be relaxed and ready to face the challenges awaiting her?

      Once, no doubt, that would have been true. But she was a different person now. She had to be.

      She found the strength to stand again. “I’m not in the mood, Mr. Vala, but I thank you for the diversion. If you could get out of my way, I’ll say good-night now and return to the ballroom.”

      His brows drew down. She had the feeling she’d insulted him somehow.

      “Perhaps you didn’t hear what I said,” he replied, taking a step toward her.

      “Oh, I heard you. And I’m not sure what you and Brady cooked up between you, but I’m not that desperate. Or that stupid.”

      He stood so close now. So close that if she reached out, her fingertips could slide down the sleek fabric of his lapel.

      His scent stole to her. Sharp and clear, like rain and warm spices. Like a sultry Indian night.

      The lights dimmed for a long moment before brightening again. The tiger didn’t move, his gaze never leaving her face. She felt trapped—and safe, paradoxically.

      “The power will probably go out,” he said. “We should get you back to your room. It is the safest place.”

      “The safest place for what?” she asked, her voice little more than a cracking whisper, as her imagination ran wild and her skin grew hot and prickly.

      Again, he looked at her curiously. “For you, Madam President.”

      Cobras. They had cobras in India. Cobras that mesmerized their prey before striking. Was he less of a tiger and more of a cobra? Was she mesmerized? Was that why she felt so languid and warm, why she wanted to close her eyes and lean into him? Why she wanted to take what she thought he was offering and then pretend it had never happened?

      Deliberately, she took a step back, breaking the spell. This was insane. And she had to put an end to it. There was too much at stake.

      “I’m sure you’re quite good, but I’ve a duty to perform and no time for casual sex on the bathroom counter. Please tell Brady I was happily satisfied, if that’s what you need to do to get paid. I’ll find my own way back to my room.”

      He stared at for her a long moment—and then he threw back his head, a sharp bark of laughter springing from his throat. She was so startled she couldn’t move. And then she felt the bite of heat flooding her again. A different kind of bite this time.

      “This is definitely a first,” he said, the humor evident on his handsome face. It transformed him somehow, made him less frightening and more real. More human. “But I am not here for your, uh, satisfaction, I assure you.”

      For some reason, that statement made her angry. As if he’d never consider such a thing with her. As if the thought were repulsive, when men had always clamored for her attentions.

      She drew herself up. “You come in here talking in innuendo and half-truths—what do you expect me to think?”

      She clung to the anger because the alternative was to melt into an embarrassed puddle. He probably had a wife and ten children at home, even if he was too perfect for words and wore no wedding band.

      A sudden, sharp stab of something—pain, Veronica,

      pain—pierced her chest at heart level. She knew she was not the sort of woman who inspired visions of picket fences, warm kitchens and laughing babies.

      And it had never bothered her until recently, until she’d almost had her own baby.

       Baby.

      Funny how that word snuck up sometimes and squeezed the breath from her chest. She closed her eyes briefly, swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

       I’m sorry, sweet baby …

      “Are you unwell?” he asked.

      She sliced a hand through the air impatiently, shoving the pain down deep into her soul. “I’m fine.”

      The lights flickered again. He looked up, frowning. “We really should return to your room before the power goes out.”

      “We aren’t going anywhere,” she snapped.

      He looked at her as if he pitied her. “That is not your choice to make.”

      Veronica stared at him for a moment, undecided, while anger built into a solid wall inside her. How dare he? How absolutely dare he?

      Energy exploded inside her like a wave collapsing and racing toward shore, until it sent her striding forward, intending to push past him if necessary.

      He anticipated her, caught her bare arm in one strong hand. The shock of skin on skin sizzled into her core, and Veronica gasped. It was too much, too many raw emotions welling to the surface all at once. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to be touched by him.

      She twisted hard, her open hand swinging up to connect with his cheek.

      She missed. At the same time, her body spun out of her control—and then she was pressed against him, her back to his front, one strong hand clasping her wrists together behind her back while the other snaked around her waist and held her tightly.

      Fury welled inside her as she jerked uselessly against the bonds of his iron grip.

      He was so solid, so warm and hard. It took her a moment to realize that her bottom nestled in the cradle of his hips. That his body was responding to the way she squirmed against him. If she weren’t wearing heels, she wouldn’t be tall enough.

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