The Sheikh's Captive Bride
Author
Susan Stephens
Reads
16.7K
Chapters
14
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
SHE was alone again at last. Linking her hands behind her head, Lucy Benson stared at the ceiling and gave vent to her frustration with a desperate, angry sound. Losing Westbury Hall was awful; facing her creditors was worse. Letting everyone down at the last minute was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Her plans to renovate the grand old house where she had grown up had collapsed for want of just a little more money. The builders had found some serious and costly structural faults, and then, quite suddenly, the bank had pulled out.
From housekeeper’s daughter to owner and developer had been a bit ambitious, Lucy knew, but for a few short months it had seemed achievable. She had risked everything to restore the Hall to its former glory, so that it could become a living tribute to the kindly old lady who had lived there. But she had failed Aunt Grace, Lucy thought as she took a last look around. And that hurt most of all.
She blinked back tears. She couldn’t cry, not with sunlight streaming optimistically through the domed stained glass cupola—rain would have been more appropriate. Some of the opposing plans had included knocking the old Hall down. But she couldn’t allow the elegant building to be supplanted by a featureless block of modern flats, she just couldn’t—
‘Excuse me.’
Lucy whirled on her heels, her heart thundering wildly. She had thought she was alone. The male voice was deep and slightly accented, and it took her a moment to see where it was coming from. But then she saw the man standing half cloaked in shadows by the front door. He was tall, and dark, and casually dressed—like most of the other creditors. This was not an occasion for dressing to impress, she thought dryly.
‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
Lucy wasn’t convinced. There was something about the man that suggested he was accustomed to using his stature to best advantage; he was far too confident. ‘I thought everyone had gone,’ she said coolly.
‘Am I too late?’
‘No, of course not. Come in, and I’ll tell you what I told the others.’
‘The others?’
‘Creditors,’ Lucy said, retracing her steps across the black and white marble tiles. ‘Please, sit down,’ she added, opening the door to her improvised meeting room. There were some hard-backed chairs in the echoing dining room, and she had set up a decorator’s table for people to gather around. He followed her into the room. ‘Lucy Benson,’ Lucy said, turning to extend her hand in formal greeting.
‘Kahl,’ he said, enclosing her hand in a fist that seemed to contain an electric charge.
Lucy snatched it free. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said again, pointing to a chair at the far end of the table. She would feel a lot safer once he was seated.
‘After you,’ he said, drawing out a chair for her to sit on.
Lucy felt alert, and uneasy. All the other creditors had been up in arms, expressing their anger freely and paying no account to the fact that she was a woman. That was better. It was a language she understood. This man was too cool. He frightened her more than the others with their impassioned outbursts. Apart from confidence, he oozed sex appeal as the others had oozed sweat at the thought of losing money.
Dark flashing eyes smouldered like black coals in a face with features too harsh to be conventionally handsome. He made her think of a warrior, a man of action—yet he had the type of tan she associated with the super-rich. Lucy frowned. So who was he? Apart from being one of the most incredible-looking individuals she had ever seen. Was he Turkish? Armenian? Spanish? She couldn’t place the accent.
As the man folded his impressive frame into a chair across the table from her she judged him to be about thirty-five: dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed—and very expensively dressed. She had a keen eye for fashion, as well as for architecture. Jeans could be budget or designer, and his were the best, like the simple black top he was wearing.
As he levelled a stare on her face Lucy drew breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Without focusing on it, she was aware of his mouth. It was full and sensuous, with a cruel twist, matching the look in his eyes. After some heated discussion the rest of the creditors had believed her when she’d pledged to repay them. She sensed this man was different—harder, more cynical.
He shifted position, clearly uncomfortable on the narrow seat. Men just didn’t come built like this—not in her world, anyhow. Even his casual clothes failed to conceal thighs made of iron, and shoulders wide enough to carry an ox.
Lucy dropped her gaze, conscious she was staring at him. And then her glance strayed to his hands. They were extremely powerful, but it didn’t look as though he earned his living by them. As he reached back to fold his arms behind his head she saw his belly was flat— She had to stop this, Lucy told herself firmly. He was just one more aggrieved creditor. She owed it to him to spell out her position.
As if sensing she was ready, he tipped his head, inviting her to begin. Unlike the others, he had brought nothing with him, Lucy noticed, not even a pen to take notes. ‘Well, Mr—’
‘Kahl. Just call me Kahl,’ he interrupted.
His dark eyes were tilted up at the corners, and his jet-black eyebrows swept up too. Like a Tartar’s, she thought, wondering if he came from the steppes of Russia. Could he ride a horse as they did? A quiver ran through her as she pictured his powerful thighs wrapped around the sides of some wild stallion, or a woman—
‘You have a proposition for me?’
Lucy felt herself reddening, as if he had read her mind. She rallied fast. ‘I intend to pay everyone off fully—everything I owe you will be repaid,’ she underlined when he appeared unmoved. Something in his stare was starting to get to her. ‘Do you find this amusing?’
‘Far from it,’ he murmured, gesturing with his hand that she should continue.
Lucy bridled at the autocratic manner, but her sense of honour insisted she fulfil her obligations in full—even to this man. As he fingered his jaw she saw that it was shaded blue-black, even so early in the day. There was something so rampantly male about him that it made every feminine bone in her body rebel. It was a sensation she was determined to resist.
‘So, you’re with the architects?’ she guessed, with nothing more to go on than a pair of strong, smooth hands.
‘I heard that your impressive plans to renovate Westbury Hall had fallen through,’ he replied.
She loved his voice. She couldn’t help it. It was so foreign, so exotic— This was ridiculous! The look in his eyes was warning enough to keep her thoughts in check.
‘I’m really sorry, but I’ve been forced to cancel all the contracts,’ she said bluntly, judging the direct approach to be best. Dragging her briefcase towards her, Lucy fished inside. ‘I should have yours here…’
‘I doubt it.’
‘I’ve prepared a schedule,’ she said, frowning as she surfaced without any missing contract. ‘You should look at this,’ she said, holding out another document. ‘It explains how I will pay everyone back for the services they have already provided. You can keep this copy.’
‘I’ll study it later,’ he said, folding the pages neatly.
Lucy watched as he half stood to tuck the papers away in the back pocket of his jeans—and her gaze lingered. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, with a helpless gesture when he turned and caught her staring. ‘It’s all I can offer you for now.’
He shrugged as he sat down again, and Lucy wondered if he was convinced by her little speech. ‘That’s it,’ she said, when he showed no sign of moving. Did he expect something more? Lucy’s heart began to thunder. ‘Did you have to come far?’ she said, in a voice that sounded higher than usual. When he didn’t answer, she added, ‘Have you been travelling long?’
‘Half a day.’
‘Half a day! I’m really sorry.’ And she was—mortified. ‘Can I offer you a drink or something?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s almost lunchtime.’
‘Of course. Something more? We could go for a sandwich, perhaps?’
‘The village pub is closed for renovation.’
Damn. She had forgotten about that. He was observant.
‘I am hungry,’ he admitted, easing back in his chair without breaking eye contact.
She was backed into a corner, Lucy realised. And now she was going to do something that was probably crazy. ‘Why don’t you come back to my place and I’ll make you a sandwich?’
He stood at once, pushing his chair back, coming around the table to hold Lucy’s chair for her.
She was definitely crazy—no doubt about it!
The man followed her into the low-ceilinged farmhouse kitchen, ducking to avoid the beams.
‘The farmer must have been a lot shorter than you,’ Lucy said, acting casually in spite of the frisson of awareness tracking down her back.
‘So it seems.’
She felt him staring at her while she pretended to study the inside of the refrigerator as if she had no idea what was inside. ‘Cheese? Pickle?’
‘Whatever you have,’ the exotic voice husked obligingly.
‘Beer? Coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great—or water.’
Yes. Water, of course. It was hot for early May.
The air seemed charged with unusual energy—but it was his energy, she realised, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. ‘You’d better sit down,’ she suggested, turning around. ‘Before you hit your head.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, moving to pull out the bench at the kitchen table.
And then it struck her forcibly. She didn’t even know who he was! And here he was in her home. She had never done anything like this before—and was damn sure she would never risk anything like it again! But it wasn’t every day her dreams hit the dust. Her emotions were in chaos, Lucy realised, quickly making excuses for herself.
‘Aren’t you going to have something to eat or drink?’ he said.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, handing him a plate.
‘If you won’t eat, how can I?’
‘Look. I don’t mean to be rude—’ Lucy wiped a hand across her forehead distractedly ‘—but exactly which company do you represent? You never said.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he suggested evenly.
‘So?’ Lucy prompted, perching on a stool well away from him at the breakfast bar. ‘Which company did you say you worked for?’
‘I didn’t.’ Leaning back comfortably in his seat, Kahl looked at her. ‘Do you invite many men you don’t know into your home?’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘And you haven’t answered mine,’ he pointed out.
‘Not many—I mean none.’ Why was she making excuses to him? Lucy wondered, biting her lip.
‘It’s not safe.’
‘I can assure you I don’t make a habit of it. But—’
‘But?’ he cut in, spearing a glance at her.
‘Today’s different.’
He let that pass. ‘You want to know which company I represent?’ he said, pushing the plate away.
‘Yes, I do.’ He was right: this was dangerous. She didn’t know a thing about him.
‘I represent myself.’
‘I see…’
‘I doubt it.’
The atmosphere was electric and his confidence unsettling. It was as if he had planned this all along. ‘I’ll make coffee,’ she offered, keen to put some distance between them.
‘Don’t bother—cold water will do.’
‘It won’t take a minute.’
He shrugged.
‘Sugar? Milk?’
He said no to both.
She passed him the mug, and when their fingers touched Lucy gasped. It was as if a lightning bolt had shot up her arm.
‘Did you scald yourself?’ he asked with concern.
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Sit?’ he suggested, pulling out a chair for her.
She would sit—because she wasn’t going to let him get to her—not in her own home, her own kitchen.
The kitchen table was narrow and his legs were long; they almost touched her own. And then they did—shins, feet, ankles—colliding, tangling briefly. When she tried to pull away he hooked one of his legs around hers, and held her fast.
She might have cried out softly as her heart leapt into her throat; she certainly couldn’t breathe. Lucy looked at him wide-eyed, and for one insane moment she thought she would fight him off, rain her fists down on his chest. But that soon passed. The contact between them was so intimate, so enticing. She knew she was lost.
‘Still feeling safe?’ he murmured.
Lucy dragged in an unsteady breath. ‘Yes,’ she said, lying through her teeth as she held his gaze. She knew he could overpower her in an instant. But he wouldn’t. She was sure. Not unless she wanted him to.
The silence was so intense that for a few seconds she heard nothing but the sound of her own heart hammering in her head. And then gradually she became aware of another sound, rapid and noisy. When she realised it was the raised pitch of her own breathing her cheeks flamed red.
The man’s expression was inscrutable. He was waiting for something—but for what? Was she supposed to make the first move? Lucy wondered. He was temptation on a plate. Ridiculously attractive, and with the X-factor that told her he knew just how to please a woman. But it was the look in his eyes that swung it for her. It held the promise of forgetfulness, of oblivion. She could leave all the heartbreak and disappointment behind for a few hours. They were consenting adults. He offered escape, and that was just what she needed.
The chance to make love—have sex—with a complete stranger was absurdly appealing. It was uncharted territory for Lucy. She had always thought of sex as something between two people who knew each other well, who trusted each other, felt safe.
But she was consumed by arousal. The decision was out of her hands; her senses were taking the lead. Every inch of her body was tuned to his frequency. The merest change in his eyes brought her to a fresh level of awareness, and just a tug at one corner of his mouth was enough to make her want to kiss away its harshness and feel him melt beneath her touch. It was appetite, pure and simple. Even words were redundant. They were communicating now on another, very basic level.
Taking hold of her wrist, Kahl brought her to a standing position in front of him. His touch shimmered through her and he dragged her close, so she felt the whole length of his body in intimate contact with her own. It was too late to regret the fact that she was only wearing a lightweight summer dress, with a scrap or two of lace beneath it—too late to regret the fact that where this man called Kahl was concerned she had no will-power at all.
He was more athletically built than any man she had known before. He was big, gloriously big, and his strength was deliciously contained—like a tightly wound spring. He smelt divine, he felt warm and hard, and as he teased her lips apart Lucy felt her legs grow weak. She could feel his heart beating strongly in his chest as it pressed against her breasts, and her own thundering against him. It was all new sensation, all heights of pleasure she hadn’t known existed; it was like getting to know someone starting at the pinnacle and working back. He was as hard as marble, but far more fluid—
She gave a low cry of surprise when he swung her up without warning. Setting her on the table-edge, he lowered her back as he moved between her legs. Then, pushing up her summer skirt, he reached for her underwear, unbuttoning his fly at the same time…Lucy felt the silky pass of something warm and smooth, and then a second pass, before he gave her the tip, catching it just inside her until she cried out and urged him on. When he took the prompt her breath shot out of her lungs in surprise at the size of him, and he waited until she was ready again.
Then the pleasure began. It was beyond anything Lucy had known. He swept the plate and mug aside, and lifted her legs to lock them around his waist. Now he could plunge deeper still, until rhythmical cries of delight left her lips. Each time he dealt her another long, firm stroke Lucy’s fingers bit mercilessly into buttocks of steel, until finally her mind shut down completely and only sensation remained.
Drunk with ecstasy, at one point she called out, and he stopped.
‘No!’ Lucy ground out desperately, realising he must have taken her cry for reluctance. ‘Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop—’ And she laughed softly, happily, gratefully when he started to move again.
He brought her skilfully to the place she had wanted to be, tipping her over the edge into oblivion, so that for a few trance-like moments she found all the relief, all the escape she needed. But the sensation was so intense she almost passed out in his arms.
‘Are you all right?’
He was breathing the words in her ear, Lucy realised, and holding her full weight in his arms. She buried her head self-consciously into his chest, so he couldn’t see her face or hear her struggling attempts to catch her breath. Now it was over, and the exquisite tremors were subsiding, she really couldn’t believe what they had just done.
‘I said, are you all right?’ he said again, softly. And, cupping her chin with one hand, he brought her head up so she had no alternative but to look him straight in the eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ Lucy said, swallowing hard. But she felt naked, as if his eyes had the power to strip her defences away. And his eyes were not black, but darkest sienna, she saw, with flecks of molten copper round his pupil—incredible, astonishing.
‘Don’t look away,’ he insisted, bringing her round to face him again. ‘Bed?’ he suggested, one eyebrow arching slightly. ‘You do have one?’ he murmured, when Lucy remained silent.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, straightening her clothes self-consciously. ‘You must be tired.’
‘Far from it,’ Kahl assured her, one corner of his mouth tugging up in the beginnings of a smile. ‘I’m only just getting started.’
Linking his arms around her waist, he pulled her close again, nuzzling his crotch into the swell of her hips.
‘Well, in that case…’ Lucy felt hunger flare inside her. She hadn’t had enough of him, not nearly enough.
Taking him by the hand, she moved towards the hallway. But playing the vamp didn’t come naturally to her, and she hesitated by the door.
‘Just say if you want me to leave,’ Kahl murmured, drawing her into his arms, ‘and I’ll go.’
‘No,’ Lucy said quickly, softly. ‘I don’t want that.’
‘Then, if you’re sure…’ he said, slamming into her senses with one of his slow-burning smiles.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, raising her face for his kiss.
There was a moment of hazy contentment on waking, then full-blown horror and distress. She was alone! Of course she was alone, Lucy told herself, staring round the bedroom. What the hell had she expected? A one-night stand—admittedly the most memorable one-night stand in history—did not a relationship make.
Dragging up the bedclothes to cover herself, she buried her head in the pillow, conscious that every inch of her was still throbbing from the attentions of a most accomplished lover. There would never be anyone like Kahl in her life again, that much was sure. No one could be that unselfish in the delivery of pleasure, no one so tender when they held her in their arms. And now he was gone.
Lucy swallowed hard, tears stinging the back of her throat, knowing she only had herself to blame. No one had forced her to sleep with him. She had gone into it with her eyes wide open, giving herself yet one more disaster to recover from.
Getting out of bed, Lucy headed for the bathroom. A long, hot shower was a start—not much of a start, but the rest of her life would not go away.
And then she saw the flowers sitting on her dressing table in a glass tumbler. He must have cut them fresh from her garden, she realised, before he left: early roses, her favourite Lochinvar, blush-pink, fat, and lightly fragranced.
Touching the cool, dew-damp petals with her fingertips, she felt a shiver of apprehension run down her spine.
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