Iris Johansen (9 page)

“Open your eyes, Janna,” Santine demanded hoarsely, raising his head. “I want to know that you’re wanting me as much as I want you.”

Her lids fluttered open with almost drugged languor, and she gazed up at him, her brown eyes clouded with emotion. She was vaguely aware that his eyes were fastened on her with an urgent demand in their depths, but she was too bewildered, too lost in the haze of desire he’d woven about her, to comprehend what it was he wanted of her.

“Janna, I’m in a fever for you,” he said thickly. “Will you come to my bed and let me love you tonight?”

The stilted phrasing sounded oddly formal on Santine’s lips, she thought dreamily. But why was he asking her such a ridiculous question, when he must realize she wanted nothing more than the fiery completion that he’d been building toward? Besides, hadn’t something been said about that last night? she thought hazily. She frowned and tried to concentrate, but the languid tightening in her loins was mounting steadily, and she suddenly didn’t want to think. She only wanted him to stop gazing at her with that fierce frown and take her back in his
arms. But it appeared he wasn’t going to do it unless she answered that absurd question.

Her brow wrinkled in an impatient frown as she said huskily, “Yes, of course. I told you last night that I would.” She waited expectantly for him to draw her back in his embrace.

But his reaction wasn’t what she had anticipated. Instead of the renewed blaze of desire, his dark eyes widened with a curious look of shock. Then they flared with a smoldering anger that caught Janna completely by surprise. Her eyes widened as his expression hardened before darkening stormily. “That’s right, you did,” he said coldly as he scooped her off his lap onto the cushioned bench beside him. “I’m afraid I’d forgotten how readily you agreed to my terms.” His lips twisted bitterly. “What did you call it? Oh yes, a ‘simple biological coupling.’ ”

Janna gazed at him bewilderedly as he smoothed his hair and got jerkily to his feet. One moment she’d been involved in the most passionate experience of her entire life and the next she’d been shunted away from Santine as if she had the plague. Distractedly she reached up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and moistened her lips nervously. “What happened?” she faltered huskily, looking up at him dazedly. “Don’t you want me any more?”

“You’re damn right I want you,” Santine said with soft violence, leaning down and jerking her gown up to cover her naked breasts. “I’m tempted to spread these cushions on the floor and take you right here and now.” He put her left arm through the single strap of the gown as impersonally as if he were dressing a small child, pulling the jersey over her shoulder before swiftly zipping the back. “But I’m not going to let you gain that kind of power over me until I can be sure I mean more to you than the payoff of a debt.” He straightened slowly and looked down at her with narrowed eyes. “I’ve discovered
that you’re a very dangerous lady as far as I’m concerned, Janna. You’re fast becoming something of an obsession, and I’m not at all pleased with the situation. I’ve become accustomed to being totally in control of my life and emotions. I won’t be put into a position where either one can be manipulated.”

Janna experienced a queer thrust of pain that pierced the sensual mist that had enveloped her. What had she been thinking of, to be so beguiled by the sexual expertise of a man like Santine? That he considered her dangerous was almost laughable when viewed in the light of his threat to her. As he had said, Santine liked to be in complete control, and she’d already discovered how possessive he could be. He would never tolerate the personal freedom that was essential to her even if he came to care for her. And that possibility was probably very slim indeed, she thought wryly. She’d been offered lust, not love, tonight.

She sat up straight and looked up at him steadily. “Then wouldn’t it be wiser to send me away?” she asked coolly. “That would solve all your problems.”

“Would it?” Santine’s lips twisted. “Somehow I don’t think so. I have an idea that I’d last about a day before I sent someone to bring you back to me.” His hand reached out, as if compulsively, to touch her thick, lustrous braid. “Like I said, it’s an obsession.” He pulled his hand away reluctantly and drew a deep breath. “No, you’ll stay with me until I can rid myself of it. They say that nearness breeds boredom, and it always has before for me.” He smiled mockingly. “You’ll be my little pet, whom I can stroke or ignore at will. And when I’ve regained my perspective enough to take you to bed without its meaning a thing, I’m going to make love to that gorgeous body in every way I can think of.”

He turned and strode swiftly out of the gazebo and down the path toward the woods beyond.

•     •     •

In the next week it seemed Santine was determined to treat Janna as the pet he had termed her. He insisted that she not only eat all her meals with him, but that she be his constant companion no matter what activity he was engaged in. Janna found herself playing chess, going for long sunrise swims, and listening to records on Santine’s magnificent stereo system. Even when he was involved in business with Dawson or one of the vice presidents who flew in for an occasional meeting when urgency demanded, she was ordered to be present. This usually meant that she sat quietly curled up in Santine’s brown leather chair with a book she seldom bothered even to pretend to read.

Santine in action was much more fascinating to study than the most interesting printed word. He was brisk, dynamic, and totally brilliant. In addition, he had a driving energy that was almost boundless, and an incisiveness that cut unerringly to the marrow of any subject he was confronted with. If this was Rafe Santine at leisure, she wondered ruefully what he must be like when he was operating at full strength. Even when he was occupied with supposed leisure pursuits, he exhibited a restlessness and competitiveness Janna found simply astounding. She had a shrewd idea that more than big business was a game to Rafe Santine. Every facet of his life seemed to fall into that category, and he played it with keen gusto.

She gradually discovered there were other, more human characteristics to admire in Santine than the drive and the brilliance that had made him a legend. He possessed a wry sense of humor that surfaced unexpectedly from time to time to surprise and delight her, and, though cynical to the extreme, he never let his natural skepticism interfere with his innate sense of justice. She supposed the aspect
of his personality she found most attractive was the insatiable thirst for knowledge that was almost a passion with him. He had a curiosity that was easily aroused and, once stirred, would not be satisfied until he’d plumbed the depth of the subject that had intrigued him. Janna soon found he was far better informed on art and politics than she, and he was practically an authority on medieval history, which he found completely fascinating.

Santine was almost entirely self-educated, having left school at sixteen to go to work on his first construction job. It was all the more praiseworthy that beneath the deliberately rough facade he presented, he was possibly the most cultured individual Janna had ever known.

It was strange that two such contrasting personalities should be able to develop the curious companionship that had evolved between them in the last week. Santine seemed to find Janna’s serenity and lack of aggressiveness oddly soothing, while his restless energy had an exhilarating effect on her usually quiet nature. If it weren’t for the subtle sexual tension pervading their relationship, Janna felt they might even have become friends.

But that the tension did exist was undeniable. Santine seemed to view her with a wariness that increased rather than diminished with association. He avoided touching her with scrupulous care, and she was equally cautious. She wanted no more of Santine’s soul-scorching lovemaking if she could avoid it. It was far too dangerous for her to trifle with. She had the uneasy sensation that a tiny portion of her had flowed into Santine that night at the gazebo and would never be returned to her. She wouldn’t chance any more loss of the essence that comprised her own personality and independence.

She knew now she hadn’t underestimated Santine’s possessiveness. Though he’d made no move to claim the sexual privileges he had bargained for, he made
quite sure it was known that he considered her his exclusive property. Even Dawson and Stokley weren’t exempted from his jealous surveillance when he chanced to come upon her laughing and joking with them. Both men were made to feel Santine’s immediate displeasure, and he made every effort to be sure she wasn’t allowed to repeat the casual encounters.

Even when he was offered no overt provocation there were moments when he would gaze at her with a smoldering possessiveness that filled her with a panicky feeling of claustrophobia. It was during these times that he would probe silkily at her with intimate questions that caused her to grit her teeth to prevent her from saying the words which would jeopardize the fragile balance of their relationship. She tried to answer his moody insinuations with evasive politeness, but she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her coolness. He seemed to believe that she’d been sexually promiscuous since her infancy, she thought in exasperation, and the questions regarding the men in her past bordered on being downright ridiculous. She would have to be a nymphomaniac to have bedded all the men he suspected her of entertaining. Even if she’d possessed the experience he attributed to her, it was entirely her own business, and she wasn’t about to satisfy his curiosity. She was aware that her reticence infuriated Santine and only served to aggravate his suspicions, but she stubbornly stuck to her resolve to maintain her privacy.

In less than two months she would be out of Santine’s life, perhaps never to see him again. It would be foolish to let him think she would docilely accept his prying. It was not as if he were anything of a celibate himself, she thought defensively. Diane Simmons was still very much in evidence at the castle. She seemed to accept Janna’s presence at Santine’s side with perfect tranquility, and he continued to treat her with a slightly impatient tolerance that
Janna found oddly comforting. Not that she fooled herself that Santine’s rejection of the gorgeous blonde extended to the bedroom. Diane Simmons was just a little too complacent to be a woman entirely scorned. Well, why should that bother her? If Diane was fulfilling his sexual needs, surely this made her own position safer. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Santine’s moodiness increased as the week wore on, along with his bad temper, and by the end of the day Janna wanted nothing more than to escape from those brooding, dark eyes and the razor-sharp tongue. Tonight his sarcasm was so blatant it had pierced even Diane’s cheerful blindness, and she had discreetly withdrawn to her room immediately after dinner. Pat Dawson was not so lucky, and had to accept the blistering edge of his censure of a transaction that he’d presumably bungled. It was only when Santine was forced to answer an urgent phone call from one of his overseas subsidiaries that Dawson was let off the hook.

He breathed a profound sigh of relief, his eyes fixed warily on Santine at the desk across the room before turning to Janna. “Saved by the bell,” he murmured. “I thought he was going to fire me, for a minute, there.”

“Was it such a grave mistake?” Janna asked gently, her eyes on his slightly flushed face. She had come to like Pat Dawson very much in the last week. His light, dry humor had been a pleasant relief from Rafe Santine’s smoldering moodiness.

Dawson shrugged. “I’ve made worse,” he said with a grimace. “But not when he was in such a foul humor. He’s been practically savage for days now.” His eyebrows raised mockingly. “I don’t have to tell you that. As much time as you’re spending with him, you’re probably getting more than your share.”

“Yes,” Janna said absently, her gaze following Dawson’s to the figure at the desk. Santine was
dressed in black slacks and a sportcoat that contrasted strikingly with his scarlet turtleneck sweater. His hair was slightly rumpled, and one lock was lying on his forehead, giving him a careless, slightly piratical look. Evidently what he was hearing wasn’t pleasing him, for his frown was darkening more by the second. “He’s not been easy to live with lately.”

Pat’s eyes narrowed speculatively on her face. “I imagine a great deal of the blame can be laid at your door, pretty lady,” he said quietly, leaning forward to pick up his coffee cup from the end table between them. “You seem to have a very turbulent effect on my employer. If you weren’t such charming company, I’d wish you a thousand miles away from here. It would increase my job security enormously.”

Janna’s eyes widened in surprise. Pat must really have been having a difficult time, to make such a remark. “I’m sorry you’re having problems,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. As you say, I seem to have a very irritating effect on Rafe.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he said thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coffee and regarding her gravely over the rim. “I’ve never seen him act like this about a woman before. I’m half afraid even to talk to you.”

Janna’s lashes swept down to veil her eyes. “I’m sure I’m not the sole cause for his displeasure,” she said quietly. “He wasn’t exactly a model of charm and sweetness when I appeared on the scene.”

“True,” Pat conceded ruefully. “This forced sabbatical is playing hell with his nerves, but he certainly didn’t look upon my humble self as a threat before.” His lips curved wryly. “I can’t say that I’m relishing the position. Threats to Rafe Santine have a tendency to be smashed underfoot.”

She lifted her eyes to regard him gravely. “Yet you’ve been with him for a long time.”

“I respect him,” he said laconically. “He’s something
of a phenomenon, and he doesn’t begrudge his employees their own share of the pie if they have the initiative to go after it.” He grinned. “Besides, he’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys to watch when he moves into high gear. I’ve learned more from him in two years than I would with any other businessman in fifty. That doesn’t preclude my being very healthily intimidated by the man.”