Olivia Gates Bestseller Collection 2012 (28 page)

Divine color cascaded from her sculpted cheekbones to flood her face and neck. His mouth tingled to latch onto every inch until
he
swallowed
her
whole.

“You turn everything into a sexual innuendo,” she muttered.

“Believe it or not—and you’re not in the mood to believe anything I say—I never did before. I never saw the attraction in the practice. Now I can’t see anything but.”

She fidgeted, as if her skin were suddenly too tight. No matter how affronted, how hurt she was, her body still yearned for his. That was the one thing he hadn’t doubted. He’d thought she’d been playing him, but enjoying him with every fiber of her voluptuous body while at it.

She stole a self-conscious look at his bodyguards. “They’re almost reaching for their guns. Do you have an APB out on imminent redheaded danger?”

“They’re jumpy because the last time I stopped in the street to talk to someone I know, he stabbed me.” Horror burst into her eyes. After a frozen moment, they wrenched from his, careened down his body, as if she could see the injury through his clothes. “Then he bid ten million for a chance to say he was sorry.”

“He was the…? Oh, God…was it…? Are you…?” She seemed unable to go on, her throat working as if swallowing tears.

After what he’d done to her, seeing her so disturbed to think of him hurt was too much.

He interrupted her agitation. “I moved out of the direct path of his thrust. He only penetrated skin and muscles in my left flank.”

Her hand jerked up, trembled as it reached halfway to where his injury was, before she fisted it, pulled it back.

The unwilling gesture of concern closed his throat. “And you know what? I’ll add him to my list. I was adamant about not giving him a second chance, but now I’ll seek him out to talk this through. I find I have a new wealth of empathy for him and his need for forgiveness now that I’m in the same position.”

She gaped. “You’re equating a physical wound with a moral one?”

“I think the moral one is far worse in this situation. I didn’t lose any sleep over the flesh wound. And there are no lingering ill effects. But even though I don’t expect you to forgive me any more easily than I chose to forgive him, I demand that you give me another chance, so that I can earn your forgiveness.”

“Demand? My, is that a royal edict, Your Highness?”

His lips twisted. “I’m a bit out of my jurisdiction, royally speaking. But then, this is my new kingdom, as your report put it. My demands here
are
considered edicts.”

She coughed a furious chuckle. “You’ve just shot through the barrier of unbelievability into the realm of what’s-he-on.” She thrust her dossier at him. “Here, keep this. Read it through for laughs if you want to see how creative people can get in their vindictiveness, in case you don’t fully know yet. I only read you the highlights, which amounted to three pages out of sixty-two.”

She walked away then. He knew she wasn’t going to stop.

He had to get her back anyway he could. He called after her.

“You wanted me to write a book baring the details of my life
and journey to success, the workings of my mind and methods. I’m interested.”

She whirled around, a magnificent lioness with a mane of fire, her eyes iridescent with ire. “Oh, no, you’re not.”

Lust corkscrewed in his loins. He savored the twisting ache, cocked his head. “You’ve changed your mind about your offer?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “You know I haven’t.”

“How do I know that when you didn’t bring it up again?”

“I didn’t bring it up at all. First you wouldn’t hear of business, then you wouldn’t hear anything I had to say.”

“I want to hear everything you have to say now.”

“
Sei serio?
You’re serious? This isn’t just pretext for…for…”

“For taking you to bed? No. Although I am suffering permanent damage here as we speak, because I haven’t taken you to bed and kept you there for the last ten days, because I’m standing in the middle of smog-infested, ground-level downtown New York instead of lying inside you in a bed eighty floors up in serenity and seclusion, I
am
interested in hearing about your book offer.”

Suspicion flared higher in her eyes. “And why are you?”

“Because I believe that anything you propose will have a lot to recommend it. I didn’t say I’d accept, though.”

She pursed her lips. “Fair enough. I want you to accept only if I convince you, not because you want me in your bed. In fact, I won’t sign a thing if that’s your motive. Contrary to ‘common knowledge,’ I don’t barter my body for business deals.”

“I don’t either.” She narrowed her eyes. He held out his hand, inviting, placating, coaxing, barely holding back the need to reestablish the connection, to drag her into his arms. “I owe you one hour of the exclusive use of my ear. Then, if you wish, you can have the exclusive use of the rest of my body.”

G
abrielle looked up at Durante from his kitchen table.

He was handing her a hot chocolate he’d prepared himself.

She took the very masculine, clean-cut, but clearly expensive and possibly specially made fine China mug from him. He brought his own and sat across from her, dominating his stainless steel and obsidian marble spaceship of a kitchen.

This was surreal. To be in his kitchen of all places, with him waiting on her. In fact, she didn’t know if she’d actually walked back to his building, crossed the extensive foyer littered with still-gaping denizens, entered his private elevator and ended up in his floor-wide penthouse, or if he’d levitated her there.

She wouldn’t put it past him. Those reports hadn’t exaggerated his influence at all.

He leaned across the table, enveloped her hand in his—the one that had slapped him—smoothed his thumb over her knuckles, before turning it over and doing the same to her palm.

“Can you please stop that?”

“Why? You like it. From your breathing, I’d say too much. Is that the problem?”

“I didn’t come here with slapping you in mind, Durante…”

“But you saw me and emotion overwhelmed your judgment?”

“Quite the reverse actually. I held myself back at the last moment.” She told him what she’d done in her dream.

He bellowed with laughter. “So I owe it to your self-mastery that I’m not now undergoing rhinoplasty and a jaw reset.” He wiped tears of hilarity with one hand, the other taking hers to his lips. He planted tiny kisses on knuckle after another, zapping her with enough voltage to power a block. “Ah,
Gabriella mia, grazie a Dio
you held back, or these works of divine art would be bruised and swollen now. But let me assure you, your slap almost achieved one of your wishes. My jaw may never resume its former position.”

“If the way you’re using your mouth is any indication, I’d say I made it extra efficient.”

He lunged across the table. Before she even blinked, he twisted hair at her nape, tilted up her face and claimed her lips in a compulsive kiss. He inhaled as he took and took of her until she felt he’d drawn her essence inside him. The warm, moist firmness of his lips, the way they plucked at hers, massaged, kneaded, shot tremors from her lips to her core. Then he exhaled and thrust deep, flooding her with his taste and scent.

Each kiss he gave her was new, different, giving her more and more. It was as if, through every press and glide and thrust, he was fathoming her preferences, many she didn’t know herself, deciphering the code of her responses, the combination to unlock the pleasure her body had the potential to feel and never had.

She’d become addicted from the first exposure, had felt hollow knowing she’d never have more.

She did now. Could have far more if she dared. Again.

His rejection still reverberated in her marrow.

She recoiled from the echo of anguish just as he released her,
sat down heavily in his chair, threw his head back and closed his eyes, veins standing out in his corded neck.

He let out a slow, ragged breath and opened his eyes. Streaks of brilliant blue radiation seemed to sweep over her and through her with unbridled carnality. “In the interest of self-preservation, let’s drink our concoction and discuss your offer.” He sat forward, linked his hands. “So, what makes your offer different? You advertized your certainty that I couldn’t refuse it.”

She blinked. “I only said that to Gerald Whittacker as he wanted to champion my request but wanted to make sure I was on to something that wouldn’t be a waste of your time. I didn’t think he’d relay it to you.”

“How do you know Gerald?”

She set her teeth. “How do you think?”

He sighed. “I admit, I thought…the worst. At first.” She bristled, and his eyes gentled. “Now I’m just curious, not suspicious.”

She searched his face. There was no trace of the distrust and condemnation that had destroyed her the day he’d walked away.

Something inside her broke down in relieved sobs.

She bit her lip on the surge of moronic elation. “He used to be Dad’s golf instructor before my dad’s condition worsened, and before Gerald made his fortune. I earned myself a soft spot in his heart by running my own heart out retrieving balls for him.”

He closed his eyes, tipped his head and smiled, as if he were watching something funny and endearing across his lids. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with something far more dangerous than passion, suspicion or anger. Tenderness.

“You must have been younger than five. I can just imagine you, strong limbs and boundless energy, streaking after errant balls, in pursuit of approval and smiles.”

That was how it had been exactly. Gerald had given her a glimpse of what paternal indulgence could be like, when her
father hadn’t been able to provide it. And somehow Durante had looked back in time and knew. She wanted him to know the rest.

“While I’m debunking the myths about my being a gold-digging man-eater, I want you to know where they came from.”

His wave was dismissing, adamant. “I don’t need explanations.”

“
I
need to tell you. The details, anyway. I already told you the basics…about my ex. I’ve never told anybody the truth. In fact, that secrecy is the reason behind my negative reputation. You see, I didn’t bring up my hospital stay and the charges I pressed during divorce proceedings. My lawyers insisted that if I exposed him, he’d be harmed, but I’d gain nothing but more lawsuits and having him in my life endlessly. They got me a huge settlement in return for silence. It wasn’t enough punishment for what he did to me, but I figured I was cutting that monster in half. But then, he took advantage of my silence to defame me. He gets more vicious as time goes by, knowing that if I speak up now, I’ll be known as the bitch who’s slandering the poor ex she robbed of half his fortune. That final day in court, he swore he’d make my life hell. And he sure is trying his worst. I guess the few men I rejected afterward make a good chorus for his venom.”

His look had darkened as she spoke, was almost black now.

She groaned. “What are you thinking?”

Something chilling slithered in the depths of his eyes. His lips spread in a frightening parody of a smile. He looked like some malevolent deity. She already knew he was formidable, but she could now see how deadly he could be.

“I’m thinking it’s time Edward Jamieson lost the other half of his fortune. And for the truth about him to become public. A man like him would be a serial abuser. There are bound to be other women he’s hurt and paid off into silence. I’m also thinking it’s time for his first wife’s death to be fully investigated.”

She gaped at him. “Remind me never to become your enemy.”

His switch from ferocity to fondness was dizzying. “Not only is there no danger of that, but I’m only an effective enemy to those who’ve been their own worst enemies. All I need to do to crush him is expose the crimes he committed.”

“So that’s how you decimate your rivals, huh? Through their own wrongdoing?”

“And by doing nothing wrong myself, so no one can retaliate. Except with allegations such as what you came armed with today.”

She chewed her lip. “I would have told you to leave him alone, that he and his lies don’t matter, if you hadn’t reminded me that he could be abusing other women—women who may not be able to defend themselves like I did. So, as long as the investigations are honest, by all means, crush away.”

He crooked her a whimsical smile. “As long as? You think there’s a chance I’d fabricate evidence? Frame him?”

“No! I know from your history—and from personal experience—that you retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed, but I’ve come to believe that you do so when you think you’re justified, not out of malice. I believe you’re unforgiving, but not unscrupulous. You’re an avenger—you might act before you get your facts straight, but you’re never a villain.”

He sat forward, placed both elbows on the quartz table, cupped his face in his palms, his eyes heavy with exhilaration and indulgence. “That’s quite a testimony. I think.” He winked at her. “If I ever run for public office anywhere, my slogan will be An avenger, never a villain.”

She was struggling to convince her heart to restart when he drawled, “So…sell me on your proposal.”

Thankful for the detour away from personal landmines, she breathed deep, struggled to access the pitch she’d prepared.

“Okay.” She sat forward. “The book I envision is not like any you’ve received offers to write. I’m not after the sensational angles in your life, real or fabricated. In fact, I don’t want you to expose anything about your personal life beyond your health,
exercise and relaxation habits. You know, anything that kept you functioning to capacity for the past twenty years, soaring from one pinnacle to the next. I want you to explore your drive, your discipline. I want this to be the work-ethic motivation book of all time, a book any young person would read and be inspired to jump up and tackle the world.”

His eyes had grown serious as she talked. He suddenly huffed. “It’s ironic to hear you saying ‘soaring’ when those closest to me are insisting I’m perilously close to crashing and burning.”

Her heart skipped another beat. “What’s
your
opinion?”

“I think they’re on to something. At least, they
were.
”

The meaning simmering in his eyes quivered in her heart. She almost shouted for him to stop. Keep it strictly sexual. She might know how to handle it if he did. But he didn’t, and she couldn’t hope he meant what she hoped he meant. Therein lay certain annihilation.

But there was something far stronger than fear for her fate. Concern for him. “Do you have any complaints, any symptoms?”

He started to dismiss her question, then changed his mind, leveled his eyes on her. “The main symptom is that I ‘retaliate with disproportionate force when crossed.’ I never had a temper and it’s maddening that I seem to have developed one.”

“So what’s loosening your screws?”

“Public opinion says I’ve been chronically fatigued and sleep deprived for years. All I know is that I’m working more and more and sleeping less and less. When I do sleep, I don’t remember any of my dreams, to the point that I think I don’t dream.”

“Do you need to work that hard?”

“That’s what my friends keep asking.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You have friends?”

His laugh boomed. “Wonders will never cease, will they? I, for one, sometimes wonder how I do. There are two in particular I want you to meet, my cousin and his bride. I think you’ll really get along with Jade. She hones her tongue at the same
rapier maker that you do.” She made a face at him and he laughed again. “No, I don’t have to work a fraction as hard to ‘maintain my power.’ But I’ve become unable to slow down, like a train without brakes. It’s become self-perpetuating, sort of an addiction. I guess I am too much like my father. He slowed down when he was in his fifties. And he still streaked past everyone else.”

It shook her. Again. The enormity of feeling that radiated from him when he mentioned his father. The first time there’d been so much anger it had thrown her. This time there was no doubt. He
loved
him.

It was probably the magnitude of his love that caused his feelings of betrayal to be so vast, made what he believed to be the breach of his trust so irredeemable.

She wanted to protest that he had it all wrong, as he had with her, that he didn’t have to live with disillusionment eating away at him, that he had to give his father the benefit of the doubt, even if the king couldn’t provide evidence to exonerate himself.

But she couldn’t. She’d given King Benedetto her word. And if she started that argument, Durante would notice she wasn’t just drawing parallels between his treatment of her and his father, would see her emotional investment in his father’s cause. He’d ask. And if he asked, she’d tell him. And she
couldn’t.

But maybe there was some way around this, other than breaking her word. Durante was starting to talk, as she was convinced he hadn’t before. Maybe he’d purge his angst, give his father a chance, like he was willing to give one to the man who’d stabbed him. Maybe things would go where the king hoped.

Not that it made her situation any better. When she’d given her word, she’d thought there’d be nothing but business contact with Durante, that she’d be the voice of reason before she exited his life at the conclusion of the deal. Now everything had changed and she felt as if she was lying to him when she—

“Any number of millions for your thoughts.”

Durante’s deep purr short-circuited her turmoil. She breathed a nervous laugh. “You always toss around carte blanche like that?”

He sipped his drink, his gaze caressing her over his mug’s rim. “Never even in jest. Only for you. So where did you go?”

She reached for her mug, gulped the rich sweetness as if it would fortify her. “I was musing if your case is genetic.”

He took another sip, looking thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably. Still think I’d make a good example for the youths of the world?”

“I think this glitch in your system…humanizes you, makes your experience more accessible, can make young people aspire to walk in your footsteps while learning how to recognize bad habits before they take hold of their lives.”