The Billionaire's Ruthless Intrusion (Billionaire Knights Book 1) (2 page)

K
irsty stood gazing
out the window, chewing her lower lip and checking the garden party down below. She’d seen Geoffrey strut to and fro, happily engaged in conversation with his friends, before approaching her cousin Stuart, a lone presence on the edge of the party. With the party in full swing around him, he was like a rock, splitting the raging and churning waters. A formidable presence, his darkly stubbled jaw tense as he surveyed the frolicking crowd, his eyes cold and dark. She’d suppressed an involuntary shiver. She’d barely seen Stuart since his return from the war but felt that he’d grown even more formidable.

He’d always had a dark and brooding quality that set him apart from the rest, but as she watched him now she felt he looked positively intimidating.

A stab of anger lanced through her. Why had Mum even invited him over? He wasn’t the kind of person likely to be the life and soul of the party. All his presence accomplished was to cast a dark and unwanted pall over the revels.

She’d narrowed her eyes as she watched the two men engage in conversation, which was bound to be pretty one-sided as Stuart only ever managed to converse in grunts, growls and snarls. Like some feral animal!

She flung herself on the bed. It bounced, and she crossed her arms across her chest. It was obvious her invitation wasn’t inspiring Geoffrey to make great haste. Just now he’d been chatting up a girl he’d been seeing off and on for the past few months. Giselle something or other, though Geoffrey called her Binky.

With a scowl she thought her big surprise was going to be a bust. Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to her and she bolted upright, a hand to her face. Mortification held her in its grip as her mind traveled back to Geoffrey and Stuart, engaged in a rare heart-to-heart. Those two
never
spoke! In fact she’d heard rumors they’d had a falling-out of some kind, though what the exact argument had been about was anyone’s guess. Oh, God! Could it be that Geoffrey had confided in Stuart? That he’d told her cousin about the special surprise she had in store? No, no, no! With an agonized groan she imagined Stuart’s response. His brows would draw together into a disapproving frown and within seconds he’d tell Geoffrey the whole thing was off!

She had reason to fear her cousin’s ire, as he’d made it clear when she’d last seen him, shortly before he’d left on his first tour of duty, how he felt about the ‘silly crush’ she had on Geoffrey. He’d even warned her to rein in her foolishness and not subject the family to any more potential criticism and ridicule by going all fangirl over Geoffrey, a man he clearly considered highly unsuitable for her. Why exactly that was he’d never told her. Probably because he was too old for her. Well, he was only seven years her senior! For his information, Brad Pitt was twelve years older than Angelina, and they were Hollywood’s dream couple!

So she’d stubbornly told him to mind his own damn business, and they’d left it at that. Judging from the way he’d regarded her that hadn’t been the end of it, as far as he was concerned. But then he was sent off to fight some real enemies and she’d been thoroughly relieved Stuart was finally off her back… until now.

She jerked up her head when a sharp knock sounded on the door, and the breath momentarily halted in her lungs. Then she huffed it out tremulously, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and hopped from the bed. Her throat tightening and a hot blush painting red circles on her cheeks, she suppressed a nervous giggle, and vowed to do what she’d rehearsed in her mind about a million times since first falling madly, deeply in love with Geoffrey Holland.

“Come in,” she said, cursing herself for the audible quiver in her voice.

The door swung open, and Geoffrey entered. He was wearing his mask, as instructed, and her heart was hammering so fast she feared it might pop through the wall of her chest and drop down at Geoffrey’s feet, melting into a puddle.

“Hello, Geoffrey,” she said softly. “I see you got my message.”

He remained silent, merely staring at her through the holes in his mask, his presence taking up every ounce of space in her room. For a moment she had the distinct impression he’d grown in height and size since she’d seen him last, but then she managed to spirit a smile onto her face. Don’t be silly, she admonished herself. Hadn’t she dreamed of this moment all her life? Hadn’t she longed for Geoffrey to walk into her room like this—to enter her private, personal space?

She worried her lower lip again, leaving it slightly swollen, then closed the distance between them. As she approached, she caught a whiff of his scent, something musky mixed with a heady maleness that was solely his. She’d never actually been this close to Geoffrey—or to any man, for that matter—and to be so near him that she could reach out her fingers and place them on his chest added to the magic of the moment.

“I have a present for you, Geoffrey,” she murmured. “Something I’ve been saving especially for you.”

She took another step closer, and Stuart was surprised he hadn’t yet let on that he wasn’t the man she obviously wished he was. She smelled fresh and sweet—to summer meadows and heather. She looked absolutely stunning in that little red number, and he fought back the sharp stab of pain at the thought that she was about to give herself to Geoffrey. Offer herself to him as a present.

He watched as she approached, the red cotton dress accentuating her curvy frame, full breasts provocatively on display, the creamy swell of her bosom rising and falling as her breathing quickened. He noticed his own breath was quickening, too, in sync with hers. He should tell her… he should let her know… that she was making a big mistake. That she had the wrong man…

But he found his eyes drawn to the way her perfect white teeth were worrying her lower lip, causing it to swell slightly—the way it would when he kissed her? Of course not, he derided himself. That was simply ludicrous. And yet, curious stirrings were holding him captive, a vivid sense that something strange and wonderful was about to take place. And then there was the telltale hardening of his erection at the prospect of claiming this young woman for his own—covering those red, luscious lips with his own and plunging into all that soft wetness, her curves his to explore, to mold under his urgent touch.

Kirsty’s mind was a whirlpool of jumbled thoughts, the only thing standing out amongst the welter was that this was it—this was the moment she’d been waiting for all her life. Her first kiss—with Geoffrey. And it was almost as if her body had suddenly developed a mind of its own, as it took over, her limbs acting of their own accord as she raised her hand to his face, and eased up the mask.

And as she placed her hand on his face she could feel the stubble under her fingers—and somewhere in her brain it registered that something wasn’t right. Something was not the way she’d imagined it to be. For one thing, Geoffrey was always clean-shaven. Irrevocably, however, she was being pulled into him regardless of that niggling doubt, her body now pressing up against him. There was the coolness of his shirt against the bare flesh of the upper slopes of her breasts, and then she felt the male heat radiating from beneath the crisp cotton.

She closed her eyes and leaned in, her lips puckering in anticipation of the weight of Geoffrey’s lips on hers. But even as her lashes fluttered closed, she made a startling discovery: the man she was about to kiss wasn’t Geoffrey at all.

It was Stuart!

B
ut too late
. Inexorably she was pulled into Stuart’s embrace, and when he closed his lips on hers, she gasped inaudibly as her mind was brought to a standstill, and automatically gave herself over to the kiss.

He shouldn’t be kissing her, Stuart thought numbly, but then his lips descended upon hers, and he was free falling into her, his mind a blur.

She was all softness, wet and inviting as she slightly parted her lips to invite him in. And before he could stop himself, he was deeply plundering her mouth, his tongue finding hers and melting into the sudden intimacy she offered so eagerly and voraciously. She was all woman under his touch, as he splayed one hand firmly against her arching back, the other tracing a path to cup the round globe of her pert bottom, drawing her into the saddle of his loins.

He felt the fullness of her breasts press into his chest even as his erection thrust eagerly against her lower belly, their kiss deepening and growing ever more passionate and wild, tongues tangling and exploring, lips parting eagerly.

She was kissing him—she was kissing Geoffrey—no! She was kissing Stuart! And he was subjecting her to the most passionate kiss imaginable, devouring her and enveloping her in an intimate embrace that felt like they were making love, even though fully clothed.

The heat of the kiss rocked her to the core, melting her insides and turning her spine and legs to jelly. She clung to him, one hand curled at the nape of his neck, the other raking down his impossibly muscular back, all corded muscle bunching and undulating under her trembling fingers.

Panting against his mouth, she felt his hand move up from her waist to cup her breast, his fingers grasping her tender flesh, the pad of his thumb rubbing her raised peak and hardening it until it throbbed with aching need.

A soft moan escaped her throat when his lips inched lower, to the tenderly erotic spot beneath her ear, then lower along her neck to her collarbone. Her breathing quickened when he slid down her dress and his lips captured her swollen nipple, the taut pinkness drawing into a contracted pebble when he sucked and suckled, his hand kneading her other breast.

Skin on skin, the sensation was sending ever-increasing pulsations of pleasure down her belly into the seat of her sex, and she knew she was already wet with desire—wet for Stuart!

“Oh, yes,” she moaned when the stubble of his cheeks erotically abraded the tender alabaster of her breasts. “Yes!”

The words effectively broke the spell, for he suddenly, abruptly disentangled himself from her, gazing down into her wide blue eyes with his own golden orbs, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done. Then, just as abruptly, he emitted a low snarl and pushed her away. She staggered back and fell down onto the bed, their eyes still locked. Their masks had fallen away and she saw that her cousin’s dark scowl had replaced his mask, his features now twisted in what she could only surmise was silent rage, his eyes zeroing in on her with hot flames of anger.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he roared.

“I—I thought you were—” she stammered.

His lips closed on a vicious line. “Geoffrey! You thought I was Geoffrey!”

His eyes dipped lower and narrowed, the gold flaring ocher. Only now did she notice her dress was still down, her heaving breasts on display, red marks where he’d kissed her, traces of wetness where he’d marked her for his own.

She quickly adjusted the dress, her cheeks glowing hotly. She suddenly felt faint. What was happening?! She was in love with Geoffrey! It was him she wanted, not Stuart! But then why had she so wantonly given herself to Stu, knowing full well it was him she was kissing and not the man she’d intended to be her first?

Worse, even as he stood scowling at her, his square jaw working, his thundering voice reverberating in the small space, she could feel the silent urge to be taken in his arms again—to feel his lips on her body once more and even to have him inside of her, penetrating the most intimate part of her.

“I told you before to stop this foolish charade!” he now grunted.

He dragged his fingers through his hair. It had grown slightly since his return from the war, she saw, and she couldn’t help notice, too, how his lips were flushed from the heated kiss they’d shared, and tainted by her lip gloss. It was a sight so erotic it sent another powerful urge ricocheting through her. It was as if her body wanted nothing more than to be in Stuart’s arms again—this time skin on skin—flesh on flesh. She wanted him to undress her, peel that silly little dress from her body as his lips descended on her peaked nipples.

She couldn’t suppress a keening moan as she fought desperately to push back the urges of her flesh. This wasn’t happening! Not Stuart. It was Geoffrey she’d always imagined taking her virginity, not her cousin!

Stuart tore his eyes away from Kirsty. Half seated, half lying on the bed, it was all he could do not to take the two steps and push her down onto the pink duvet and take her mouth, kissing his way along her neck to her breasts and lave her nipples. Use lips, tongue and teeth to arouse even more pleasure by exploring that glowing skin, acquainting himself with every velvety, satiny inch of her body, moving along the softness of her thighs, cupping, caressing and finally discovering the wetness he was sure to find there.

Like a bull, he shook his head angrily against the overwhelmingly erotic visions his mind was producing. No more! He raked her with his furious gaze.

“You must stop this nonsense, Kirsty,” he growled, folding his massive arms across his chest lest they defied his tight control and reached for her.

She was trembling violently, her heart beating a rapid tattoo, but one thing burned across her mind with crystal clarity: Stuart had tricked her. He’d come into her room pretending to be Geoffrey and had tricked her into kissing him.

But why? He hated her. Had always hated her, ever since they were little. Always had some snide comment or scathing retort ready to launch at her. Her other cousins, Mike and Steve, had treated her with fairness and familial affection but not Stuart. He’d treated her abominably until she’d decided to stand up to him and had retaliated tit for tat, one time even going so far as screaming that she hated him so much she wished he’d never been born.

He’d stopped lashing out verbally then, and had simply given her the cold shoulder treatment, ignoring her at family gatherings. In fact she couldn’t remember him offering her so much as a glance over the past couple of years, ever since she’d grown into a woman and not the mere girl she once was.

“Why?” she demanded hotly, as soon as she trusted her voice not to break under the pressure of his furious gaze. “Why did you allow me to kiss you when you knew—” She swallowed, her throat constricted. “When you knew full well—”

“That it was Geoffrey you wanted to kiss?” he sneered.

She nodded, caught between embarrassment, anger and confusion.

He moved his massive shoulders in a shrug. “I wanted to see how far you would take this charade,” he offered.

“You—you kissed me back,” she pointed out, the tip of her tongue briefly touching her bottom lip, which was still swollen from the onslaught of the kiss.

Stuart watched her tongue steal out between her lips and once more felt that roaring need smash against his defenses. The powerful urge to take things up a notch. To join her on the bed and see how far she was willing to go. Viciously, he stamped down on the urges of his flesh. It was because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long, he told himself. During his time in Iraq sex had been the furthest thing from his mind, the daily act of surviving demanding all his focus, and since returning to London he hadn’t so much as glanced at a woman. The fact that here was a woman who offered herself to him was the only reason he was experiencing this all-consuming desire to be inside her—melting and melding—moving together in the primal dance of unrestrained sexual release.

“I wanted to teach you a lesson,” he told her darkly.

“What lesson?” she breathed, confusion etched on her lovely features.

And lovely they most definitely were. Her heart-shaped face had lost its childish quality and had blossomed into the beauty of womanhood, as had the provocative curvature of her body. His own body’s memory painfully confirmed this assessment.

Furious with himself for allowing his thoughts to wander back into dangerous terrain, he snapped, “I wanted you to know that this humiliating infatuation must come to an end. Haven’t you made a fool of yourself long enough? Do you really want to be the laughingstock of this family?”

Tears sprang to her eyes at these harsh words. This was the Stuart she knew. This was the way he’d treated her always. “You’re just saying that because you hate me!” she hurled at him, and got up from the bed, heading for the door. She cried out when his fingers bit into her arm and he yanked her back. He pushed her up against the wall, his arms trapping her, his face now so close to hers she could study every feature, from the violent slash of his lips, the way the bronzed skin stretched over his chiseled cheekbones, the tiny scar on his brow he’d picked up in Iraq, and the molten lava of his golden eyes as they bored into hers.

But it wasn’t fear that animated her as she was locked in his gaze. It was pure lust, she knew, as the only thought that entered her mind was the desperate hope that he would kiss her again. That he would press her up against the wall, his hard chest flattening her breasts before he took her mouth again, while his hands roved over her body, taking possession of her and making her his own.

Her eyes had dropped to his lips, Stuart saw, and he could see the heat flushing her cheeks. The way his erection was pushing against the painfully unyielding restraints of his slacks told him that his body wanted nothing less than a repetition of the earlier scene, and he ground his teeth to suppress the savage need. “From now on you’re not to see Geoffrey,” he snarled. She blinked, and once more he could see tears form in those pools of deep blue. His heart ached with sudden compassion, but he continued harshly, “Is that clear?”

She nodded miserably, and not because the thought of not seeing Geoffrey was disconcerting her, but the fact that Stuart wasn’t going to kiss her again. She could sense it in the way his jaw muscles were working. He still hated her. She could see it in his eyes, which were hard with pure contempt. Perhaps he’d kissed her, but now she realized that it had been the desire to punish her that had fueled that kiss, not passion or lust. He’d wanted to punish her both with words and gesture. To make her feel a complete and utter fool for throwing herself at Geoffrey without inhibition. He’d succeeded in doing so perfectly well.

When he released her and abruptly left the room, slamming the door, she experienced a pang of misery. Why? Because his departure left an unexpected emptiness in his wake? Left her feeling suddenly lonely? But how could that be? She didn’t love Stuart. She never had. She loved Geoffrey, she stubbornly told herself as she sank down onto the bed once again. But then why had she responded so wantonly to Stuart’s kiss? Because somewhere in the back of her mind she’d replaced him with Geoffrey, she told herself. Yes, that was it. Her mind had played a trick on her. She’d thought she was being kissed by Geoffrey, being embraced by Geoffrey. Stuart had simply been a substitute, nothing more.

For how could he be more than a stand-in for the man she really loved?

He hated her and she hated him. That was the way it had always been.