Heiress's Defiance (3 page)

She came around her desk and thrust her hand out. She would not cower from him like a mouse. “I believe a handshake is how it’s usually done.”

His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand. “Indeed.” His hand slipped into hers, engulfing it. They were palm to palm and it somehow felt like the most intimate touch imaginable. She tried not to gasp, tried not to shiver or make any response that let him know how intense this feeling was.

But she didn’t need to. He tugged her hand
softly and she moved forward until their bodies pressed together. His arm slipped behind her, his fingers spreading over the small of her back, burning her through the fabric of her dress.

His other hand tilted her chin up. His eyes, those beautiful, icy eyes, searched hers. She could not, for the life of her, imagine what she was supposed to say.

“I think this requires something a bit more personal,” he murmured. And then his mouth came down on hers—softly, sweetly, his lips gliding over hers, teasing and tantalizing. Her heart was a reckless runaway in her chest, and her body had lost the ability to hold itself upright moments ago.

She clutched his lapels, her eyes fluttering closed as he tormented her with that glorious mouth. His tongue slipped over her lips, and she gasped. Then he was inside and she was there to meet him. Their tongues tangled, and Lucilla made a noise in her throat as her body simply melted.

Oh, she hadn’t felt like this in so long—if ever. She’d had lovers, certainly. But not for months now, and no one who’d made her yearn so keenly for his touch. Kissing Christos was a revelation in more ways than one.

First, he was an amazing kisser. Second,
in spite of her very real dislike of him, it only seemed to make kissing him more exciting. He tilted her chin up, plundered her mouth with a bit more urgency than before. His tongue was skillful, his lips masterful.

Oh, how she ached for more than this melding of mouths.

But this was Christos.
Christos.
The man her father had sent to do the job she was meant to do. The man who thought himself above her in every way. The man who showed absolutely no remorse or pity in his dealings with others.

He’d sent Lucca to the Mediterranean, Cara to Vegas, Franco on an errand in Australia. He’d hired Antonio as the head of strategy, but Antonio had taken the job only because she’d begged him to so they could work together to bring Christos down. With Orsino out of action in France, and Nicolo currently holed up at Chatsfield House with Christos’s PA—whom he’d sent to secure Nicolo’s attendance at the next shareholders’ meeting—Christos was like a great spider, sitting at the center of his web and sending out threads designed to ensnare people.

Lucilla’s fingers tightened in his lapels. She had a choice. She could stop this insanity or she could use this moment between them. She
had never been a seductress before—but she could be. She could use this fire, this need, and she could best him at his own game.

She pressed herself closer to him, though it terrified her on some level to do so. His grip on her tightened, his hands spanning her hips, pulling her against him and—

Oh, my.

He was hard. There was no mistaking it. She’d thought, on some level, that he was faking desire for her. Liquid heat flooded her sex as he moved against her, his body sparking delicious sensations in hers. She let her hands slide over his chest, beneath his jacket—

There was a knock on the door and then it swung open before Lucilla registered what such an intrusion would mean.

“Oh! Excuse me!”

The door slammed shut again and Lucilla broke free of Christos’s grip. Oh, my God. Her cheeks blazed. She’d just been caught in the arms of the boss. By Jessie. Because that’s how everyone viewed Christos around here even if she did not.

Fury and embarrassment boiled in her belly. She’d been so convinced she knew what she was doing. What on earth had possessed her?

She was not a seductress and she had no
idea what she’d do with Christos if she did sleep with him. How would that help her cause? Clearly, she’d been out of her mind. The moment he’d kissed her, she’d lost her sense. And now Jessie knew. Who else would know before the week was out?

Christos’s eyes glittered hot as he ran a thumb over his lip, presumably removing her lipstick. He appeared as cool as if he were standing outside in a soaking rain while she felt as if she would never be cool again.

“It seems as if we’ve been interrupted. Not a moment too soon, I imagine.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what that means.” She went around her desk and stood with that object between them, as if it could protect her when she apparently didn’t have sense enough to protect herself. “Nothing was going to happen.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” His voice was soft as a whisper and yet steely, too. “We wanted the same thing, Lucilla. And it would have happened on your desk in another five minutes.”

“You are so deluded. I let you kiss me. It meant nothing.”

“Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep at night. But you know as well as I do where that kiss was headed.”

She folded her arms over her chest and hoped the wild beat of her pulse didn’t show in her throat. “If you will excuse me, I believe Jessie needs to see me for something.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.” He was almost to the door when he turned and threw her a heated look. “As I said before, this is not over. In fact, I would say it has only begun.”

Without waiting for a reply, he yanked the door open and stalked through it. An astonished and red-faced Jessie hurried into the room, eyes wide. She wisely did not say a word about Christos.

Lucilla took her seat and tried to appear cool. “Well, has there been a disaster?” Aside from the disaster of letting Christos kiss her and steal all her good sense, of course.

“Nothing of the sort. You asked me to let you know who bought your mother’s portrait.”

She’d almost forgotten. “Yes, of course I did.”

Jessie looked apologetic. “I’m afraid it was an anonymous phone bidder. It sold for one hundred thousand pounds, though.”

Lucilla tried to ignore the pinch in her heart. No way could she have afforded that much, even if she had been willing to bid.
“Thank you, Jessie. I’ll be here for a while. Let me know if I’m needed.”

“Yes, Ms. Chatsfield,” Jessie said before turning and hurrying out the door. Lucilla closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She could still feel Christos’s touch on her skin, still feel the deep pull of desire in her core.

Lucilla shivered. And then she opened up her email and got to work. Christos had to go. Soon.

C
HRISTOS WAS IN
a bad mood. He was restless and edgy and his patience had run out a long time ago. He knew what it was. He sat at his desk in his big corner office and brooded over the latest reports. Oh, the reports were fine. There was progress on all fronts. Lucca wasn’t making a spectacle of himself, Cara was managing to ride out the media storm created in Las Vegas with the notorious Aiden Kelly and Franco was getting somewhere with Purman Wines.

Not only that, but Sophie had made progress with Nicolo and he would be at the shareholders’ meeting next week. Orsino still wasn’t answering Christos’s calls, but Christos figured it was only a matter of time. The Chatsfield children were coming into line, whether they believed it or not.

His biggest problem, however, was Lucilla.

He couldn’t forget that kiss in her office on
the night of the charity auction. It had been two weeks ago now and he thought of it incessantly. The way she’d melted in his arms like molten gold, her body curving into his and promising him such sweetness. He’d wanted her quite desperately in that moment. And she had wanted him, too; he was certain of it. She’d been ready to come apart in his arms and then the door had opened and Jessie had stumbled in—and that was the end of that.

For two weeks, she’d avoided him. They saw each other at the morning staff meetings. She gave her reports. But she did not come to his office—and he did not send for her.

He did it as much to prove to himself as to her that he was unaffected by their interchange. Yes, she’d excited him and he’d wanted her. But he did not need her. Women were interchangeable to him. All he required from them was a warm body in his bed and a few hours of passion. Beyond that, he wished for nothing more.

Needed nothing more.

Except, dammit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Lucilla’s mouth beneath his, her tongue gliding against his, her body so pliable and warm….

The tingle at the base of his spine was not a good sign. He swore and got to his feet,
shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and stalking over to the window to gaze out on the park across the street. He needed a woman. Any woman. That would take the edge off and then he could get back to thinking straight again.

He could call Victoria. She was an enthusiastic lover, even if she left him cold. Yes, he’d taken her back to her apartment that night after the aborted kiss with Lucilla and he’d let her strip him naked. He’d spent his passion inside her body, but he’d felt vaguely disgusted with himself when it was done. Then he’d left her with a kiss and a promise to call.

He had not done so, of course. He had no intention of doing so, no matter that it would be the solution to his problem.

He raked a hand through his hair and swore softly. He could not figure out this reaction to Lucilla, except that she fired his blood because she so very clearly despised him. He didn’t usually care how anyone felt about him so long as the job got done. He still didn’t care.

But he was intrigued, damn him. No one stood up to him the way Lucilla did. No one challenged him on every level. He found that he enjoyed it.

He was a man who got what he wanted.
And right now, he wanted Lucilla Chatsfield. He wanted her beneath him, saying his name in pleasure rather than derision. It was dangerous to want such a thing, and yet he was driven by a need that went all the way back to his miserable childhood.

He’d been nobody, nothing, an unwanted blot on the dirty face of the life he came from. He’d clawed his way up, out of the mire, and he’d sworn he would have everything he had ever been denied. He’d not been raised with gold and diamonds and plenty to eat. He’d had to fight to survive, and he’d had to maim to prevent being killed.

Lucilla Chatsfield, in contrast, had grown up in a huge pile of stones known as Chatsfield House, where she’d had servants, money, all the food she could eat and the finest education money could buy. Her tones were cultured, her manner graceful and understated.

Lucilla would never be gauche. She would never be an urchin from a hardscrabble background. She would never feel as if she didn’t belong.

He knew what it meant to be all those things, though he’d left them far behind. He’d achieved fame in certain circles, a fortune and all the women he wanted. He’d had heiresses before. Rich divorcées. Women whose
pedigrees went back to some important monarch or other.

But there was something about Lucilla Chatsfield. Something about the idea of seeing her naked and trembling before him, begging for his touch, for his mouth on her body. Begging the former street urchin to caress her privileged flesh.

Oh, yes, she made him remember his roots and he did not like it. She made him feel unworthy, and he’d worked a long time to banish that feeling. He’d not felt worthless in forever. Not until Lucilla looked down her nose at him and told him to crawl back in his hole.

What he didn’t understand was
why
she made him feel that way, because she certainly wasn’t the first to say such a thing to him. She likely wouldn’t be the last.

But she did, and he couldn’t allow it. Christos let out a long breath. There was only one cure, only one way to relegate her to her rightful place in his universe.

Lucilla was standing in the kitchen, tasting the selections the head chef suggested for the upcoming seasonal menu when Christos walked in. Her heart skipped a beat, but she continued to lift the tasting spoon to her lips and nibble on the goat-cheese-and-truffle-oil
hors d’oeuvres Henri had designed. It was perfectly placed on a little crostini that gave it a delightful crunch when she bit down.

“Excellent, chef,” she said after she’d swallowed the morsel.

“Sir?” Henri inquired, turning to Christos with a tasting spoon.

“Certainly.” He took the spoon and popped the food into his mouth and she found herself fascinated with the way he chewed it. Slowly, as if savoring every flavor. When he finally swallowed, she wanted to fan herself. “Most excellent,” he told the chef, who beamed.

Henri excused himself after a few more moments discussing the food and Lucilla found herself alone with Christos—or as alone as one could be in a kitchen bustling with activity. She hadn’t spent any time with him since that night over two weeks ago when she’d nearly lost all her sense over nothing more than an illicit kiss.

Frustratingly, she still had no information she could use to jettison him from the Chatsfield. But she wasn’t giving up yet. There were still people she hadn’t heard from. And then there was the last email that she’d received from Sara Norrington, the private detective she’d hired to investigate Christos. Sara had said that she was on to something
but had refused to share any information until she had something concrete. A little tendril of guilt wrapped around Lucilla’s heart but she ignored it. What was there to feel guilty about? She wasn’t going to maim him, for God’s sake. She just wanted him to resign and move on to the next company.

She gripped her tablet to her chest and leveled a cool gaze on him. He made her insides flutter, damn him. “Did you need something from me?”

One eyebrow lifted and heat slid over her skin.
Oh, heavens …
Talk about a loaded question.

She expected him to remark on it, but he did not. Rather, he spoke imperiously, as if he’d never had his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her body. “Only to remind you that the shareholders’ meeting is next week, and we will be leaving immediately after.”

It was as if the kiss had never happened, and for some reason that irritated her. She would at least like to know he’d spent half as much time thinking about it as she had. Not that she ever would know it. He’d left that night as he’d arrived: with his supermodel on his arm. Laughing at her, no doubt, for being so flustered when Jessie caught them.

“I know that.”

“Though you have not bothered to reply to my email.”

She got the distinct feeling he wanted to irritate her. It was working, too. “What is there to reply to? You sent a detailed itinerary. I assumed I was to salute sharply and click my heels.”

“Yet a reply in the affirmative is expected. If I assumed that all my memos were received and agreed to without confirmation, I wouldn’t be much of an executive, now would I?”

“Then I shall have Jessie respond immediately.”

“See that you do.”

“You could have just called,” she said as he turned away. How dare he show up and put her on the spot, then walk away as if nothing disturbed him?

He pivoted back to her. “You didn’t answer your phone. I wasn’t prepared to assume you would answer a follow-up.”

“I’ve been busy.”

His eyes gleamed. “As have I. Which makes this meeting damned inconvenient, I assure you.”

Now he was just making her mad. “So why didn’t you pick up the phone and call my office? You know the number. Or, better
yet, have your assistant call my assistant. You didn’t have to disrupt your excruciatingly
busy
day to come find me.”

He glanced over her shoulder, presumably at the kitchen staff who were busily going about their duties peeling vegetables, preparing dishes, washing pots and generally prep-ping the kitchen for the evening service. No doubt they were paying attention keenly as Lucilla was well aware that both their voices had risen as the conversation went on.

“It seems as if we are attracting attention, Ms. Chatsfield. Would you care to continue this discussion in my office?”

She swallowed. If she refused him, she would look weak to whoever was watching. If she accepted, she would then be alone with Christos. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Not because she didn’t trust herself, but because it was damned humiliating. She’d spent the past two weeks thinking of his body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped around her. Clearly, he’d been troubled by no such thoughts.

Still, there was only one choice. This was her hotel, damn him. Her birthright.

“Of course,” she replied, sweeping past him so that he had to follow her from the kitchen. She hurried down the hallways,
aware of him behind her, aware of eyes on them as they swept through the offices. She had no idea if Jessie had repeated what she’d seen that night of the gala, but Lucilla was always conscious of the possibility. Jessie was a good assistant, but all it took was one stray comment and the whole thing could explode like a wildfire. That was simply the nature of office gossip.

Lucilla marched past Christos’s assistant, Sophie, just back from her excursion to Chatsfield House, and into his office, turning when she heard the door click shut behind her. Her pulse tripped and stumbled as she tried to maintain her cool.

“I prefer if you do not challenge me in front of the staff,” he ground out before she could speak. “It sets a bad precedent.”

“Then don’t come into my territory to chastise me in front of
my
staff,” she grated back. “Because I will not tolerate it.”

His eyes narrowed. “You will not tolerate it? Have you forgotten who is in charge here, Ms. Chatsfield?”

Ms. Chatsfield.
He’d called her that twice now when he never had before. For some reason, it annoyed her. Not that she missed being called his Lucilla but, well, dammit …

Lucilla closed her eyes for a second. She
didn’t know what she missed or why she was irritated. She only knew it was different and she didn’t like it. But then she didn’t like being called Lucilla
mou
, either.

Argh! What was the matter with her?

“You are not in charge of
me
, Christos. I will respect the fact my father hired you, and I will respect the fact that you even believe you are doing a good job—but I won’t be talked down to in front of the staff and I won’t keep silent when you irritate me. You are not a god, and this is not your personal domain.”

His eyes glittered with heat. And then he laughed. “You amuse me, Lucilla. So much. If you were anyone else, I’d have fired you the first day.”

Pleasure suffused her at his use of her name. And then anger, because she wasn’t going to be flattered by his admission that she amused him, dammit. The last sentence was the part she needed to focus on. His arrogance was insupportable. “You could have tried. You would not have succeeded.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I could order the locks rekeyed. How would you get in your office then?”

“I’m sure I would have found a way.”

His gaze raked over her. She was wearing a button-down dress today, with long sleeves
and a high neck, but he made her feel as if she were in a negligee and little else. “Yes, perhaps you would have.”

“Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” she snapped. “I have work to do.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets and ranged toward her. Her pulse ticked up a level. He was wearing a gray suit with a white shirt that was unbuttoned a couple of buttons. He rarely wore a tie. Which was annoying because she often found herself focusing on that narrow slice of skin revealed in the opening of his shirt.

“I wonder if you’ve thought of it at all.”

Her throat went dry. “Thought of what?”

“You. Me. A bed. Or a desk. I don’t much care.”

She felt as if she should utter a shocked gasp, yet all that seemed to be happening was a flood of moisture into her core. Her nipples tightened and she feared he would notice. Her dress was silk—not the most forgiving of fabrics when it came to lumps and bumps beneath the surface.

She brought her tablet up instinctively and hugged it. “I’ve not thought a thing about it.”

It was a lie, of course. She’d thought of little else, especially at night when she climbed into her bed alone.

“I don’t believe you, Lucilla
mou.
”

And there it was, an annoying flush of pleasure that accompanied his use of her name. Dammit.

“Believe what you like, Christos. Now did you need anything important, or can I get back to work?”

“Ah, but this
is
very important.” He stepped closer still, until his scent wrapped around her senses. She trembled at his nearness but did not retreat.

“This is harassment. I could report you.”