The Ultimate Seduction (9 page)

Unbelievably, he twitched back to life below his unbuckled belt. He instantly wanted to strip her and have her under him.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he warned her.

She shook her head. “I have to go.”

“The hell you do.” He’d tie her up if he had to.

“No, I do,” she insisted.

“What happened?” He looked to the powder room, wondering what had changed between seconds ago and now.

“Nothing. I just... This was really nice, but I want to leave it like this. As a nice memory for both of us.”

“We can keep the lights off,” he blurted in a burst of panic.

“Ryzard, please.” There were tears in her eyes. “Just this, okay?”

He swiped his hand down his face, unable to think where he’d gone wrong.
Why the hell was she shutting him out?

“I won’t force you to make love with me. You don’t have to go.” Hell, the last thing he was capable of right now was
talk,
but it would be better than her leaving.

“I know you wouldn’t, but I want to. Thank you again.” She skittered a wide circle around him and slid through the cracked door.

She’d got him off and thanked him twice.
What the hell?

* * *

Tiffany was still trembling when she slid between her sheets, both angry with herself and relieved. Maybe she should have stayed with him. Maybe this was her chance to get over her scars so she could pursue a relationship with another man in the future.

But she didn’t want anyone else, and she didn’t have the courage to expose herself to Ryzard.

With a moan of despair, she rolled onto her stomach and groaned into a pillow.

A muted bell sounded. She lifted her head and noticed a light flashing on the bedside phone. Picking it up, she said a wary, “Yes?”

“It’s me. Where are you?”

His voice sent a race of erotic excitement through her veins and into her loins. “In my room, obviously,” she said, unable to control the husky edge on her voice.

“In bed?”

“Sleeping, yes,” she lied.

“Liar.”

She
rolled her eyes.
So
arrogant.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

“Flannel jammies and a nightcap.”

“Well, take them off,
draga.
I’m about to tell you what you missed by running out of here.”

“You’re going to force me to have phone sex?”

“Hang up any time.”

“I might have enough without adding more,” she murmured in a considering tone.

“Hmm? Oh. Clever,” he said with dry amusement. “I never know what to expect from you, Tiffany. Although I’m quite sure you’re still aroused. Have you been thinking of how you nearly killed me tonight?”

“Did I?” She couldn’t help smiling.

“So smug. Yes, you did. I didn’t thank you, and I should have. You’re a delightful lover.”

She curled on her side so the phone was tucked under her ear. “Thank you for saying that.”

“Are you naked yet? Because if my hands will not be stroking your gorgeous body, then I will listen as you do it.”

“You wish.” But she tingled at the thought. He was right about sexual excitement hovering under the surface. Her skin prickled to sharp life, making her feel sensual and deeply aware of all her erogenous zones.

“Satisfy my curiosity,” he said in a low voice. “Are your nipples still hard?”

“It’s dark, I can’t see.”

“Feel them.”

She closed her eyes, tempted, but, “Ryzard, I meant it when I said we should leave it at tonight.”

Silence.

Had he hung up on her?

“Are you still there?” she asked, hearing a forlorn note in her voice.

“At least tell me why you’re cutting me off.” Underlying the brisk frustration in his tone was an edge of something she’d heard this evening when he’d said,
It shows I belong.
She’d hurt him.

Through an aching throat, she managed to blurt out the worst cliché around. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m the biggest head case going.”

“You’re concerned that I will be repulsed by these scars of yours.”

“Yes,” she admitted, breathing a little easier at his understanding.

“Why would that bother you if I was?”

“I— What?” Her whole body tensed.
Did
she disgust him?

“Why would you care about my opinion? Who am I to you? Just some stranger you slept with on a wild night, right?”

So many protests choked her, she couldn’t speak. He wasn’t just anyone, not after some of the conversations they’d had and the physical intimacies they’d shared, but she couldn’t admit that to him. He was already way too close to sensing he meant more to her than their brief association should warrant. His opinion mattered a lot.

“You’re expecting me to get naked, be as exposed as I possibly could be, and risk being rejected,” she said in a strained voice. “Wouldn’t that bother you?”

“It bothered the hell out of me when you walked out tonight. I was as naked as a man needs to be the first night.” His anger blistered off the receiver, making her squinch her face in a cringe. “You’ve done it to me twice.”

“I’m sorry.” The words burned from all the way in the pit of her sick stomach. “I didn’t look at it from your perspective. I wasn’t rejecting you.”

“You need to start looking beyond yourself, Tiffany.”

“I just apologized. That doesn’t happen often. I suggest you accept it.”

He sighed with frustration, then said with austerity, “You have been dealt a cruel blow from life. I won’t dismiss that. But it didn’t kill you, so start learning to live with it.”

Wow. He didn’t pull any punches, did he?

“How?” she demanded in a burst of angry despair. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, but how do I just get over it?”

“You want to be with a man, Tiffany. You like it when I touch you. Be with me.”

He did make her feel more confident, but it would take about a hundred of these heart-to-hearts before she’d be able to face being naked in front of him.

“We could meet for breakfast,” she offered. The inside of her cheek stung and she realized she was biting it, feeling very insecure at putting herself out even this much.

“Where?” he asked.

“I assume they have a buffet or a restaurant downstairs.”

“I meant your place or mine, but I see. Yes, they have a breakfast room. Nine?”

He wasn’t making any effort to hide his disappointment, but she only confirmed, “Downstairs at nine. It’s a date.”

Ending the call, she rolled onto her back and stared at the dark ceiling. What was she doing? There was even less point in seeing him at breakfast on their last morning. They’d never see each other again after that.

Still, just thinking about seeing him made her body feel ripe and wanton. Running her hands over the hard swells of her breasts with their taut tips poking sharply against her rippling fingertips, she tried to erase the sensations nagging at her. The hunger deepened, provoking memories of Ryzard leaning on the wall, disheveled pants barely containing flesh she had memorized with her mouth, his eyes heavy lidded and voracious.

Rolling a frustrated moan into her pillow, she wished she’d said yes to the phone sex.

* * *

When she arrived in the dining room, Ryzard was standing in the entrance talking to another woman.

It was a low blow and nearly made her turn in retreat, but he lifted his hawkish mask and held out a hand to her even before he locked his gaze on her.

Stupid watches. Hers was shivering at its nearness to his, just like her to him. As she walked across, she experienced a little thrill at how good he looked in simple black pants and a white shirt open at the throat. His hair, clipped so short you could barely tell it curled, was still damp.

A dip of insecurity accosted her at the same time. The woman gesturing so passionately in front of him wore a light cover-up over a bikini that barely contained her flawless figure. Her mask was equally spare, just a sleek line from temple to temple.

Tiffany felt overdressed in her pants suit and elaborate mask as well as intrusive as she arrived, causing the woman to break midsentence.

Ryzard grasped her hand in a firm, warm grip, drawing her a step closer while continuing to give his attention to the other woman. “Please continue.”

“I—” She was obviously disconcerted by Tiffany’s arrival. Her body language changed from enticing to standoffish. “I just wonder if the sudden rumors being spread about this weekend, talk of dirty deals and Greek Mafia connections, could be true. Zeus’s reputation is important for all of us, and if he’s no better than a crook we should talk about it. Figure out what to do.”

Tiffany was a little lost, coming in late and distracted by the strength and heat of her
lover.
He smelled freshly showered, and his flimsy white shirt was hardly any barrier, allowing her to nearly taste the texture of his skin.

Still, being excluded niggled at her. She’d been The Family Behind Him too many times for her father, a required face in a photo, but heaven forbid she open her mouth. Being relegated to arm candy here, where she was supposed to be an equal, was the final straw.

“Who
is
Zeus?” Tiffany asked.

“No one knows,” the woman said, dismissing her with a patronizing jerk of her shoulder, adding, “Which is part of the problem. He should identify himself so we can decide if we want to continue associating with him.”

Tiffany followed the entreating glance the woman sent to Ryzard. She was obviously trying to pull him over to her side for reasons other than any real concern about the club.

“That seems hypocritical, doesn’t it?” Ryzard said calmly. “When we keep our own identities secret?”

“I have to agree. It’s quite possible to have a wrong impression about someone until you know them better,” Tiffany said with a significant look upward to Ryzard.

“Well, we don’t keep any secrets from Zeus, do we?” the woman insisted. She wavered with indecision a moment as her gaze touched on his hand holding Tiffany’s so possessively. Then she made a noise of impatience and muttered, “I’m just saying,” before she walked away.

Tiffany raised her brows, not that Ryzard could see them and appreciate her pique at coming upon a woman hitting on him so blatantly.

“Good morning,” he said before swooping to kiss her.

She stiffened, but he took his time, working swirls of reawakened passion down through her torso and into her belly until she softened into his loose embrace. When he lifted his head, he said, “I’m starving. You?”

Food was the last thing on her mind, but she followed him through the indoor/outdoor dining room to a table near the lagoon-shaped pool. They accepted coffee and placed their orders before she lost her ability to stay silent and asked, “Do you pick up women at all these things?”

Setting down his coffee, he regarded her with a hard look. “Your pretty blue eyes have gone quite emerald,
draga.
”

“Who is she?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer. Members do not out other members. That’s why I didn’t introduce you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If I had looked at my watch, would I have seen her nickname?”

He shrugged. “Possibly. Mine is turned off except for you. She only spoke to me because we happened to meet at the door and have spoken before.”

“About?” she prompted.

“It’s confidential.”

“Have you seen her away from these things?”

“Also confidential.”

“So you won’t tell me anything.”

“This is how the club works. That’s why it works. But I will tell you that I have never had a sexual relationship with her.”

“And she would never admit to one if you had because members don’t out other members. I’m just supposed to trust that you’re telling me the truth.”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I do expect you to trust me.”

Her gaze dropped to the button he’d only half pushed through its hole in the middle of his chest.

“If you had let me make love to you last night, you would not be feeling so insecure this morning,” he added.

Her heart skipped at that, but she only said, “I’m not insecure. I don’t
know
you.”

“Exactly.”

Oh, he was infuriating. And sexy. Her eyes were eating up the way his shirt was perfectly tailored across the line of his shoulders and hugged the strength in his arms. Her fingers itched to unbutton the whole shirt and expose his very promising chest again.

It’s just hormones,
she tried to insist to herself, not wanting to succumb to feelings that were a lot more complex than mere lust.

“I’m jealous of her for being pretty,” she admitted in an undertone, ashamed that she was this shallow, but, “I used to be and it gave me confidence. Don’t deny that being physically attractive is powerful,” she warned with a point of her finger. “My mother still turns heads and uses it every day. And she places so much importance on looks.”

The weight of that knowledge slumped her into her chair.

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s why she chose Dad and not Paul Sr. He wasn’t ugly by any stretch, but Dad’s got that Mr. President, all-American look. Mom wanted the best-looking kids in the state and she got them. Now, when she looks at me...”

Time to shut up. Her throat was closing and it was impossible to fix.

“Your mother sounds very superficial.” His tone of quiet observation told her he’d heard and weighed every word she’d said. Being such a tight focus of his concentration made her feel oddly vulnerable and safe at the same time. It made her think he genuinely cared about what she was revealing.

“She’s the wife of a politician. Her world revolves around how things look. You’re judged on everything in that position. Looks matter.”

“I suppose,” he allowed with a negligent tilt of his head. “Did she push your father into politics?”

“No, it was something he wanted, but maybe that’s the real reason she married him.” Tiffany considered her parents’ marriage a moment. “Dad is a good father, a super husband, a really good man, but he aspires to be a Great Man and Mom aspires to be the wife of one. She set me up to...” want? demand? “expect the same thing.”