The Virgin's Choice (7 page)

“Get me drunk?” she blurted out.

His sensual mouth curved. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You tell me.”

He stroked her water-slicked blond hair curling over her collarbone. She looked up at him breathlessly, her neck tilting back. He leaned over her, his lips inches from hers. Her mouth inched toward his, wanting him to kiss her.
Willing
him to kiss her.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and without thought she obeyed, turning her face toward the window.

She felt his hands fall heavily on her naked shoulders.
He began to slowly rub circles into the overwrought muscles of her neck and shoulders. She closed her eyes. It was bliss. It was heaven. It was…

Dangerous.

“So you think I am going to all this effort to seduce you,” he said quietly.

Hearing him actually speak the words made her fears seem ludicrous. He was a powerful, ruthless millionaire with the world at his fingertips. And he’d told her he loved another woman—someone he intended to trade for Rose. She was just his captive, his pawn. Why would he go to such effort to seduce Rose, the ex-girlfriend of his enemy, a waitress and twenty-nine-year-old nobody? Her cheeks became hot. “I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I am going to seduce you.”

Her eyes flew open. As he continued to sensually rub her neck and shoulders, she stared wide-eyed out the window. In the silence, she saw the slender black silhouettes of palm trees swaying in front of the brilliant white clouds lit up by the moon, saw the stars twinkling in the night.

She felt the intense pleasure of his touch. Felt his strength. Felt his power.

When he leaned over her, she felt his breath against the crook of her neck, then his lips brushed the tender flesh of her earlobe.

“I want you.” The whisper of his lips against her skin caused a sizzle of fire down her body. “And I intend to do everything I can to win you.”

She felt dizzy, the world trembling all around her. She was naked in the warmth of the bath he’d drawn for her,
tipsy on his expensive champagne. But most intoxicating of all was this feeling building inside her, this strange ache of forbidden desire. She felt his cotton shirt brush against her hair, felt the warmth of his muscular arms lean against hers.

She closed her eyes, waiting for him to seize her, turn her around in his arms and pull her into his hot embrace. Waiting for him to end this sweet torment.

He was going to kiss her…wasn’t he?

“I want you, Rose,” he whispered. “So much.” He took a sudden deep, ragged breath, then said in a low voice, “But you deserve better than a man like me.”

And suddenly, his warmth was gone.

Startled, she whirled around. In her movement, she splashed bathwater and bubbles wildly to the floor.

All she saw was his retreating back as he left her. Without a backward glance.

You deserve better than a man like me.

The next morning, Xerxes woke up stiff and sore from sleeping alone outside in the hammock on the beach. He still couldn’t believe it.

He’d had her.
Naked and ripe for the taking. He’d seen it in her body’s reaction to his touch, in the quiver of her neck and shoulders beneath the stroke of his fingers, in the flush of heat on her skin.

He’d had her.
Getting her to release him from his promise, luring her into just gasping out the words
kiss me
would have been the easiest thing in the world.

It had taken slightly longer than he’d thought it would, but he’d finally succeeded in getting her where he wanted her. Bedding Rose last night would have been at once his revenge—and his reward.

And yet he’d let her go. He’d stumbled away from the bathtub, and her body covered with bubbles, without a word. Once outside, he’d stripped off his dusty clothes and dived naked into the sea to clear his body of dust. To clear his soul of desire.

You deserve better than a man like me.

Now, raking his hand through his hair, he twisted his aching neck to crack the aching vertebrae. After
sleeping outside all night, he cursed himself silently. Why had he let her go last night? Why had he shown such foolish
mercy?

“I’ll have faith…”
He heard her voice like music, and remembered the way she’d looked at him with eyes of endless blue. “
A life without faith, without being brave enough to risk loving someone and be loved in return, is no life at all.”

Xerxes’s lip curled. His frustration and lack of sleep were clearly melting his brain!

He’d come to the Maldives yesterday filled with optimism, after his chief bodyguard had told him Laetitia had been sighted here. He’d known if he could find her on his own and get her safely to good medical care, he would have no need to deal with Växborg. Once Laetitia was well, she could divorce him herself. And Xerxes—he could keep Rose for himself.

But after almost a year of repeated sightings that proved false, Xerxes should have known better than to hope. The small hut at the end of the dusty road on the other side of the island had been deserted. Talking to the neighbors, they discovered that someone who looked like Laetitia had indeed been there. But she’d been moved just two days before, and they did not know where she’d gone. Her caretaker, a toothless old woman who spoke no English and had no medical training, had been paid in cash. The woman said that the young sleeping woman still lived. That was all she knew.

Returning alone to the honeymoon cottage, Xerxes had been furious and angry—at Växborg, but even more at himself.

Why couldn’t he find Laetitia?

Why couldn’t he save her?

Why did he keep failing?

When Xerxes had seen Rose sleeping peacefully at the table on the beach, he’d stopped on the sand. She was alone beneath the sunset, ethereally sexy in those little gauzy robes over a bikini. And he’d suddenly known how he would take out his frustration. How he would take both his solace—and his pleasure.

Before he’d reached out his hand to shake her awake, he’d already decided that he would possess her. He wouldn’t force her. He just wouldn’t leave her any other choice.

No woman could resist a seduction as gentle as a question. Once secure in the false belief that she held all the power, a woman always surrendered. Power was a heady aphrodisiac.

And last night, Rose would have surrendered as well.
If he hadn’t let her go.

Why? He rubbed his forehead wearily. Why had he done it? Because he liked her? Because she had a good heart? Because he
admired
her?

He thought again of her beauty. Of her luscious body. And his eyes narrowed.

Next time, he would be ruthless.

“Did you really sleep out here all night?”

At the sound of her shy voice, he looked up to discover Rose standing awkwardly beside the hammock. She was wearing a little white cover-up of eyelet cotton and flip-flop sandals. Her face was bare and lightly tanned, her blond hair wavy and tumbling down her shoulders. She looked very young.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. You could have slept on the couch.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I don’t bite.”

“Maybe I do.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

At her shining smile, an ache filled his chest that felt like pain.

Morning had dawned over the beach, streaking pink across the sky over the crystalline waves. A fresh breeze blew through the palm trees overhead, causing tendrils of her blond hair to curl across her beautiful face.

And it was then that he saw it in her face, bright as day.
Rose actually cared about him.

The realization jolted him like a kick in the gut. He climbed out of the hammock so quickly that he nearly fell.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He straightened, irritated.

“Why did you leave like that last night?” she persisted, in spite of the clear signals. He didn’t wish to discuss it.

“For your own good,” he muttered.

“What?”

Angrily, he whirled on her. “Just leave it alone. Trust me. You slept better last night without my company.”

She stared at him.

“No,” she said in a low voice. “You’re wrong. I didn’t sleep at all.” Her beautiful face was heartbreakingly angelic as she whispered, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Their eyes met, and he couldn’t look away.

He wanted her so badly that his whole body thrummed with it. Painfully. Single-mindedly.

He wanted to take her right here on the deserted beach, to rip off her white cover-up in the pale pink morning, to push her naked body against the sand and kiss and suckle and taste every inch of her skin. He wanted to push himself inside her, to fill her completely, to ride her until she forgot every other lover, until she screamed his name.

Standing before her in yesterday’s T-shirt and jeans, Xerxes held himself still. His hands clenched with the effort it took not to kiss her. “Why were you thinking about me?”

“You try to pretend you’re selfish and cruel,” she said softly. “But I keep thinking about you and coming to one conclusion. You’re a good man.”

He gave a low laugh, like thunder reverberating across the dark sky. “I am not good.” Something snapped inside him and he reached for her shoulders, looking down into her eyes searchingly as he whispered, “But you…you are.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I’m not so very good. I’ve been feeling quite stupid, actually, driving you away from your bed. The couch, I mean.”

She was stammering, embarrassed. As if she had anything to feel guilty about, when it had been Xerxes who deliberately rented the honeymoon cottage to set the stage for easy seduction! “Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at his clothes, no longer dusty but now stiff from dried seawater. “A night beneath the stars is just what I needed.”

She bit her lip. “Still, I feel badly. No more sleeping
outside, all right? Come inside. I’ve made you some breakfast.”

“You did?” He paused, then added dryly, “Is that supposed to be consolation, or punishment?”

“I know how to cook!” she said, sticking out her tongue. “The spaghetti was not my fault. I thought the rice noodles would work.”

He could feel the warmth off her body as he looked down at her. The smile slid from her face as their eyes locked, burning through him.

“Are you sure you can trust me?” he said roughly. “To be alone with you in the cottage?”

Looking up with big eyes, she nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it. Besides—” she suddenly gave him a cheeky grin “—you gave me a promise.”

She headed toward the cottage. He stared at her for a moment, then followed her, admiring the sweet curve of her backside with every step. She was starting to fill out a bit, he noticed with satisfaction. He would enjoy continuing to fatten her up. He had the sudden image of Rose, rounded and pregnant with his child.

Oh, my God. Sucking in his breath, he stopped in place, nearly slapping himself on the skull. What the hell madness was this?

“This way,” she called. He hurried through the cottage, barely noticing the perfectly swept floors and gleaming kitchen as he hurried past the bedroom door and out onto the lanai. The shadowed patio was still cool in the early morning. He saw she’d set up the little table for two. Next to the coffeepot was a plate with
buttered toast and a carefully cut bowl of fruit beside the flowers.

She gave him a grin. “See? I know how to cook.”

“Fruit and toast?”

“I wanted Mrs. Vadi to stay home until her daughter was well.” She looked at him anxiously. “That’s all right, isn’t it? This is what I know how to make.” She gave a sudden giggle. “I know I’m a wretched cook, but I’m actually much better at cleaning than cooking. The cottage looked clean, didn’t it?”

He dimly remembered seeing polished floors and an immaculate kitchen. He hadn’t really noticed. He never really saw the work of servants or employees, he just took the results of their labor for granted. He slowly looked at her.

“This is your idea of a vacation?” He brushed a tendril from her face. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Rose. The way you care so much for other people. The way you try so hard to make everyone else’s life better. You never think of yourself. We’re so different. So very different.”

He heard her intake of breath. She tilted her head, looking up at him. “We’re not.”

Immediate defiance, typical of her. It almost made him choke a laugh. But he couldn’t. How could she believe he had anything good in his soul?

Because she is a fool.
Something he would prove to her when he seduced her, luring her into his bed for the express purpose of his own selfish pleasure, coupled with the satisfaction of causing his enemy pain. And then he would trade her.

She reached her hand up toward his rough cheek.
“You are a good man. I know you are.” Her eyes were luminous as she whispered, “Why do you do it, Xerxes? Why do you pretend to have no heart?”

Her gentle touch burned him. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear it. He jerked his head away from her hand.

She stared at him in surprise. He was equally surprised. This was the same strange reaction his body had had last night.

You deserve better than a man like me.

Xerxes Novros, who’d fought tycoons, ruthless despots and corrupt businessmen, had been rendered powerless by this beautiful, gentle-hearted woman.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, backing away. “I need to—need to…take a shower.” He glanced down again at the table, at all the effort she’d clearly put into breakfast. She must have been up before dawn to arrange the flowers and cut the fruit; doing everything herself so that the housekeeper could be home with her sick child and working hard so that he, Xerxes, would not be disappointed or angry. “I’ll be back,” he choked out.

Fleeing to the bathroom, he took a very hot shower, but it did not help him relax. So he turned the temperature to freezing cold. But even an arctic blast of cold water couldn’t stop this fire inside him.
This fire for her.

She was the first, the only, pure-hearted woman he’d ever known. Who would give up their own sleep, to work for free in place of a stranger who claimed to have a sick child?

Xerxes would not have done it. He didn’t know anyone who would. He would have either assumed the woman was lying about the child—working some angle—or
else he would have not wanted to get involved.
Not my problem,
he would have said.

And yet Rose had immediately said,
Yes, I want to help. Sick child? I’ll do all your work. Go home to your daughter!

Xerxes leaned his head against the cool marble of the shower, then turned off the water. He got dressed in khaki shorts and a snug black T-shirt.

He threw a tortured glance toward the lanai where she waited. Yes, he was hungry. But not for food.

He took a deep breath. Could he ruthlessly seduce a woman like this—a woman with such a kind soul that she believed the best of everyone, even him?

She’s not some innocent virgin,
his lust argued. He would make sure she thoroughly enjoyed their affair. She would have nothing to regret.

And yet he knew she would. A woman like Rose didn’t take lovers easily. She couldn’t have done. She wasn’t jaded enough. If he took her to bed, she wouldn’t just give him her body; she might give him her heart.

But he wanted her.
She would be with him for days, maybe longer. How would he keep himself from taking her? He didn’t have any practice at resisting desire. This was the first time he’d ever tried
not
to seduce a woman. And he’d never felt a longing as powerful as this. Need for her gripped him, body and soul.

Squaring his shoulders, he went back out on the lanai. Still waiting, Rose looked up at him, looking so innocent and fresh and pretty that a tremble went through him at the thought of defiling her.

“You must be starving.” Smiling, she indicated a chair. “Coffee or tea?”

He fell heavily into his chair. “Coffee.”

“Cream or…?”

“Black,” he bit out.

Sitting in the chair beside him, poised as a Victorian lady, she gracefully poured coffee into his china cup. He grabbed it from her with a meaty fist and gulped down the hot black liquid, burning his tongue.

The pain was a welcome distraction. He knew how to deal with pain. What he did not comprehend was how to deal with his desire for her.

Rose stared at him in consternation, then cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She licked her lips, and he could not look away from the vision of her moist pink tongue sliding over her full lower lip, darting to the corners of her mouth. “For chasing you out of your bed last night.”

Yes, she was to blame. But not in the way she thought. He raked his hand through his wet black hair, then shoved his coffee cup toward her on the table.

“More,” he growled. Then at her expression, he amended, “If you please.”

She poured steaming coffee from the silver coffeepot, looking impossibly lovely and old-fashioned. She was the kind of woman, Xerxes thought, that any man would want to come home to. She was the kind of woman who
made
a home.