Captive but Forbidden Page 8

  It was sexy and wild and she loved it. Her heart hammered, her pulse tripping as if she’d mainlined a vat of caffeine.

  But oh, was he worth it.

  His mouth found hers again, but his chest was now bare and she could run her hands over him. The hard planes and smooth skin, the dips and hollows of solid muscle that rippled beneath her fingers. So sexy.

  Quickly, he unbuttoned her shirt, the fabric falling open until her breasts were exposed to his sight. She could see his eyes gleaming in the dim light coming from outside the windows. Her nipples peaked as he watched her. She was shameless. Utterly shameless.

  “Raj,” she said, his name a plea on her lips.

  “You’re beautiful, Veronica,” he said softly, kissing her once more.

  And then he was sliding his tongue down the column of her neck, kissing the sweet spot where the nerves in her shoulder seemed to connect to the hot, throbbing center of her. She arched her back, gasped.

  Raj said something against her skin, but she didn’t hear what it was. The vibrations rolled through her, crested in her core. If he kept doing that, she thought she might explode.

  Impossible, but exciting. So exciting.

  When his mouth closed over her nipple, she thought that was the end. How could she stand this much pleasure?

  This much pain?

  Because she couldn’t help but think of all that had happened in the months since the last time she’d been with anyone. She’d changed so much. Fallen to the depths of despair. Risen again as she’d determined to go on with life.

  Raj seemed to sense her turmoil. He chose that moment to slip his fingers beneath the waist of her pajama bottoms, and her temperature spiked. He made a noise of approval when he found the lacy top of her panties. Fire streaked through her. And want, so much want.

  She thought she would die if he didn’t touch her.

  But he did, finding her swiftly, his fingers clever and sure as they stroked her while a long moan vibrated in her throat.

  “Veronica,” he groaned against her breast. “So sensitive, so responsive.”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him it was all because of him, because she trusted him. Wildly, she thought that she hardly knew him—and yet she knew enough. He was a good man, a strong man. He was reliable, even if he was ephemeral.

  He was exactly what she needed when she needed it.

  She would not think about tomorrow.

  It didn’t take long for her to reach the pinnacle; her body tightened so painfully—then flew free as she gasped his name.

  His fingers stilled.

  And then he was removing her bottoms, tossing them aside and pushing her legs apart. She thought he would unzip his trousers, would plunge into her body and join them together finally—but he did no such thing. Instead, he slid down until his mouth—that clever, beautiful mouth—hovered above her most sensitive spot. She could hardly breathe in anticipation of what came next.

  She was not disappointed. His tongue slid over her, again and again, nibbling, sucking, flicking, while she grasped handfuls of the bedding and thrust her hips upward.

  This time when she came apart, stars exploded behind her eyes. Her breath was sucked from her body as her back arched off the bed. She was absolutely helpless beneath the onslaught of pleasure.

  He didn’t stop there. He took her to the top again, then pushed her over the edge until she was ready to beg him to stop, to let her breathe, to let her recollect her senses and reorder them again.

  It was simply too much. It was primal and raw, and as much as she wanted to stop, she also wanted to go on. She wanted to reach the next peak, and the next. But she wanted to soar with him instead of alone.

  He must have felt something of her desire, because he kissed his way up her body again—her torso, her breasts, her shoulder … oh, that shoulder!—and back to her lips, capturing them for a long, lingering kiss.

  Then he surprised her when he rolled to the side and tucked her against him. Confused, she pushed herself up with one hand splayed against his glorious chest. He was so dark in the night, so powerful and protective. She shivered in anticipated delight.

  “We aren’t finished yet,” she said.

  His laugh was strangled. “Yes, but I’ve realized I have no protection. This is not what I came here for tonight.”

  She leaned down and kissed him. “I’m on the pill,” she said against his lips. “I had to take it after … well, after I needed my hormones to stabilize. They were all over the place for a while.”

  His fingers came up and stroked along her cheek. It was a sweet gesture, so simple and honest. She loved it.

  “You slay me, Veronica,” he said. “And you deserve far better than I can give you. I’m humbled that you trust me, but you’ve just convinced me that I can’t take advantage of your vulnerability.”

  She pulled away and sat up. She was completely naked, but she didn’t care. Let him look. If it made him uncomfortable, so much the better. Frustration was a hot stew in her belly. And disbelief. Could he really be serious?

  “You’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met, Raj Vala. And I’ve met some arrogant ones, believe me. What makes you think for one instant that I don’t know what I want? That I can’t make my own decisions? That I’m somehow blinded by your fabulousness and not in control of my own mind?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You did,” she said firmly. “Because you’re so wonderful, of course, and no woman can resist you. Therefore, it’s up to you to be noble and deny my poor, weak female mind what it thinks it wants.”

  “You aren’t thinking,” he growled, “or you wouldn’t want this. In the morning, you would regret it.”

  “That’s my problem, isn’t it?” she snapped, anger and sexual frustration building to a peak inside her. “You’re here to protect me from an outside threat, not from myself.”

  “I want you, make no mistake. And if I were a bastard like Andre Girard—or any of those other men you’ve taken to your bed—I’d seize what you’re offering me and to hell with your peace of mind.”

  “Fine,” she said, scrambling from the bed and whirling to face him. She was absolutely on fire with anger. And humiliation. She’d thrown herself at him, and he’d turned her down flat. After making sure she had an orgasm or two—alone. It was ridiculous, but she felt so worthless right now.

  “Clearly, you know what’s best for me. Now get out and let me sleep.”

  He was so still and quiet that she didn’t think he would respond, but a few seconds later he exploded off the bed, grabbing his torn shirt and coming to loom over her. “You’ll thank me tomorrow,” he snarled.

  She started to snap back at him, but something stopped her. Sometimes you had to pull the thorn from the tiger’s paw, right?

  She put a palm on his chest, slid it up to his jaw. He shuddered beneath her touch, a great golden cat on the edge of control. Boldly, she reached for him, cupped her other hand around the bulge in his trousers.

  “Veronica …”

  “I’m a grown woman, Raj. I know what I want.” She took a step closer to him then, her bare breasts coming into contact with his naked chest. “I need this,” she told him. “Yes, you’re the first after my loss, but that’s why it has to be you. I do trust you, and I’m afraid I’ll never find the courage again if you don’t—” She sucked in a breath, her voice on the edge of breaking. It took her a few moments to regain control. “If you don’t make love to me. Please, Raj.”

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. She could see the column of his throat move as he swallowed. “God, you’re killing me,” he groaned.

  She pressed her lips to his breastbone, gloried in the silken feel of his skin beneath her mouth. He didn’t stop her. Deliberately, she unsnapped his trousers. Pushed them down his hips until they slid the rest of the way on their own.

  Finally, finally, she could cup him in her hand, nothing between them. He was so hard, like marble. So soft, lik
e silk. She stroked him, squeezing softly.

  “You win,” he said on a sharp intake of breath. “You win.”

  And then he hooked a hand behind her knees and swept her into his arms. Carried her to the bed and lay her across it. Automatically, her legs went around his hips as he followed her down. Her body throbbed for want of him. He cupped a breast in his hand, tweaked her nipple as he kissed her again.

  Then she felt him. Slowly, inexorably, he slid into her body. It burned, and she suddenly gasped with the pain of it.

  He stopped moving. “Am I hurting you?”

  She realized she was gripping both his biceps in her hands, her nails digging into him. Tears pressed at the back of her lids and she swallowed them down.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said. “It’s, um, more difficult than I’d thought it would be.”

  He swore softly. Started to withdraw.

  “No,” she cried out, tightening her legs around him. “I need you, Raj. I need you.”

  His breath sucked in, as if he were in pain, too. Which, she thought, he probably was, though it was a far different pain from what she was experiencing.

  “We’ll take it slowly,” he said, and her heart swelled with feeling.

  He put his hand between them, found her. Sweet, singing need began to hum in her body again as he stroked her. Softly, sweetly, as if he had all the time in the world. As if there was no dawn and no sunset, no appointments, no pressures. As if she was the world and he her servant within it.

  It took longer to hit the peak this time, but she did, her body opening to him as he took the opportunity to slide farther inside her.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Kiss me,” she said.

  He did, his mouth so warm and giving that she lost herself in the kiss once more. She could feel him moving again, and though her body tightened a bit at the intrusion, the pain was far less than it had been.

  She didn’t know how long they lay entangled like that, but finally Veronica tilted her hips up and took him the rest of the way inside. She could feel him throbbing deep in her body, could feel the tight control he wielded over his needs as he held himself so still.

  “Poor Raj,” she whispered. “What a project I’ve turned into for you.”

  “You aren’t a project,” he said fiercely. Protectively.

  She loved the conviction in his tone, loved how honorable he truly was. The feelings swirling in her heart and soul were beginning to confuse her. Frighten her. Deliberately, she shoved them away.

  “Make love to me,” she said.

  He began to move so slowly once more, until she was a mass of tight nerve endings and shuddering tension. Until she was begging him to take her faster. He took his time obliging her, but when she didn’t shrink from him, when she didn’t cry out or flinch in pain, he turned up the intensity.

  Again and again, he took her higher, their bodies straining together, sweating, skin sliding on skin. Exquisite. Torturous.

  The pain was still there, but so slight she hardly noticed. The pleasure was far, far stronger.

  And then it crested until she cried out, her entire body shuddering beneath him, wanting still more but unable to last a moment longer. His control was so exquisite, so perfect, that she knew when he gave himself permission to follow her into the abyss. He lifted her to him, his body pumping into hers one last time before he was still.

  He propped himself up, careful not to crush her. In the darkness, she could still make out his features. Could see the troubled expression he couldn’t mask.

  “Thank you,” she said, because it was all she could think to say.

  “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Physically, that was true. Emotionally was another story. So many emotions crashing in on her. She’d made love with him, and though she didn’t regret it at all, the weight of the feelings she’d been carrying for so many months—wondering if she were damaged somehow, if she would ever feel as if she were whole again, if she would ever be able to be with a man without dissembling—was immense.

  “You don’t sound fine,” he said. And then he rolled over and took her with him until she sprawled half on his body and half off.

  “It’s a bit overwhelming,” she admitted.

  “I get that a lot,” he said smugly, and she knew he was trying to make her laugh.

  It worked, damn him. “Arrogant bastard.”

  His fingers stroked along her spine. “Seriously,” he said after a few moments. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said on a sigh. “I am.”

  It was not his finest moment. Raj lay awake long after Veronica had dozed off and contemplated the mess he’d made. What the hell had he done?

  He’d never, ever slept with someone he was guarding. It had been wrong to do so, and yet he’d been powerless to resist her request.

  Hell, he hadn’t wanted to resist. Since the moment he’d seen her from the bar of the hotel, he’d wanted this woman with the kind of craving that abhorred him. The kind of craving that drug addicts used to justify their excesses.

  That thought did not cheer him in the least.

  But she’d been all gorgeous, sexy femininity, with an alluring laugh and a come-hither look that fooled every man she bestowed it upon. He’d known better than to fall for it, yet he had.

  Beneath the facade, she was amazing. Serious, smart, funny and sad. Sadder than any woman he’d ever known, with the exception of his mother. He hated that sadness, wanted to take it away from her forever.

  He pressed a hand to his chest. There was a dull ache there, the kind of ache he’d gotten whenever he’d come home from school to find his mother high again.

  Whenever he’d been able to go to school, that is. He’d missed most of his middle school years with all the moving they’d done. How he’d ever gotten into—and graduated from—high school was as much a mystery to him as anyone.

  That he was even thinking of those days right now was not a good sign.

  He considered slipping from the bed and returning to the living area, where he’d been on the computer when she’d opened the window and triggered the silent alarm he’d set, but the bed was warm and she was soft and sleeping. Her head lay on his chest, her silky platinum hair a shiny tangle that he itched to shove his fingers into.

  He would not move, would not risk waking her when she was sleeping so soundly—especially when she’d told him she didn’t usually sleep very well.

  Eventually, he fell into a light doze, his mind filled with thoughts of her—of the soft cries she’d made as he’d taken her, of the way her body opened to him, moved with him, the way she’d found her pleasure and cried out his name.

  Beneath the surface, he was troubled. Troubled because she’d trusted him. She’d flat-out told him earlier that she wanted someone who would love her, who would give her a family, and though he knew he wasn’t that man—couldn’t ever be that man—he’d accepted her trust and taken her body because he was too weak to say no.

  Because she’d gutted him with her trust and her need and he’d been powerless.

  A few hours later, in the dim light of dawn, he felt her stir. Her hand slipped along his chest, her fingers spreading wide, as if she were learning him by touch. Her mouth pressed against his skin, and his body hardened instantly.

  He should have gone back to his bed on the couch, but it was too late. He knew, even as her fingers found him, wrapped around him, that he was not pushing her away.

  He should, he definitely should—but he couldn’t. Instead, he lay there, let her stroke him, purr against his skin. He groaned her name when she climbed on top of him and took him inside her inch by slow inch.

  She was so warm, so wet, and he closed his eyes, let himself feel the pleasure of her fingers splayed against his chest as she rode him slowly, so slowly he thought he would die of anticipation.

  “Raj,” she said. “Oh, Raj.”

  Once more, she broke his c
ontrol. He threaded his fingers in her hair, pulled her down to him, kissed her thoroughly, his tongue sliding against hers, his lips molding hers as she began to make little noises in her throat that drove him insane.

  He flipped her over, slid so deeply into her body that they both groaned with the pleasure.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, as if sensing that he was at war with himself. “Please don’t stop.”

  He didn’t. Not for a very long time.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VERONICA woke alone. Martine stood by the bed as usual, a maid and a breakfast tray close by. Veronica pushed herself upright, disappointment hollowing her stomach as she blinked in the bright morning light.

  She ran her hand over Raj’s side of the bed, came away cold. He’d been gone for a long time.

  Ridiculously, she thought of their fiction—which was no longer fiction, and yet her lover had left her. Perhaps he didn’t want to be seen with her after all.

  The thought made her head throb.

  Instead, she ate her breakfast, listened to Martine detail her morning appointments and took a shower. She dressed carefully in a bright pink cashmere sweater dress, deciding at the last minute to be a little naughty and pulling on tall, suede boots to complement it.

  Then she brushed her hair into a thick ponytail and went to face the day.

  She drew up short when she entered the living area to find Brady.

  And Raj, she realized. He stood by the window, looking all dark and broody and distant.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, her heart beginning to throb as Raj turned toward her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His expression was hooded, his feelings a mystery to her.

  Part of her cried out in protest. How could he have made love to her the way he had and be so distant now? How could he not look at her with heat simmering in his eyes? She felt as if her feelings must be written all over her face, and yet he was as unreadable as stone.

  She shot a glance at Brady. He was oblivious to the undercurrents, thank God. He walked over and gave her a hug, then took her by the hand and led her to the couch.