Imminent Conquest (5 page)

"That would suit you just fine, wouldn't it? You're a murderer. Nothing's going to change that.” She started to get up but his fingers pinched into the tender skin of her upper thigh, holding her down. “Remember how we used to make love, Nicole? Remember?"

She forgot about his lusting for power and blushed. Her nipples pebbled, yearning for the touch of his hand.

"Remember how you liked it when I tied your hands to the bedposts and I ravished you? Would you like me to do that again?"

"No. I hate you.” She couldn't let herself recall those times when they had been in love, when the risque had been acceptable, when she'd thought he would never hurt her. But her life had changed. She wouldn't think about being naked and at his mercy.

He rubbed his chin. His eyes lingered on her throat. “You want it. I know you do."

She couldn't think of a biting reply and once more made as if to rise. His palm hurt against her thigh. He pressured her back down. “We have some unfinished business. You know that, don't you?"

This time, she thought of a cutting remark. “You just want another round in jail, don't you?"

If she had thought she would ruffle his calm exterior, she had been wrong.

"Remember how you loved me? How you couldn't get enough of me? How we were going to get married?” He reached out and touched her cheek and twirled a tendril of loose hair gently between his thumb and index finger.

She tugged on his finger, like a child grabbing on to an interesting digit. The movement did nothing to discourage the intimacy. His hand remained immoveable. “I like the way your curves fill that dress. But really, that alteration"—he nodded at the lace—"wasn't necessary. I picked it out myself. I thought the colour would set off your beautiful hazel eyes to perfection."

"Get away from me,” was all she managed. She wanted to rip the dress off, now that she knew her fiance had had little to do with selecting it. Was that another reason why he had been so withdrawn this evening?

Michael gave an easy, careless smile as he travelled his palm up her leg, pushing the velvet up towards the juncture of her thighs, before he inched his fingers around her waist and to her lower back. “And if I don't? What are you going to do? What would you charge me with? Talking to a gorgeous woman? Wanting the best for her because I'm still in love with her? Wouldn't be murder this time, would it?"

He inched his hand surreptitiously up her spine and grabbed the end of her ponytail to pull her head slightly back. Never before had she been so torn apart. She wanted to make the kind of love that stole her breath away, but he was a brutal killer who had spent time in prison. She wanted the fire, but she might just as well have taken a shower in an icy waterfall. She wanted him. She hated him.

"Don't touch me,” came out as a breathy whisper.

He grinned, showing bright white, even teeth. “I want you to understand something. So listen carefully. I'm in your life till death do us part, sweetheart."

"I'm getting married soon."

"To me."

"No."

"Yes."

"To Brad."

"I won't let you. You'd be making the next largest mistake of your life."

Her chest heaved up and down, the internal fight raging within her. Was she still in love with him? Even after all the time she had spent trying to purge him from her system? Trying to forget him?

"Aren't you going to ask what your first big mistake was?"

"Setting eyes on you,” she flashed back.

His fingers burned into her flesh when he dropped his hand to her knee and gave a brittle smile. “When you testified against me."

"I told the truth.” She caught a glimpse of Brad strolling through the crowd. The noise had dimmed as Michael and she had exchanged their softly spoken words.

"Did you—or were you just trying to get rid of me so you could turn your attention to someone else?"

Before she could think through the consequences, she twisted in her chair and slapped his cheek.

Even above the sounds of mirth, cutlery and plates being banged together, bare, flat hand against flesh echoed to the nearest tables. Conversations immediately stopped. Heads turned. In open-mouthed astonishment, people stared. Abruptly, Nicole realised how her split-second action had looked. She clapped her hand over her mouth. She had dared to raise her hand against a respected businessman. But he had goaded her into reacting. Hadn't he?

Without missing a beat, Michael turned to the curious onlookers. “It's all right. Just a slight misunderstanding."

One of the men nodded, as if to say he understood arguments could easily arise at parties. A few seconds later, the slap was history and the tables’ occupants returned to their feasting. That left Nicole still seated beside Michael, her hand over her mouth and her cheeks drained of blood.

He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, “I promise I'll deal with that, sweetheart.” He slipped a thumb under her chin and forced her to look at the anger in the depths of his eyes. He had never liked being cuckolded in front of others.

She jerked her head away to see Brad, his face expressionless, set Michael's drink next to his plate. She noted the despondent set to his shoulders. Had he witnessed the hushed altercation? Her chest heaved with a mixture of frightened indignation and a yearning for forbidden fruit.

Brad turned his back and walked away. To her surprise, he gave Colin a curt nod as he passed. What was going on? She wanted to shout, to tell him he had nothing to worry about when it came to Michael, but she didn't want to create a scene.

Michael bowed his head in her direction. “Colin's on his way over. He'll keep you in line.” He sipped his amber-coloured drink thoughtfully. He could have crushed the fragile glass so easily with his large hand.

It was as if he had poured ice cubes down the length of her spine. She glanced up to find Michael's brother moving towards them with sure footsteps. When their eyes met, his expression was decidedly determined and hostile. Fear caused her to tremble. She knew without a doubt that if keeping her in line were up to Colin, he wouldn't hesitate.

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Nicole slipped an embroidered napkin from the table into her lap.

Michael spoke, his voice husky and innocent. “Why don't you tell him about us? How much we love each other?"

She turned on him, catching a glimpse of Colin sidetracked and speaking to one of the employees. She desperately wanted to leave but that meant getting past Colin. “What are you trying to do? How can I feel anything for you?"

"There's no sense in hiding the truth,” Michael said carelessly. He surveyed her as casually as the daily newspaper.

"You're not only a murderer but a first-rate liar,” she insisted, resting her gaze on her sweating drink. She urged herself to throw it in Michael's face, but she knew she would get the same reaction she had when she had slapped him—outrage that she could possibly think to injure a man who was held in great esteem in the community's all-seeing opinion.

Colin arrived and shifted in beside her. She felt insignificant and helpless, seated between the two broad-shouldered brothers. Self-conscious in the dress that didn't cover much of her body, she yanked on the lace in an attempt to lower the hem over her thighs.

Barely inclining his head, as if it would take too much effort and wasn't worth the result, Colin returned his brother's greeting. Sinking lower into the chair, he said, “Did you see me in the lobby, Nicki? You have to be the most beautiful woman here tonight. Of course, I couldn't resist telling my brother you had arrived.” Every word was overly precise. When he cast her a sideways glance, his eyes held a warning, which said ‘fight us, if you dare'.

"This has nothing to do with you,” she ventured more bravely than she felt. “This is between your brother and me. If it exists at all."

Colin smirked. “My, my. I'm sure it exists. Very sure."

Unable to take any more of the bantering, Nicole got to her feet. She grabbed her evening bag from beside her plate, intending to dodge under the table to get away from her two tormentors.

Michael grabbed her arm and dragged her back into her chair. “Where are you going, sweetheart? If it's under there, I'll get a view of your fine ass. And maybe your pussy."

She aimed her evening bag at his face but it was in the wrong hand to do much damage. He yanked the little gold purse from her and set it next to his plate at his left. If she wanted to retrieve it, she would have to reach across his muscular chest. If she did that, she would lean forward and give him a better look of her near-naked breasts.

"Give it back."

"He might not want to.” Colin laughed, the noise coming from deep within his throat.

It dawned on her that sitting between the two Carmichael brothers—or rather, the Karlisi brothers, as they were now called—gave the Anessa employees and the gossipmongers the wrong impression. She had nothing to do with the two brothers, wanted nothing to do with them.

To make matters worse, a man with sandy brown hair and wearing a light blue shirt and dark pants limped through the crowd and took the seat Brad had vacated. “Seems everyone's arrived,” he said without preamble.

He didn't bother glancing at Nicole, but made swift eye contact with Michael. His tie was carelessly knotted and hung to one side. As soon as he seated himself, he pulled the tie loose, rolled it up and placed it in his jacket pocket. He sighed, retrieved a cigarette from his breast pocket, tapped the end and lit up. He had sad chocolate-brown eyes, a pale complexion and frown lines etched into his forehead. Ill at ease, he kept shaking his head to clear his long forelock from over his eye.

"How's your ankle?” Michael asked the other man.

"Hopelessly mangled,” the man grumbled.

Nicole felt thankful for the newcomer's presence. Perhaps it would momentarily dissuade Michael and Colin from their programme of vengeance, giving her a chance to find a way out of this mess.

"Have you met Nicole?” Michael asked somewhat disinterestedly. “Nicole, sweetheart, meet Bryan, my cousin, and also assistant super at Anessa. Very good at it, I might add."

She flinched at his use of the word ‘sweetheart'. “Stop calling me that.” Despite herself, the crotch of her panties dampened with her juices. Michael had taught her what it was like to feel loved and desirable.

Casually, Michael touched her knee, perhaps in warning, before he allowed his hot palm to linger against the velvet of her dress and over her upper thigh. She squirmed and her breasts became painfully aware of his magnificent body.

"Which is he good at? Cousin or super?” Colin asked, his tone sour and bored.

Michael gave him a long look. “Both. Of course."

"He must be a new acquisition ripe for prison candidacy,” Nicole murmured, attempting to brush Michael's hand away.

"It's a pity you think so badly of us.” Colin straightened slightly in his seat. His biceps touched her shoulder.

She leaned away and into his brother.

"Hmm. You've got such gorgeous tits. Just as I remember them.” Michael's voice was too low for anyone else, including his brother, to hear.

Nicole moved closer to Colin, knowing he too could see the swell of her breasts.

"What's to drink round here?"

Smirking, Colin pulled back. “That's right, Bryan. Drown yourself in the stuff."

"Piss off.” Bryan shot Colin a hostile glance.

Nicole shifted, uncomfortable at the offensive language.

Bryan must have sensed her uneasiness. “Oh, begging your pardon, Nicole. I'm sorry,” he apologised.

Michael leant forward, his chest touching the edge of the table. She jammed her spine against her chair, praying the nightmare would end. Sitting next to Michael made her highly aware of him and of the need raging through her veins. So aware she wanted to get herself off in a bad way. She didn't want to be trapped between two wealthy men who gave the appearance of being upright citizens but were cold-hearted and ruthless.

"Bryan, get hold of yourself or I'll have to start charging you for drinks.” James's tone was light but she heard the underlying seriousness. Since when had he become the family's caretaker?

Bryan bristled. “That a fact? I don't know why I bother coming to these things. Pain in the ass.” He turned to Nicole, affecting an aloofness she was certain he used as a defence mechanism. “Sorry again."

"It's a fact.” Michael planted his back against his chair. He caressed her tingling skin with erotically featherlight touches. From the corner of her eye, she saw Colin's lazy smile. Bryan merely looked away.

Flabbergasted at his effrontery in touching her intimately in a public place, she tried to pluck his hand off. She received a sidelong look of amusement. Desperate to find a way to escape, she pinched into the flesh where his index finger and thumb met.
I'm in your life till death do us part, sweetheart
, played over and over again in her mind.

Momentary relief flooded through her as he moved his hand, but very gently, he placed pressure on her wrist. Nicole moaned. Bryan glanced at her before eyeing Colin. Michael eased off but kept his hand on her knee. Silently, he was warning her to behave.

An impeccably dressed waiter stopped beside Bryan and asked him what he would like to drink.

"Beer. And keep it coming, man."

Without looking at Bryan, the waiter checked to make sure the other glasses on the table were filled.

"Get me a double Scotch,” Colin ordered. “When's the grub coming?"

"Very shortly, sir,” the waiter replied, not meeting Colin's gaze.

"Isn't that what you lowlifes always say?"

The waiter strode off, making Nicole fervently wish she had his job. She would rather have been tending tables than sitting here with James Carmichael. No, now he called himself Michael Karlisi. What happened if she had the information leaked that he had been in prison for murder? What would Eastwynd think of him then? Would they still respect him? Or did they already know?

"Was he drunk today too?” she asked, referring to Bryan, energised by her thought. She imagined the people of Eastwynd wouldn't care for Michael Karlisi much after they found out who he really was.