Imminent Conquest (7 page)

"What if I don't give you a choice?"

"Then you'll spend more time in jail."

"Is that really what you want, Nicole? To be alone for the rest of your life?"

"I did well enough without you.” The loneliness she had endured, the crushing of her young adult dreams of being with him for the rest of her life, made a lie of what she said.

"Sure you did. That's why you're thinking of marrying a man who doesn't give a fuck about you."

"You wouldn't know that."

"No?” He pursed his lips and his eyes glittered in the lights of an oncoming car. “I can tell you lots about him but I'm not going to waste words. His actions speak for themselves."

His charming grin almost made her swoon but she would never admit that—not to his face.

"Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “You mean everything to me."

"You honestly think I'm going to believe that?” He wanted revenge for the years he had spent in prison. He didn't want her or miss her because he loved her.

"Why wouldn't you?” A delicate frown marred his forehead.

"Because you're a murderer and a liar."

"And you think the two go hand in hand?” He shook his head from side to side as if to say that her thinking on the subject needed some adjustment.

"Of course they do!"

"What if they don't?"

"I don't need you in my life. You're an unwanted complication."

"Really?” The word was barely spoken above a whisper.

"I'm getting married."

He laughed, the sound brittle and dry in the enclosed space of the cab. “Of course you are. To me."

She groaned and struggled to free herself, but he was much stronger than she remembered. The thought made her pussy tingle with awareness.

"As for complications"—he shook his head—"I'm not one of them.” He lowered his head, leaving his sexy lips a fraction of an inch above hers. Oh God, but she didn't want him near her. She didn't want him in her life. No, she wanted to kiss him, to savour the taste of his mouth on hers, to forget the years he had been in prison. But she couldn't let herself forget he had killed his father in cold blood.

His musky scent lingered in the car, making her fear his nearness would make her lose her tight grip on her self-control. She should never have become involved with him in the first place. What did a girl from the wrong side of town have in common with a man who had more than he knew what to do with? “Don't,” she pleaded, more to herself than to him. She couldn't allow herself to fall in love with him again. She would be the one who would suffer the emotional devastation when her neatly constructed world spun out of control.

Michael's eyes, hard orbs in the shadows, sparkled. He closed the gap between their lips. His kiss, swift and brutally hard, took her breath away. A frisson of ruthless delight edged up her spine.

When he lifted his head, a languid smile played across his mouth. “What do you have underneath that dress? A lace bra and thong panties? The kind you used to wear for me?"

She gasped at his audacity and her poignant memories. “It's none of your business what I'm wearing.” Warm wetness seeped between her thighs. She wanted to be naked for him.

"I'd say it is.” His focus strayed from the swell of her breasts and to the darkness beyond the window. “Driver, pull over now,” he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

Dared she think he had tired of her protests and would let the cab take her home? Or, she shuddered, was this the place he would murder her in retaliation for putting him in prison for so many years?

"I won't let you ditch me here!"

Michael turned on her. “Is that what you think I'm going to do?"

There was something in his eyes, a steely coldness, forewarning her of what was to come. She tried to jerk free, but his hold was relentless.

The taxi skidded to a squealing halt next to the limousine she had seen pulling away from the hotel earlier in the evening. Michael dragged her out of one car and shoved her inside the luxury vehicle. Stunned, she landed hard on the dark, plush seat, momentarily immobile.

"Give him a grand,” Michael commanded the limousine's driver. The door closed and deafening silence enveloped her.

She felt his looming presence, could smell the scent of his male arousal. She was about to bring herself to a seated position when he shocked her by ripping the lace from the hem of her dress and throwing it on the carpeted floor. “I paid for this dress. I can have it the way I like it."

The knowledge that Brad hadn't purchased the dress, as he had told her, struck her in the pit of her stomach. Michael's icy expression prodded her into action. She launched herself at the nearest door, thrusting her shoulder against the padding. The door wouldn't budge.

"I was expecting you would try to escape,” he said quietly. She looked over her shoulder as he seized her arms, forcing her to look into his face. A shiver ran down her spine as she saw anger spark in his gorgeous blue eyes.

"You owe me,” he whispered gruffly, sliding his broad hands erotically down her forearms. Nicole shuddered as he circled one hand around both her wrists, and slowly dragged the ponytail holder from her hair. The rich strands cascaded down around her face, and down to rest at her waist.

"I don't owe you a damned thing. You deserved what you got.” Was he insane to think she owed him anything? Fear clawed at her throat. He wanted nothing less than revenge.

"You owe me more than anyone else in the world, sweetheart."

The car started to move smoothly forward. She blinked repeatedly, wishing she could kill him. But was he worth going to prison for? She shook her head.

Gently, he laid her back against the luxurious seat. He knelt on top of her, across her thighs, effectively trapping her. If she raised her knee to kick at him, the movement would be to no avail. She soaked in the heady scent of his arousal.

"I don't like this, either.” Her jacket ripped away at the shoulders. He threw that too on the floor.

Nicole shivered. “What do you like?” she breathed, angered that he could pin her down but furious with herself for allowing him to overpower her.

For the first time since they had met at the party, she examined his face. He had aged, she saw with a touch of remorse. Wrinkles sat at the corners of his eyes and at the tips of his luscious lips. And his eyes, the mirrors to his soul, appeared world-weary. What had he seen in prison? she found herself wondering. She had heard, somewhere, that incarceration behind prison walls made men cynical. Was that true in Michael's case?

"I like you in my arms and in my bed,” he responded quietly.

The momentary remorse she had felt at testifying against him dissipated into nothingness. A sudden chill hung in the air as she said, “In that case, a scorpion would suit you better."

He let out a deep, troubled sigh. “In prison, that's what I thought you were. For a while. Until I began dreaming about you.” His gaze focused on her eyes. She couldn't look away from his wistfulness.

Michael continued. “I wanted to kill you. At first. Before I realised you had mistakenly acted on what you had seen. Then all I wanted was to spite you. To rip your clothes off, and drive my cock deep inside you."

His mood changed swiftly, almost as fast as she could blink. Fascinated by the anger duelling with an emotion she could only call passion in his eyes, she stared as he pressed his lips together. His shoulders tensed. Then, as if he decided the aggravation wasn't worth the trouble, he relaxed as easily as if he had taken a deep breath.

Captivated by his gaze, she didn't struggle as he lifted her hands and pinned them above her head in a strong grip. With his free hand, he tugged on the thin material of her dress at her left shoulder. The dress loosened across her breasts.

From somewhere deep within her, she found the strength to attempt to edge out from underneath him. He was far too heavy for her to dislodge.

"Don't do this to me,” she implored. Every part of her being begged for his heated, masculine touch. His erection strained against her clamped together thighs. His contact with her skin made desires she had repressed for years stir to life, reminding her of forbidden passion.

"Don't do this to yourself, Nicole. Don't fight yourself. You want me. You know it."

She bit her lower lip, urging herself to silence. What was the point of reasoning with him? He wouldn't hear what she had to say. Instead, she shook her head. Why would she fight herself?

"I think you want me to, sweetheart. You want me so badly you can't wait to feel my cock inside you.” He leaned over and brushed his lips across her forehead, then lower, nuzzling her cheek. She felt her belly stir as his damp lips trailed along her neck.

"No,” came out as a tortured moan. Incredibly, her nipples turned into hard peaks and moisture seeped from that intimate place between her legs. She didn't want him. She couldn't want him. He was a convicted murderer.

"But you do. If I reached between your legs, you'd be wet for me, wouldn't you?"

She moved her head side to side, unable to see his face. No woman in her right mind made love to a man she had testified against. How many years had she juggled with wanting this man so badly yet knowing she could never again have him? That her conscience wouldn't allow her to make love to him, and, quite likely, he wouldn't have wanted to love her as she yearned? Of course, she would never tell him.

He snorted. “Did you get turned on when I was led away in handcuffs the day the verdict was handed down?"

She drifted back in time, to the courtroom as hushed whispers erupted at the guilty ruling. She couldn't help herself. She had stared at the back of his head, wanting to turn back the clocks to the day before he had murdered his father, to erase the evil he had unleashed. When he had turned around as the bailiff approached him, her heart had shattered into tiny pieces. His face appeared haggard and his short hair had been dishevelled. But the look in his eyes, a deep hurt, had stabbed her to her very core. He'd grimaced before he had turned away at the bailiff's instructions. That had been the last time she had seen him.

In the limousine, Michael went on. “I try not to be angry any more. What's done is done. I had plenty of time in prison to dream about you. Erotic, sinful dreams.” A look of tired sadness passed across his features. “When I fantasised about you, you were naked, your hands chained above your pretty head. When I wanted to, I'd come and pleasure myself on you while you begged for mercy because that's all you lived for. My cock filling your wet cunt."

Nicole whimpered. Once, she would have enjoyed submitting to his will. Now she dreaded the notion.

"You're going to fulfil each one of those dreams, however I want. We're going to go back to the way we used to be before you decided you didn't want me, and cast me away."

"I didn't cast you away,” she managed.

His eyebrows notched up. “Was there someone else, Nicole? Is that why you got rid of me?"

Mutely, horrified at the notion she could place an innocent man in prison simply to be rid of him, she shook her head.

"I could think nothing but that your actions were spiteful. But I still don't know why. Was there another man?"

"There was never anyone but you, James,” she whispered, plummeting to the depths of misery.

His eyes narrowed in anger. “Don't call me that. I have a new name. A new life. Deal with it."

"I don't care what you have."

"Listen, Nicole. I'm not giving you a choice. You will become my wife. Mrs Michael Karlisi. Just like we planned before you decided to put me in prison."

To her horror, she did nothing. She wanted to escape his unwelcome plans, but her body refused to move. Her mind fogged into a sexually-induced haze. Why couldn't he grind his hips against hers? Give her pleasure, instead of torturing her mind with the past she could do nothing to change?

"Remember that day, before our world came to an end?"

The unwanted memories resurfaced. Darkness, dappled with brilliant sunshine, rose over her, holding her in a suffocating grip.

The afternoon they had returned from the lake, they had arrived at his house, more like a mansion with more bedrooms and bathrooms than she could count. She had gone upstairs to wash up and when she had returned, she had found Michael in his father's study. To her revulsion, blood dripped from the butcher's knife he gripped tightly in one hand. His eyes were glazed over with horror and grief. His father lay dead on the Persian carpet. She had run for her life, disbelieving what she had seen, terrified he would come after her and kill her too for witnessing the aftermath of the brutal crime.

"You wanted me to tie your wrists together and make love to you. Do you remember?"

Against her will, she remembered. A blush heated her cheeks.

Michael burst into laughter. “Have you changed your adventurous bedroom tastes, sweetheart? Would you dream of asking Brad to do those kinds of things now?” Abruptly, he turned serious. “I think I know what you would say. As long as that lover wasn't me?” He sounded angry.

"Prison doesn't improve men. I would never go back to having a man, any man, do wild, crazy things to me.” Like tie her up and spread her legs apart so he could taste her. “I've changed. I don't do that kind of thing anymore."

Michael frowned. “You don't? Why does your pulse increase when I tell you I want to do these things?"

She glanced away, realising his palm rested against her wrist where he could feel her heart thrum through her veins. Swallowing hard, she murmured, “I'm not one of those women who says no but means yes."

"You need to come to terms with your dishonesty."

"I'm telling you the truth,” she retorted. All she wanted was a man to hold her, to love her until the night turned into day—as James had once, long ago.

He pursed his lips. “When I was in prison, I would spend all day on my bunk thinking about you in your skimpy bathing suit, the rise of your breasts, the swell of your hips and how that scrap of material did little to cover your thick bush. Is it still thick like that or do you shave for that loser?"