MAYBE he should have let Reyes kidnap the girl after all.
Marcos glanced at the girl sitting next to him in the Rolls-Royce as the chauffeur drove them three miles inland from the coast.
Silent at last. It was an improvement from the previous few hours, when she’d demanded for him to let her go so she could rush back and marry Aziz al-Maghrib. When her demands hadn’t worked, she’d tried insults and threats. Thinking about it now almost made him laugh. He was not one of her suitors. Her moods held no sway over him.
Or did they? An image of their kiss flooded his mind. He hadn’t meant to kiss her in the cabin of his yacht, but she’d just looked so damned desirable. And the kiss itself…
He pushed the disturbing memory from his mind. The woman was an experienced coquette. According to the tabloids, she’d slept with every male celebrity who set foot in the London boroughs; of course she knew how to kiss. It changed nothing. If anything, it only lowered his opinion of her. Her pretense of bewildered innocence, the way she’d blushed after pretending to drop the sheet—was there anything the woman wouldn’t do in order to return to Morocco and get her claws into the al-Maghrib fortune?
He’d actually told her the truth about his plan to destroy her family, but she hadn’t asked a word about it. Apparently, her whole family could starve, so long as she herself was slathered with diamonds and rubies as the honored wife of the Sheikh’s nephew.
Shallow-hearted and greedy, he thought contemptuously. As venal as her bridegroom, and probably as brainless as her half-brother into the bargain.
A pity she was also the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her beauty wasn’t just in her porcelain skin, her pink lips or her wide blue eyes. It was more than that. Her charm was in the way she moved, like a flamenco dancer. It was in the way her long red hair swayed gracefully against her pale shoulders. It was in the sound of her voice, deep and melodic. It was in her slender, reed-like waist, long legs and full, high breasts. Put all of that together, and he could see why she’d been called the most desirable woman in Britain. A lesser man would instantly be a slave to her charm.
It would serve her right to seduce her, he thought suddenly, glancing at her. She was pressed against the opposite side of his car, glaring at the passing Spanish countryside. How he would love to break her will. To make her sigh and scream with pleasure. To overwhelm her rudeness and insults with an onslaught of desire. His whole body tightened as he thought of it. It would serve the spoiled girl right…
Damn it to hell. He clenched his jaw, realizing that his attraction to her was in danger of overriding his reason. Obviously he was just as susceptible to her charm as any other man. It infuriated him. He had no doubt that he could resist her, but that he’d even thought of taking her to bed proved how dangerous she was.
As the car pulled to the castle’s front steps, his gaze unwillingly followed the curves of her body in the low-cut black dress. The Andalusian summer night was sultry and fragrant with jasmine as, with a dismissive motion to the chauffeur, Marcos walked around to her door.
She continued to ignore him. Without a word, he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the car. He dragged her up the wide steps, followed by Reyes, Maria and the others from the van.
She stumbled on the top step, looking up at the crenellated battlements of the fourteenth-century castle. “This is your home?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “And your home for the next few weeks.”
Her face shut down in that rebellious expression he knew so well. “I won’t stay here. You can’t make me.”
In spite of everything, he could feel himself starting to lose his patience. Between her beauty and her insolence, she seemed to know just how to get under his skin. “You’re here as long as I want you.”
She yanked away from him, folding her arms over her deliciously full breasts as she entered the castle. He let her go, confident that she could not escape with the tall, heavy doors closed behind them. The reluctant clack-clack-clack of her high heels echoed against the walls as she followed him, staring upward in amazement. Long ago, the magnificent foyer had been built to impress, with high ceilings carved in intricate designs of flowers, Arabic letters and geometric patterns.
He remembered she’d briefly majored in medieval studies before switching to economics. Hopefully the foyer was impressing her, he thought grimly. She wasn’t in London any more. It was time she realized who was in power here.
Holding her prisoner here would financially decimate both of his enemies. Without the wedding between the two families, Sheikh Mohamed ibn Battuta al-Maghrib would not sell the argan oil harvest on credit to Sheldon Winter, which he needed for the relaunch of his only profitable product. The board members of Winter International would sell the company off for parts, and Sheldon would be swamped beneath the weight of his personal debts.
Aziz would be hurt even worse. Without his uncle’s promised wedding gift, he would no longer be able to hide his gambling addiction. The Sheikh, an honorable but strict man, would likely disinherit him, and his creditors would break both his legs. A perfect end, in Marcos’s opinion.
The only thing that might be even more satisfying would be if Aziz came to Spain to start a war over Tamsin. After what the man had done to his father, nothing would give Marcos more pleasure than to rip him apart with his bare hands. He was sick of secrets. Sick of lies. And, most of all, sick of waiting. He wanted the men who’d destroyed his family punished.
In the meantime, he was stuck with Tamsin Winter as his prisoner.
His eyes traced the outline of her gorgeous figure and the red hair tumbling down her bare back. Her skin was as creamy-pale as winter and looked as soft as a summer breeze. His hands longed to stroke her back, to see if she was as soft as she looked, to see if the fire of her hair was reflected in the tumultuous passion of her embrace.
He shook himself in annoyance. She was his prisoner, he told himself, nothing more. Setting his jaw, he looked at her coldly. “You will join me for dinner tonight.”
Her full pink lip curled. “I’d rather starve.”
“As you wish.” With a flare of his nostril, he turned to his head of security standing discreetly behind them. “Reyes, lock Miss Winter in the tower.”
“No!” Her eyes went wide and she took a step towards him. “You can’t lock me up!”
“I can and I will.” The room he’d prepared for her was luxurious and comfortable, and far from the tower, but he had no intention of sharing that with her. Not after all she’d put him through today. “You’ve given me no reason to seek your company.”
Her hands clenched as she visibly struggled to contain her anger. Her cheeks were red with the effort.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said through gritted teeth. “I would love to have dinner with you.”
About time, he thought. Her constant insults were growing thin. He turned to his housekeeper, who’d just entered the foyer.
“We will take our supper in the sala, Nelida. It is late. Bring the whole meal at once.”
“Sí, Patrón,” she replied.
“I will keep you apprised,” he told Reyes. The man left with a nod, followed by the rest of the security team.
Marcos held out his arm. “This way.”
Tamsin stared at his arm distrustfully. Her blue eyes, emphasized by the dark fringe of kohl and thick lashes, seemed as wide and deep as the sea. Taking his arm was obviously the last thing she wanted to do.
But, to his surprise, she gave him a smile before tucking her small hand in the crook of his arm. The glow in her expression was so unexpected it nearly took his breath away.
“Thank you.” Her voice was a sultry purr, her eyes half-veiled by sweeping dark lashes, luring him on with the promise of some feminine mystery. Intrigued, he drew closer.
“Follow me, Miss Winter,” he said, feeling off-kilter again.
She laughed, and it was as crystalline and pure as a melody. She touched him softly on the shoulder. “If I’m really going to be here for weeks, I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? Call me Tamsin. Marcos.”
Watching her lush, full lips speak his name, he suddenly was hungry for more than dinner. In the space of a moment, the ice princess had become a fiery temptress and, in spite of his better judgment all he could think was that he wanted to throw himself into her flames.
But why the change in her behavior? Surely she wasn’t that terrified of being locked in the tower?
Then it all became clear. She had changed her strategy. Rather than insulting him, she thought she could charm him into letting her go.
It wouldn’t work, of course. She took him for a halfwit if she thought he’d fall for such an obvious ploy. But, as she moved closer to him, her body swaying like music, he thought that after all her abuse of the past few hours it might be enjoyable for him to let her try.
He wouldn’t be tempted by her, he told himself.
He was just curious to see how far she’d go.
Tamsin realized now that she’d been a fool to waste time with insults.
Unlike her pompous, rather oblivious half-brother, Marcos Ramirez wouldn’t be baited so easily. He was smart, organized and ruthless. He’d gone all the way to Morocco to kidnap her. He’d obviously spent a great deal of time and money to set up his revenge against Aziz and her family. And she’d thought he’d let her go for being rude?
It was time for a new plan.
Marcos gave her a quick glance as they ascended the sweeping stone staircase towards the sala. His desire was plain in his eyes, though he quickly veiled his expression with a smile. He obviously believed her to be a shallow, promiscuous socialite. And, judging by the clothes he’d provided for her—a black Gucci halter dress with a plunging neckline and Christian Louboutin pumps—he’d been watching her for some time. The outfit was a duplicate of the one she’d famously worn to a party. It had caused the tabloids to proclaim her London’s new ‘it’ girl—for that month, at least.
But now she wished with all her heart for a tracksuit and trainers instead. The peep-toe heels in crêpe chiffon mesh, beautiful as they were, weren’t exactly made to scale down stone walls or sneak past guards.
A sexy dress had other benefits, though. She glanced at him beneath her lashes. She could flirt with him. Lull him into complacency. Make him believe she might actually sleep with him.
Yes. She would deal with this arrogant Spaniard.
All she had to do was make sure Marcos continued to think she was everything the tabloids said—a shallow flirt who cared only for fashion and the admiration of men. She’d convince him that she was content to remain here in luxury while he prevented her marriage and ruined her family. Then, when his guard was lowered and he least expected it, she would escape to Morocco and stop him.
She smiled to herself, imagining the look on his face when his plans were destroyed by the woman he’d underestimated.
“Here we are,” he said as they reached a wide dining hall. His hand lingered possessively on the small of her back.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, smiling up at him until her cheeks hurt.
It wasn’t a lie. The architecture was medieval in appearance, though the plasterwork on the walls was covered with expensive modern art. She recognized a Picasso. The ceilings were high and the long darkwood table was decorated with a vase of exotic fresh flowers. The outside doors were open, overlooking a wide balcony and stone balustrade. She took a deep breath of night-blooming jasmine.
He escorted her to a seat near the end of the table facing the open windows. He was still wearing the same white shirt and fitted black trousers he’d had on the yacht, and she caught his scent on the breeze. He smelled of warm sun and Mediterranean sea and something else—something indefinable but totally male. Very different from Aziz, who wore enough cologne to make her gasp for air.
Marcos’s scent, his body, his voice, all made her body hum with delicious tension. It was…confusing. How could she be attracted to him when she longed to crack him over the head with a heavy vase?
“Care for a drink?” he asked shortly.
She hesitated. “Yes. Thank you.”
He went to the bar at the end of the dining room and her eyes followed his every step. Tall and broad-shouldered, he walked with lazy, sinuous movements, like a lion prowling the savannah. His crisp white shirt and finely cut trousers silhouetted the muscular shape of his body.
He turned back to face her. His strong jawline was dark with late-day shadow and his hair was black and full of curl. With his aquiline profile and full lips, his face was as perfectly chiseled and as cold in expression as a statue by Michelangelo.
Marcos Ramirez was a dark angel, she thought with a shiver. Beautiful, cruel and utterly without remorse.
“The brandy is from my own vineyards.” He put her snifter on the table and sat next to her. She jumped when she felt his knee brush against her bare leg.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Did I startle you?”
She blushed in embarrassment, furious at herself for acting like the virgin she was. She tried to recover. “No. Your legs are just very…big.”
“Gracias.”
So far, so good. She leaned forward to lightly brush her hand on his knee. “I admire strong legs on a man. Big hands. Big feet.” She gave them a conspicuous glance. “So good for heavy lifting.”
“I don’t just have strength, but stamina,” he observed, looking at her over his glass with an amused expression. “I can lift anything you want. All night.”
Oh, my God.
Flirting with Marcos was very different from dancing with a pallid young earl or drinking with a bull-headed celebrity at a London club. Marcos was a full-grown man, and a dangerous one at that. She was his prisoner, in his castle. He could do anything he wanted with her.
Playing with him was playing with fire.
You can do this, she told herself. Make him think you want him. Act like the promiscuous woman he believes you to be. Lean forward and kiss him now.
But she couldn’t do it. He was too powerful, too masculine, too in control of himself. It made her lose her nerve.
Grabbing her snifter, she lifted the brandy to her lips and drank deeply until the potency of the liquor caused her to choke and cough.
“Careful.” He pounded on her back with his left hand. “Inexperienced with brandy?”
She felt inexperienced, and not just with brandy, either.
“I was thirsty,” she responded lamely.
“Yes, I can see that.” His gray eyes gleamed. “Are you hungry as well?”
“Very.” She took another sip of brandy, more carefully this time. “By the way, I owe you my thanks.”
He regarded her with some suspicion. “For what?”
“For kidnapping me,” she said, keeping her eyes wide with admiration. “For saving me from Aziz.”
“Saving you? You were so desperate to marry him that you wanted to jump in the sea and swim back to Morocco.”
“That was just because I was frightened. I didn’t know what you meant to do to me. But I never wanted to marry Aziz—never. He would have stuck me away in the desert, a million miles away from shops, clubs, Harrods, everything.” She shivered prettily. “What kind of life is that for a girl to lead?”
His lip curled. “Qué lástima, you are right. It would be a tragedy.”
The only tragedy is how easily you’re buying this, she thought. She leaned forward to put her hand over his. “I’m not your enemy, Marcos. I have no love for my brother or Aziz. Perhaps we can…help each other.”
He glanced down at her hand. “What did you have in mind?”
His eyes had fallen to her mouth, and she licked her lips. Again, she had the feeling of being out of her league, out of her depth, and out of her mind. She couldn’t manipulate a man like this. Could she?
She swallowed the last of the brandy with a gulp and held up the snifter, looking at him with her best smile. “Would you get me some more brandy?” She gave a little giggle. “My head is starting to spin in such a wonderful way.”
Without a word, he took the glass and strode across the old stone floor to the wet bar. She watched him with narrowed eyes, but the moment he turned back to face her she simpered at him, dimpling.
“Tell me your plans, and I’ll tell you how I can help.” She stretched her arms above her head with a dainty yawn, well aware that it would cause her breasts to rise against the low-cut halter dress. “I still don’t understand why you think kidnapping me will hurt Aziz and my brother.”
His eyes followed the swell of her breasts against the plunging black neckline. “It’s enough that it will.”
“But why do you want to hurt us?”
“Not you, querida. Them.”
“Why do you want to hurt them?”
He shrugged. “They’ve got it coming.”
Selfish bastard, she thought, irritated that he wouldn’t explain further. I won’t let Nicole’s life be ruined because of your stupid desire for revenge.
Tamsin had already seen enough in her life, thank you, especially from her father’s example. When he’d finally died of apoplexy, he’d been friendless and un-mourned, and all Tamsin had felt was relief that he couldn’t hurt them ever again.
“Here’s your brandy.” Marcos placed it on the table next to her.
“Thank you.” She crossed her legs, trying to show them to their best advantage, then pretended to accidentally drop one of her high-heeled shoes to the floor. She leaned forward to pick it up, just to give him a nice view down her neckline.
When she sat up, he was looking at her like a hungry wolf waiting to devour a lamb.
Perhaps it had worked too well, she thought as he slowly walked around her. She could feel his hot stare move up and down her body and nearly jumped when his hands touched her bare shoulders. She hadn’t expected her own senses to have such a strong reaction. Her voice trembled. “What are you doing?”
He smiled down at her, softly brushing her hair aside, causing shivers of awareness to spread from her scalp down her body. “You’ve had a difficult day, but we have the whole night ahead of us. To eat. To drink. To…enjoy.”
Her heart gave a strange little thump as he massaged her shoulders. She felt his hands move lower on the bare skin of her upper back, rubbing the tense muscles around her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, unable to resist leaning back.
“Qué belleza,” he whispered. His fingers lightly traced the edge of her shoulder, the crook of her neck, the curl of her hair. “You are so beautiful.”
“It’s not me,” she gasped. “It’s just the dress.”
“It’s the woman in the dress.” He bent forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said. “Perhaps we can help each other.”
“Tell me your plans,” she said, hardly able to believe that he was falling for her act, “and I will tell you how I can help you.”
Running his hands down her arms, he gave her an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. We shall see.”
It was working! He thought he could trust her! But, just as triumph was coursing through her, the housekeeper and two waiters entered the sala with trays of dinner, interrupting them. To her chagrin, Marcos moved away to his own chair.
“I’m serving dinner all at once, as you wanted,” the housekeeper said in Spanish, throwing a hard glare toward Tamsin. It bewildered her. Why would the housekeeper dislike her? “For your romantic night,” the woman added sourly.
“Thank you, Nelida,” Marcos replied in the same language, taking the tray from her. “I would be helpless without you.”
The plump middle-aged woman looked mollified. “You’d starve, that’s for sure. You’d live off coffee and tapas, or else forget to eat entirely. You always lose weight in Madrid.”
“But I always come back so you can fatten me up. Good night, Nelida.”
“I don’t think your housekeeper likes me,” Tamsin said after the woman and her assistants left.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said, buttering a thick slice of bread. “Nelida was my nanny when I was a child. She’s old-fashioned and possessive. She doesn’t approve of loose women.”
Loose women! Tamsin thought indignantly. She looked down at her meal. “What’s this?”
“The soup is salmorejo. Tomato soup, thickened with breadcrumbs, topped with chopped eggs and ham.”
She hesitantly took a mouthful of soup. It was cold, but delicious. “It tastes like gazpacho.”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Pato a la Sevillana. Roast duck with onion, leeks and carrots, cooked in sherry. And bread, of course. That’s Nelida’s specialty.”
Tamsin took several bites and realized two things: first, that she was starving, and second, that if she were prisoner here for long she would soon be putting on weight too.
That was, if Nelida didn’t decide to poison her for being loose.
She scowled.
“Do you like it?” Marcos’s slate-gray eyes looked into hers, as if he were asking another question entirely. For a moment, his dark gaze drew her, pulling her into a trance.
She shook herself out of it. Maybe I really am as stupid and shallow as he thinks, she considered grimly. Why else would she be attracted to such a cold, cruel, heartless man?
She forced herself to turn her attention back to the food.
“It’s delicious,” she replied and quickly ate more.
“Your housekeeper is a treasure.”
Over the next hour, she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, trying her hardest to get him to reveal why he’d kidnapped her, what his plans were, what her brother and Aziz had done to make him desire revenge. But, in spite of his hint earlier that he’d share his plans, he spoke little and revealed nothing. It was like talking to a brick wall. She continued to try, skimming her mind desperately for any topic that might make him open up—travel, business, even football. Finally, she gave up.
She’d never met such a brooding, unhelpful man in her life. Either that or she was losing her touch.
Fine, she thought resentfully. If that’s how you want to be, let’s see how you like it. She ate the rest of her meal in determined silence.
It seemed not to bother him a whit.
“You were hungry,” Marcos observed when her plate was empty.
“Being kidnapped will do that to a person,” she muttered, then gave a little laugh, as if it were a joke.
“Would you like more roast duck? Some dessert, perhaps?”
It was the most he’d spoken during their whole meal. But, unfortunately, any more roast duck and she’d burst out of her chic little dress. Another reason to wish she was wearing a track suit. “Thank you, but no. But there is something I do want.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your freedom, plus a quick flight to Morocco?”
She gave a nervous laugh, since that was exactly what she wanted. But she wasn’t going to let him catch her so easily. Shaking her head, she folded her arms, resting them on the table with what she hoped was an earnest look. “I just want to know what my brother and Aziz did to you that made you so angry.”
For a moment he looked as if he might tell her. Then he held out his hand. “Come out and see the view.”
Reluctantly, she set down her napkin and let him draw her towards the open doors of the veranda. “You can see the valley all the way to the sea,” he said. “See those lights? That’s El Puerto de las Estrellas. The village used to be known for smugglers, pirates, thieves.”
“Apparently it still is,” she muttered.
His dark eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps so, now that you are here. The Winters are liars and thieves, and your fiancé is worse.”
She bit back a tart retort, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause to argue. Besides…well, his accusation was true.
Sheldon had lied about many things. Particularly when he’d promised to watch out for Nicole. And, though she didn’t know Aziz very well, she was reasonably sure he was keeping a mistress and intended to keep doing so after their marriage. Plus there was that other small matter of murdering his first wife.
As they stood on the wide stone balcony a cool breeze blew through the valley, making her shiver in her tiny cocktail dress. Without hesitation, he put his arm around her.
“I am glad you are here with me,” he said softly.
Tamsin involuntarily leaned back into the warmth of his arms. Perhaps she had misjudged him, she thought suddenly. For all she knew, he had good reason to hate her family. Her brother and fiancé had certainly made enemies—even Tamsin despised them. Maybe trying to trick him and escape was a mistake. Maybe if she told Marcos the truth about why she was being forced to marry Aziz, he could truly help her…
“You are the pin in my grenade,” he said, giving her a hard smile. “Without you, I could not destroy Aziz al-Maghrib and your brother so easily.”
He was deliberately trying to bait her. She kept her expression bland, but inside she simmered. She wanted to kick him in the shins. Or maybe just kick herself for thinking well of him, if only for a moment.
What was it about him that kept luring her in? He was as relentless as the sea. The darkness of his beautiful eyes held a dangerous riptide that tempted her to drown in the murky depths…
“Getting warmer?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking at him. The moon was covered with gray clouds. The only light came from candles in the dining room behind them. They cast a glow around the edges of Marcos’s black hair, like a halo, leaving his face in shadow.
Dark angel, she thought again.
His gaze rested on her. “The cool air comes off the Atlantic at night.”
From the height of the castle, she thought she could see a glimpse of moonlight on the distant ocean. Something square and hard rubbed against her hip and she glanced down beneath her lashes. She saw a glimpse of silver in his pocket.
His mobile phone!
If she had his phone, she could call Aziz. He could pick her up with his uncle’s helicopter. Or she could call Bianca and Daisy, her two best friends from boarding school, who’d been her roommates over the summer. Bianca’s wealthy family kept private jets in New York and London. Whether by Aziz’s helicopter or Bianca’s plane, she could be back in Morocco tonight.
She had to get Marcos’s phone.
But how?
Kiss him, an inner voice whispered. If she could get him to put his arms around her, she could slip the phone out of his pocket. She would tuck it down her dress and make an excuse to leave. Then she could call Aziz and tell him where to find her. It was the perfect plan.
A shame she wasn’t sure she could do it.
Kiss Marcos? She licked her lips nervously. She was accustomed to being the recipient of kisses, not the initiator. And Marcos seemed like the kind of man who would have a great deal of experience. Unlike her.
Feeling both awkward and bold, she forced herself to take his hand in her own. “What did my brother and Aziz do?”
To her relief, he didn’t pull away. “Why do you keep asking me? Do you care?”
“I care because I hate them too. They’re evil. Not just to me, but to someone I love.”
Kiss me, she thought, looking up at him. Kiss me.
The way he looked down at her, pulling her close in the Spanish moonlight, almost made her forget why she was doing this. All she could think of was that they both hated the same men, and that she wanted Marcos to kiss her.
She slowly ran her hands down his chest. She could feel the muscles through his crisp linen shirt, feel the beat of his heart. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me what they did, what you intend to do in return.”
He grabbed her hands, forced them to be still. His handsome face looked ferocious, almost savage.
Kiss me. She took the final step that pressed her body fully against his. She looked up. He was much taller than she was, but in this moment, as she looked up at him in the sultry jasmine-scented night, she realized she’d lost all fear.
“You aren’t alone, Marcos.” She pressed her cheek against his. His chin felt rough against her skin. Her lips brushed against his ear as she said softly, “Let me help you…”
She heard his sudden intake of breath. He pulled back, forcing her away from him.
“It won’t work,” he said harshly.
“What won’t?” she asked, feeling dazed by her own sudden longing. All she could think about was him kissing her, feeling his lips on hers.
“Do you really think that you can just flirt and toss your hair and I’ll be so dazzled I’ll let you escape?”
Her cheeks burned red-hot. So he knew. He knew she was trying to lull him into letting her escape. “No, I—”
“I’m not that stupid. I won’t let you go just for a few cheap kisses.”
What was he trying to tell her? Shocked, she met his eyes. But she didn’t have time to feel humiliated. She didn’t have time to think. She was desperate—desperate enough to offer anything. She took a deep breath. “And what if I offered you more than just kisses?”
“Your body, you mean?” Apparently unaware of what it cost her to even suggest such a thing, he snorted in derision. “If I wanted you, I could seduce you. Easily.”
“That’s not true!” she gasped, hurt.
His dark eyes regarded her smugly. “We both know it is.”
She ground her teeth. Perhaps it was true, that in her inexperience, she’d revealed that she wanted him, but she’d have died rather than admit it. “For your information, I’ve resisted much better men than you. Handsomer. Richer. Smarter.”
“Have you?” he said evenly. He ran his hand beneath her jaw line, forcing her to look up at him. “So if I were to kiss you now, you’re saying that you would feel nothing.”
“Not a thing,” she said defiantly.
“Really.” He wrapped his arms around her. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, stopping when his lips were a millimeter from hers. “So this leaves you cold?”
She could feel his breath, smell the sweetness of brandy. Her lips felt swollen, tingling as if warming after frostbite, expanding towards his. “Completely.”
“And this?”
He drew her to him in a hot, hard embrace. As he kissed her, her blood boiled, her body felt consumed by fire. Her bones went limp. Dimly, she could hear some inner voice screaming. There was something she was supposed to do while he kissed her. Something.
She felt his hands brush her bare back as he pressed her against the balustrade. His hips moved against her and she sighed beneath his mouth. She wanted something. What was it? To press her body against his? To let him lift her? To spread her legs and wrap them around his waist? To let him make love to her and finally learn the great mystery that most women her age already knew?
She felt dizzy in his arms. Trying to steady herself, she brushed her hand against his hip. She felt the small rectangle of the mobile phone in his pocket and her plans came rushing back.
His phone.
Later, she thought, dazed. Plenty of time for that later, after she’d had her fill of kisses…
But then she remembered Nicole’s face, pinched and hungry as she’d seen it last month. She hated Marcos for his cold arrogance, for kidnapping her, for keeping her in captivity.
So why was it so hard for her to stop kissing him?
Hardening her heart, she forced herself to slip the phone out of his pocket. Hiding it in the palm of her hand, she pulled away, looked him straight in the eye and lied.
“I felt nothing.”
He blinked at her. His voice was hoarse as he replied,
“You’re lying.”
“I’m a Winter,” she said. “Just like you said. A liar and a thief.” She took a step backwards. “Perhaps you should send me to the tower.”
“Perhaps I should,” he muttered, raking his hand through his hair.
She turned to go and, for a moment, she thought he was actually going to let her leave with her prize. Then he wrapped his hand over her closed fist, pinning her to the stone balustrade. “Wait.”
“What?” Her heart was pounding. Any moment he’d discover that she was hiding his phone in her hand.
He bent his head to whisper in her ear and a pulse ran through her body as she felt his lips brush against the sensitive flesh of her earlobe. “I have to say, after all I’ve heard about your seductive skills, I’m disappointed. It was a clumsy attempt at best.”
Oh! His insult left her vibrating with humiliation and rage. “You’re the one who kissed me!”
He gave a derisive laugh.
“I just wanted to see how far you would go. Now I know. You’ve proved my point—you’ll fall into my bed at the slightest provocation. So please don’t try to bargain with your body again.” His lip curled. “I can obviously get that for free.”
She had to get out of here before he goaded her into saying something she’d regret. Still hiding the phone, she drew her hand away. Pressing her fist against the fabric of her skirt, she said furiously, “I’d rather be locked in the tower than spend another minute with you.”
“Fine,” he growled. “I’m sick of the sight of…” He stopped suddenly, his fingers tightening over her fist.
“What’s in your hand?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing!” He forced her fingers open to reveal the phone. Barking a laugh, he took it away from her.
“Why, you conniving little tart.” He looked at her in amazement. “You’re even more clever than I thought.”
Clever? She felt sick. She’d lost. It had almost killed her to laugh and flirt with the cold-hearted beast all night, but she’d done it. Now it was all for nothing.
But she couldn’t let him see her anguish. Ignoring the hard lump in her throat, she raised her chin, glaring at him.
“Why else would I let you kiss me? Just being near you makes my skin crawl.”
He gave her an amused smile, but his dark eyes glittered with anger and something more—bitterness? “And to think I almost believed your little show of compassion. ‘I care, Marcos’,” he mimicked. “‘You aren’t alone, Marcos’. You really are a Winter through and through—a thief and a liar. I almost believed that you actually hated Aziz.”
“I wasn’t lying about that!” she cried.
“Yes, you hate him so much you can’t wait to throw yourself in his bed. Fresh from mine, presumably. Tell me, does it ever get difficult to keep your lovers straight? Sleeping with multiple men each day must make it hard to keep count. Do you give out tickets, or do men just queue up outside your bedroom door?”
With a gasp, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face.