Buch lesen: «Awaken To Pleasure»
“I Don’t Mind When You Touch Me.”
Her eyes widened, as if she were surprised by her own words.
He was touched by the admission. “A woman should enjoy her man’s kiss, not merely allow it.” With her face bathed in the soft light of the moon streaking in through the window, she looked vulnerable.
“I’m not sure I know how to enjoy.” Her words were brutally honest. “C-could you…”
He leaned closer, enclosing her with his body. “What would you like, piccola?”
“A kiss. Like it’s supposed to be,” she whispered.
Her words betrayed that, for her, kissing had never been a pleasure. One day soon, he’d find out who had abused her, but for tonight, he would kiss her as an innocent was meant to be kissed—with tenderness and just a stroke of passion.
Just enough to tantalize.
MILLS & BOON
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Dear Reader,
Welcome to another passion-filled month at Silhouette Desire. Summer may be waning to a close, but the heat between these pages is still guaranteed to singe your fingertips.
Things get hot and sweaty with Sheri WhiteFeather’s Steamy Savannah Nights, the latest installment of our ever-popular continuity DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS. USA TODAY bestselling author Beverly Barton bursts back on the Silhouette Desire scene with Laying His Claim, another fabulous book in her series THE PROTECTORS. And Leanne Banks adds to the heat with Between Duty and Desire, the first book in MANTALK, an ongoing series with stories told exclusively from the hero’s point of view. (Talk about finally finding out what he’s really thinking!)
Also keeping things red-hot is Kristi Gold, whose Persuading the Playboy King launches her brand-new miniseries, THE ROYAL WAGER. You’ll soon be melting when you read about Brenda Jackson’s latest Westmoreland hero in Stone Cold Surrender. (Trust me, there is nothing cold about this man!) And be sure to Awaken to Pleasure with Nalini Singh’s superspicy marriage-of-convenience story.
Enjoy all the passion inside!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor
Silhouette Desire
Awaken to Pleasure
Nalini Singh
Books by Nalini Singh
Silhouette Desire
Desert Warrior #1529
Awaken to Pleasure #1602
NALINI SINGH
has always wanted to be a writer. Along the way to her dream, she obtained degrees in both the arts and law (because being a starving writer didn’t appeal). After a short stint as a lawyer, she sold her first book, and from that point, there was no going back. Now an escapee from the corporate world, she is looking forward to a lifetime of writing, interspersed with as much travel as possible. Currently residing in Japan, Nalini loves to hear from readers. You can contact her via the following e-mail address: nalini@nalinisingh.com; or by writing to her c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
To Diane Dietz, editor extraordinaire, and the team at Silhouette Desire—thanks for taking a chance on me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
One
Rain slashed against the windscreen of Jackson’s car with fierce intensity. Aware of the dangers inherent in the dark winter’s night, he kept the speed of his powerful car well under control, watching out for reckless pedestrians.
However, in sharp contrast to the usual Friday night crowds, there was an almost deserted air about the brightly lit centre of Auckland. He knew it was illusionary. The revelers were there but hidden in soundproofed, weatherproofed basements and upstairs rooms, full of pumping music that drowned out the driving rain. He’d passed one such room on his way out of his studio office. It had been the site of a wrap party for a murder drama.
A reed-thin blonde had caught him leaving the building and invited him to join in. Her eyes had been frank with invitation for a much more private party. Unfortunately for her ambition, he didn’t play those kinds of games, and ever since Bonnie, blondes held about as much appeal as arsenic.
After the day he’d had, all he wanted was some cognac and a hot bath. Taylor looked like she could do with both. The poor baby was standing outside in the icy rain, waiting for a bus, her face pinched with cold. She could probably do with a hot man in bed as well but…
Taylor?
Standing in the pouring rain under a barely glowing streetlight, shivering and blue?
“Dio!” He screeched to a stop and then backed up, thanking God for the lack of traffic. As soon as he reached her, he leaned across and threw open the passenger door. “Get the hell in!” The weather obliged, but Taylor didn’t.
The sodden woman outside made a face, as if debating whether to take his less than warm offer. Needle-sharp rain continued to pelt her, hard and certainly painful, even through the thick wool of her pantsuit. “The bus is supposed to come any m-m-m-minute.”
Her chattering teeth enraged Jackson. For a second, he thought he saw fear in those big eyes of hers but it had to have been a trick of the light. He’d never met a woman less afraid of him than this bedraggled creature. “Get in here right now, Taylor.”
She looked like she was going to be obstinate, but then the universe took pity on him. It started to hail. With a tiny shriek that was undeniably feminine, she scrambled into the car and pulled the door shut. Her trembling hands immediately went to the warm air circulating from the ventilation shafts.
He turned up the heat before pulling away from the curb to make a right turn instead of going left. Taylor lived on the opposite side of the city from him. Outside, the night had become immeasurably darker, but the hailstorm petered away after a short but brutal reign.
“I’m wet…your car…” Taylor began, through lips that were blue with cold.
He was furious with her. “It’ll dry.” A plume of water from a passing motorist momentarily blanketed the windscreen in sleet. He slowed to a crawl until the vehicle had passed, taking the chance to send a glare Taylor’s way. “What the hell were you doing catching a bus at this time of night?” His voice was a lacerating whip. How dare she put herself in such a vulnerable position?
“None of your b-b-business.” The sound of chattering teeth destroyed her attempt at a haughty dismissal.
“Taylor,” he warned, in a tone that he only used when his temper was on the thinnest edge, as she very well knew.
“You’re not my boss anymore, so don’t Taylor me.” His passenger’s unrepentant stubbornness was a living being in the air around them.
Jackson was used to being obeyed, especially by pretty young women. Everyone loved the man who could get them onto the silver screen, though he remembered vividly that Taylor harbored no such ambition. He also recalled the steely spine beneath that beautiful exterior. Aware that the more he demanded, the more obstinate she’d become, he tried a calmer approach. “I’m being a Good Samaritan. Humor me.”
She didn’t say anything for a while but he figured that was because she was thawing out. When she finally spoke, what she revealed made his blood boil. All thoughts of calming down were consigned to the deepest hell.
“My ride wanted more than I did. I left.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her huddling into the seat. The small sign of vulnerability tore at him. All of his protective instincts awoke fully armed.
“Did he hurt you?” His hands had turned into claws on the steering wheel.
A pause. “No.”
“Taylor.”
“Don’t Taylor me!” she cried again, but her voice broke at the end—another uncharacteristic sign of weakness. “He was a bozo.” She sniffed. “I thought he was someone I could trust. We were at a party on the Shore thrown by Dracena Medical—the place where I’ve been temping for the past three months. My contract ended yesterday, but they invited me to the party anyway. When it began to break up, one of the project directors offered a few of us a ride home. I didn’t realize that I was going to be the last one left in the car until it was too late.” She was babbling, betraying her fear even as she tried to convince him of the lightness of the matter.
“I’d never have gone with him otherwise. I thought I’d get dropped off first because the others live farther out, but apparently, they’d all decided to get off in the city and go dancing. He didn’t tell me that. I still thought it would be okay until…well, as soon as the others left, he started talking about…s-spending the night with me.”
Jackson became quietly murderous at the evidence of this man’s predetermination to get her alone. “Did he hurt you?” he repeated, knowing that she’d told him the truth about why she’d accepted the ride. He’d long ago learned of her wariness around most men.
She mumbled something under her breath.
“Did. He. Hurt. You?” He was ruthless, aware that her emotional state made her susceptible to questioning. Freed from the constraints which had forced him to keep his distance in the past, he would protect her with every breath in his body. “Answer me.”
“He ripped my shirtsleeve when I was leaving the car. And he’s got my purse. No big deal,” she muttered.
A wave of red rose in front of his eyes. “Name?” Taylor had always touched the deepest, most primitive part of him. Tonight, that part was beyond furious.
“Jackson, I…” She sounded hesitant.
“Name?” The night outside wasn’t as dark as his thoughts about the man who’d dared to assault her.
“Why?” The question was far more confident, his stubborn, temperamental Taylor rising back from the upsetting experience.
He gave her an imminently reasonable answer. “How else are you going to get your purse back?”
“You’re, um…not going to mess him up are you?”
“What do you think I am—some sort of mobster?” He was well aware that he looked like one. Big, dark and thickly muscled. Half of that was genetics. Being part Italian and part Viking tended to do that to a man. The other half was nightmares. Exercise took his mind off them. Add his black hair and eyes and he could easily pass for one of the mafioso.
“Maybe.” She didn’t sound timid, as one should while conversing with a mobster.
“I’ll just pick up your purse. No problem,” he lied. This creep was going to have major problems.
“Promise you won’t hurt him first.”
“Why?” The thought that this might’ve been just a lovers’ quarrel rocked him. Pain squeezed his gut at the idea of her wrapped in another man’s arms. Blinded and numbed by the horrifying revelation after Bonnie’s death more than a year ago, had he left his pursuit of Taylor too late?
“Because I don’t want you in trouble.”
The relief he felt at her response should have shocked him. “Tell me his name.”
“Promise first or I won’t say.” She folded her arms. The smell of wet wool rose into the air.
He swore under his breath, well aware that she was mule-headed enough to do exactly that. “I promise not to touch him,” he gritted out.
Deprived of his preferred form of revenge, he accepted that the man could be taught a lesson in another way. He knew a few men whom he could count on to do what was right, and one of them was a detective in sex crimes.
There was silence from the recalcitrant woman in the passenger seat, as if she was debating whether or not to trust his promise. At last, she sighed. “Donald Carson.”
He nodded, absurdly pleased that his word was good enough for her. “Are you warm yet?” He was beginning to overheat, but she’d been soaking. She needed to get out of those wet clothes but he wasn’t going to make that insane suggestion. Being alone with a naked Taylor was not the best of ideas. Especially when the primitive side of his nature was blazing with the need to brand her with his mark.
“Getting there.” Her voice was soft, unintentionally stoking the hunger inside of him.
Desire burned through the anger, turning his voice rough. “There is a picnic blanket in the back seat.” He was aware that the cadence of his speech was changing, as his long-dormant instincts awoke. It was a habit that betrayed too much, and he made a concerted effort to rein it in.
He heard her move. “It’s still in the plastic wrap.”
“It was part of a gift. I threw it back there months ago.” Rain pounded the windscreen as he drove out into a particularly unsheltered part of the road. “You still live in New Lynn?” He named a suburb about thirty minutes out of New Zealand’s biggest city, under normal circumstances.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice was muffled.
When he chanced a quick glance, he saw that only her bright little face remained uncovered by the woolen blanket. With long black hair beginning to curl in the heat, and thickly lashed blue eyes smudged with tiredness, she looked like a bedraggled and bad-tempered kitten.
And he wanted to scoop her up into his lap and kiss and cuddle her until she melted for him.
His reaction to Taylor went against all of the vows he’d made after he’d found out the terrible revenge Bonnie had taken on him for leaving her. Standing over his estranged wife’s grave, he’d sworn to never again let a woman close enough to wound him so terribly. At that moment, while his heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest to lie torn and bleeding on the crying earth, such a vow had been easy to make.
However, around Taylor, that pain-fueled promise held about as much weight as air. She’d affected him in an inescapable way since the minute he’d first seen her standing in his office doorway. Married at the time, he’d convinced himself that he liked Taylor because she was a good kid and a hard worker. Now, there was no Bonnie, and he’d seen Taylor with her blouse stuck to breasts that were definitely those of a woman.
“Where’s your brother?” He tried to lead his mind down less inflammatory paths, but all the while he was thinking that maybe it was time he gave his instincts what they’d always craved. A long, slow taste of sweet little Taylor.
“Nick’s on a wilderness camp with his class, in Riverhead forest, just out of the city.”
That explained why she was out so late, as she organized her life around Nick’s needs. He’d only met her brother twice, once during a barbeque for employees’ families and again when he’d unexpectedly needed Taylor to come into work on a Saturday and she hadn’t been able to find a sitter. However, Taylor’s daily reports—glowing updates more like a mother would give of her firstborn, than a sister of her brother—had made him feel like he knew the boy intimately.
“You’re still temping with the same agency?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve asked for you when I needed a temp.” Each time, the hapless replacement had had to bear the brunt of his unreasonable temper at her absence.
“Oh.” She turned a little toward him. “I didn’t know.” A pause. “I don’t work in the film industry anymore.”
“Why not film?” Had she been avoiding him, he thought with a flare of anger that was rooted in possessiveness that he’d never consciously acknowledged. Until now.
“It’s not the kind of environment I want to be in.”
Stopping at a red light, he faced her. “Environment?”
She shrugged, her cheeks a little pink. “Excess, glamour, money, money, money.”
He’d always known that she’d fight against coming into his world. “What about art?”
“What about it?” she scoffed.
He smiled and accelerated with care when the light turned green. “Poor Taylor. Disillusioned so young.”
“Don’t patronize me.” The order was sharp.
She’d been the only one of his secretaries who’d given him backchat. He’d offered her a permanent position after her contract ended, but she’d been adamant in her desire to leave. He’d wanted her more than he’d craved anything in his life, but honor had forced him to let her go, before he stole both her youth and her innocence. Yet, he’d kept waiting for her to walk back through the door. The memory made his voice curt. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? For a kid, you’re very cynical.” At thirty-two, he was only eight years her senior, but in his heart, he was decades too old.
Taylor’s temper started to simmer. Why did Jackson always treat her like a child? “I’m not a kid!” Her feelings around him were definitely those of an adult.
His big body tended to do things to her insides that scared her, because she had no idea what to do to feed those wild, hot feelings. With her history, she could never, ever allow herself to love a man, but the minute she’d met Jackson Santorini, she’d learned that she couldn’t stop herself from lusting after this particular male.
A deep chuckle heated both her cheeks and her temper. “Next to me, you’re a baby.”
“Crap.” She was so furious that she could barely get the single word out.
“Crap?” He was laughing at her again, in that superior masculine way of his that made her want to scream.
“Age makes no difference to the person you become once you’re an adult.” She needed him to accept her as a woman, though she shied away from the implications of that need.
“Of course it does.” His response was infuriatingly calm. “More experience, more life lived.”
“More years doesn’t necessarily mean more experience!”
His sardonic look dared her to prove it.
She did, goaded beyond endurance. “I’m bringing up a child. Can you say the same?”
“No.” His response was so cold that the inside of the car suddenly felt like a freezer.
It was clear that she’d offended him deeply with her careless words. Not for the first time, she wondered if his childless marriage had been his choice. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true.” An emotionless response.
She bit her lip, debating whether to continue. “Yes. But so soon after Bonnie’s death…I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking.”
It was her own emotional anguish over the possibility of losing custody of Nick to her stepfather, Lance, that had made her so reckless. Even tonight’s desperate attempt to forget her fears for a few hours had ended in a nightmare. Except for being picked up by Jackson, her day had been sheer hell. And now, she’d made him angry. Somehow, that was the worst feeling of all.
“It’s been twelve months since Bonnie overdosed.” Jackson knew his voice was hard, but so had been surviving the losses a year ago. “You know our marriage was finished long before then. Hell, the whole world knew.”
They’d been married, but not to each other. He’d had his work and for a brief glittering moment of pure happiness, Taylor’s smile. Bonnie had had drugs. They hadn’t even slept together for over two years, except for that one fateful time four months before her death.
She’d been so lovely that day, a shimmering memory of the girl he’d wed, before news of her father’s death had stolen her joy. He’d long since learned that that girl had been a mirage, but when she’d turned to him for comfort, he hadn’t been able to deny her. Not when grief had ripped apart the mask of sophistication that had become her face.
And they’d created a child.
Whom Bonnie had murdered when she’d taken her life with a cocktail of drugs. If she hadn’t, he might have been a parent, too, able to refute Taylor’s claim. He could still feel the knives that had sliced through his soul when the autopsy had revealed her to be pregnant. Further tests had proven that the child had been his flesh and blood.
But, even that incredible grief hadn’t compared to his rage at discovering that Bonnie had known of the tiny life growing inside of her. She’d known that his child was in her womb when she’d taken her final lover, and she’d known that his child was in her womb when she’d ingested the fatal drug cocktail.
At that moment of understanding, hate had spread through his body like a virus, decimating his ability to feel tender emotions.
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