Cara considered herself plenty experienced. There had been
times in her life she’d enjoyed the company of men. When
she’d had boyfriends. Sex. But her desire for men and their
bodies had always seemed, while probably quite normal,
nonetheless slightly unremarkable. Her girlfriends in high
school—including Iris—had burbled on and on about boys and
how wet they got when the boys walked by, but her? Yeah,
she’d thought Tony Spokane was hot, and had felt a little
flutter in her belly when she kissed her first boyfriend—had
even climaxed the very first time she’d had sex, losing her
virginity to her college boyfriend Alec—but somehow the
fantastic glittery experience her friends talked about had
bypassed her.
Until now.
As seconds stretched together, the man standing over her
focused on her mouth, her eyes, as if caressing her face
with his gaze. The intensity of her instant attraction to
this stranger was anything but unremarkable.
It was his eyes that really did it to her. The heat in their
depths was startling. The quivering in her belly radiated
out, lower, and she felt herself getting wet . . .
wetter than she’d ever been. Wet enough that if she weren’t
careful, it would show on her cream skirt. She fought
against the wild notion that he wanted to take what he saw:
her. Right now. Right here. Any way she wanted to be taken.
She fought even harder against the notion that that was
exactly what she wanted. And that she yearned for him to
show her ways to be taken she’d barely even heard of. Ways
Iris probably knew about.
But he stayed where he was. His hands were in his pockets.
He’d put them there after he’d touched her. Unless
she’d just dreamed that tender caress, of course.
“You weren’t enjoying the party?” His deep voice
reverberated in the room.
Conversation, she reminded herself. First step in meeting
someone new was to converse, not strip naked and jump their
bones. She hesitated, then said, “Everything was beautiful.
First class.” I’m just more an economy class kind of
girl, she thought, then mentally slapped herself upside
the head. Why even think that when a gorgeous man was
staring at her? When he’d obviously covered her up while she
slept? Watched her while she slept?
He smiled slightly. “You weren’t enjoying it,” he said
decisively. His calm self-assurance was very different from
the young guys she worked with, although he didn’t look much
older than they did. He was probably thirty. Just. But he
had a tough, ruthless look about him, as if he’d literally
fought his way to the top of the world.
Oh, God, she suddenly realized, this had to be his house.
Everything about him lent credence to that fact. She’d
stumbled into his private sanctuary. But instead of seeking
confirmation, she asked, “What time is it?” Slowly, she
moved the cashmere throw down her body, touching the buttons
of her cream blouse first to make sure she wasn’t carelessly
revealing herself. Every button was in place. It was her
imagination working overtime that made it feel like they’d
jumped loose and given him a glimpse of her lacy bra before
she’d opened her eyes.
“After midnight.”
She rose from the sofa, straightening her rumpled clothes.
“I have to go.” Somewhat awkwardly, she slipped a foot into
one high heel, then the other, and stood tall. He was still
a whole lot taller.
“You can stay in here for a bit if you like,” he said
indifferently. “The party’s winding down.”
“I guess this must be your house.”
He inclined his dark head in a nod.
“Spectacular. Really nice.” Cara told herself not to babble.
“I’m sorry, we weren’t told who owned the place.”
“I’m Branden Duke.”
A nice name. A regal name. But this was no Prince Charming.
Too haunted. Too harsh. But gorgeous, nonetheless. “Nice to
meet you, and thanks for the offer to stay, but . . .” She
glanced beyond him and swallowed. The door was behind him.
Closed.
He’d opened it, seen her sleeping, and come in, closing it
behind him. Why?
As if he had picked up on the nervous question that buzzed
in her mind, he turned and strode to the door, opening it
again. But he came back.
Two things registered. First, she wasn’t being dismissed.
Second, he wasn’t blocking her way, and that appeared to be
deliberate on his part. He’d known she felt threatened and
had immediately reassured her. With actions, not words. In
her world, that immediately set him apart from most.
She stepped toward him, fully intending to make a swift
exit—and made the mistake of looking up. His dark, burning
gaze hypnotized her for a moment longer.
He raised a hand and ran his fingertips over her
sleep-flushed cheek as if he couldn’t help himself.
Again.
Cara was mesmerized. The unexpected contact was tender and
also erotic. Familiar.
Tempting.
This man in no way resembled Tony Spokane. He wasn’t a boy
playing at being bad. He was simply bad through and through.
In all the best ways possible.
“Don’t.” She was barely able to breathe out the single word.
She wasn’t angry or afraid—just wildly confused by his
daring and her own crazy reaction. He dropped his hand.
“Are you here alone? Do you work for—”
Frightened by the intensity of her attraction to him, she
blurted out, “I came with Greg Johnson. He must be wondering
where I am.”
Right. As if Greg looking for her would be some kind of
protection from this man. If Branden Duke wanted something,
wanted her, a little competition would hardly put
him off.
Besides, she didn’t want Greg to come looking for her.
At the top of the list of the Reasons Why Not, which were
coming back to her, was the inevitable watercooler talk
between the guys, discussing the party and instant replays
of their conquests. She didn’t want to become Topic Number
One during that bull session. But getting caught up here
with this man, who had some mysterious connection to her
company, wouldn’t do, either.
Branden’s gaze flickered. “Greg Johnson. The stockbroker
from Dubois & Mellan? He’s gone.”
Great. That meant Greg had taken her ride back to
Manhattan with him. Bastard, she thought, but
without much heat. After all, she’d contemplated doing that
very thing to him. “You know him?”
“We were introduced tonight.”
“Great. Well, I really should be going—”
Cara stepped back, nearly falling when her leg connected
with the low glass table. Branden reached out and held her
arms, the strength in his large hands flowing into her
somehow. She swallowed hard, reluctant to shrug him off.
The spell he’d cast didn’t break. Seconds passed. A minute.
He didn’t release her. Instead, his soft grip slowly turned
into caresses, with his hands smoothing over her arms and
then up her neck until his hands lightly framed her jaw.
She still didn’t pull away. All she wanted to do was give in
and see what happened.
“I’m thinking Greg Johnson doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” The statement just popped out of her.
He smiled ever so slightly. Cocked a challenging brow.
Stared at her with eyes filled with a taunting dare.
So what if we’re strangers, it said. You want
to kiss me. So why not kiss me?
She could think of many reasons why not. But she didn’t want
to think. The lingering dreaminess of being caught unawares
and the intimate solitude of their chance encounter
dissolved her resistance. In a heartbeat.
She rose on her tiptoes to give him her mouth, loving the
ebony fire that blazed in his eyes just before she made
contact. The kiss was a brush of the lips at first, then a
searching, urgent opening of her mouth as his tongue met
hers. Branden Duke kissed with expert sensuality. The
strong body underneath the fine suit conveyed a rising heat
as she relaxed against it, not surrendering just yet, but
savoring the pleasure of a scorching kiss from a real man.
