A loud sound echoed around the room, as if someone had
thrown open her bedroom door with such force it had
smacked into the wall, and she woke up for real this
time. And there were no black eyes looking down at her.
No hands on her body. Only the canopy of the ridiculous
four poster bed she slept in.
She had been dreaming. Thank God, thank God, thank God.
Her heart thundered in her ears, her breathing fast and
hard. Her sheets were damp and sticking to her, and she
felt hot. Too hot. And restless and…other things.
Heaving in a breath, the effects of the dream pumping
through her body, she pushed herself groggily upright,
clutching at the sheet and squinting toward the doorway
to see what the hell was happening.
Someone had, indeed, thrown open her bedroom door and now
that someone was standing in the doorway, taking up most
of it.
Someone very large.
A thrill of primitive fear bolted down her spine, her
brain trying to make sense of the looming shape, still
muzzy with sleep and the last shreds of the disturbing
dream.
Definitely a man. Very tall, with massively broad
shoulders.
Nero.
She knew the security he had in his house, no-one else
would get past it unless he himself let them. Which meant
that of course it was him. And that should have made her
feel better, but it didn’t. If anything, it only made
that primitive jolt of fear become an earthquake.
Her mouth burned, her heartbeat getting faster, the
memory of the kiss he’d given her echoing through her
entire body. Hot. Desperate. Shattering.
She’d never been kissed like that before, not without her
permission. Not without being asked. Charles had asked
before he’d kissed her that first time, his blue eyes
full of gentle desire and hope. And it had been light and
tentative and she’d been utterly charmed by it.
Nero’s kiss had not been charming. It had not been light
or tentative. There had been no gentle desire in it, no
desperate hope. He’d taken that kiss whether she’d wanted
to give it to him or not, and he’d been ruthless. Pushing
down her bottom lip with his thumb, his tongue sliding
deep into her mouth, one hand hard on the back of her
neck, the other hard on her chin. Keeping her in place,
holding her there. Making her take it. Taking without
permission like he hadn’t heard what she’d told him that
he needed to respect her choice.
But that wasn’t the worst thing. No, the worst thing was
how something inside her had just…erupted like a volcano
exploding. A wild, primitive, out of control part of her
that she’d had no idea was even there.
A part that didn’t care about the fact that she was
engaged, that her fiancé was lying in a hospital bed in a
coma. A part that didn’t care that she was in love with
one man while being kissed by another. A part that just
didn’t care about anything but itself.
That part wanted Nero’s kiss. It was desperate to be
touched, to be stroked. It was so hungry for connection,
it ached. And it knew that here, at last, was someone who
could give it the connection it wanted, the touch it
desperately craved. And it just didn’t care about
anything but that.
It terrified and excited her in equal measure.
She’d run from the room, thinking of nothing but putting
distance between her and Nero. The taste of him was in
her mouth, hot and alcoholic and delicious, and she knew
that if she stopped running, she might very well turn
around and go back into the library for more. So she
didn’t stop running until she’d gotten to her room, where
she’d locked the door then turned on the shower,
switching it to cold. And she’d stood under the icy
spray until her teeth had begun to chatter and the heat
inside her had cooled. Then she’d gotten out, wrapped
herself in her favorite dressing gown, and ordered the
women Nero had wanted.
She didn’t think about that kiss again. Didn’t think
about the fact that women he’d wanted were redheads.
Didn’t think about that needy, aching part of her that
was helplessly drawn to his intense, uninhibited
masculine sexuality.
She only picked up a book and lost herself in that
instead. Then she’d gone to bed and dreamed…
Nero moved suddenly from the doorway, stalking toward
her, loose limbed and predatory as a panther.
The fear inside her tightened and she grabbed quickly for
the switch for the light on her nightstand, flicking it
on.
Why on earth was he here? He should have been cozied up
with the escorts she’d gotten for him, not coming to see
her. Unless they weren’t suitable? Or maybe they hadn’t
turned up? Or did he want something else?
You know what he wants.
Well, he was out of luck, wasn’t he? No matter what he
threatened to do about Charles’s hospital care, she
wasn’t sleeping with him. And if she lost her job because
of it—
Her thoughts were cut off as light flooded the room,
illuminating Nero’s rough, brutally handsome features.
And her heart paused mid-beat at the expression on his
face.
His eyes were glittering, his jaw tight and hard, his
lips curled back in an almost snarl. He looked absolutely
and completely furious.
Phoebe clutched the sheet to her chest in an
unconsciously protective gesture. “What’s wrong? It’s the
middle of the night. Is there—”
“Explain something to me,” he demanded, low and rough,
continuing to come toward her.
“Explain what?”
“Explain to me how I can have two beautiful women in my
room.” He rounded the bed, coming to over to her side,
and, to her utter shock, sitting down on the edge, right
next to her. Then before she could move, he put one hand
on the mattress on either side of her hips and leaned
over her, forcing her to lie back almost on the pillows
to get away from him. “Two gorgeous, naked women,” he
went on. “Who are desperate to please me. And yet, I
don’t f**king want either of them.” There was fury in his
gaze and something else she couldn’t quite read. “Explain
that to me, Phoebe Taylor.”
She swallowed, her mouth gone dry. He was very, very
close. Too close. His big, hard body leaning over her,
radiating heat and that dark electricity that had
goosebumps rising all over her skin. That made her
shiver. That made her want things she’d never wanted
before and couldn’t for the life of her understand why
she wanted them now.
It was the dream. It had to be. That and two years of
celibacy, though she hadn’t thought she’d be the type of
woman who missed sex since, quite frankly, it wasn’t the
be all and end all.
“I don’t know,” she said thickly. “I got you the women
you told me to get. Those were the ones you said you
wanted.”
His gaze was so full of heat and fury she almost couldn’t
look at it. “And yet I don’t want them. I don’t want to
touch them. I don’t want to f**k them. They’re naked, in
my bed right now, and all I can f**king think about is
you.”
Shock expanded slowly inside her, like an explosion in
slow-motion.
He hadn’t come after her after that kiss in the library
so she’d thought she’d been right in her initial
assumption. That he didn’t want her, he wanted sex.
Apparently not.
“M-Me?” Her voice was stuttering and hesitant and faint,
and she hated the sound of it. “I mean, I don’t know why
—”
“Yes, you,” he cut her off, a dark, rough note in the
words that was somehow thrilling, even though she didn’t
want it to be. “They don’t look like you. They don’t
sound like you. And when I kissed them, they didn’t taste
like you. And that was all I could f**king think about.”
His expression became even more intense, the look in his
eyes sharp as blades. “What have you done to me, Phoebe?
What the f**k have you done?”
She shrank back onto the pillow, her heartbeat out of
control, a strange prickling sensation crawling over her.
As if she’d passed too close to an electric field and the
static was crackling over her skin.
She was afraid. Of him.
No, you’re not. You’re afraid of what he makes you feel.
“I haven’t done anything,” she forced out, trying to
sound like her usual calm self and failing. “I can’t help
it if you don’t want those women.”
Nero said nothing, staring at her with such intensity she
began to feel like he was trying to ignite her with the
power of his mind alone.
And the really terrible part was that it was working.
The dream glowed inside her, banked coals smoldering,
ready to burst into flame at any moment, ready to burn…
No. She didn’t want Nero de Santis. Maybe she wanted to
fix what was broken inside him, but she didn’t want him.
Not this man sitting right next to her, leaning over her,
the hot masculine scent of him surrounding her,
overwhelming her. He was too much. Too big. Too
demanding. Too arrogant. Too selfish.
Too exciting. Too challenging. Too sexy.
She almost shook her head. God, it didn’t matter how sexy
or otherwise the man sitting next to her was, she was
engaged to Charles. She loved Charles.
“I’ll up your salary,” Nero said roughly. “I’ll pay the
hospital and you six figures per month.”
Her mind reeled. That was…insane.
But you’d never have to worry about Charles’s care ever
again.
Oh, God. The anxiety of how to pay for the hospital bills
that kept piling up, month after month as Charles’s
condition stayed exactly the same, was never ending. What
would it be like to not have that? To be free of it?
What would it be like to have Nero?
Her fingers twisted in the sheet. “And if I refuse?””
He bared his teeth in a snarl. “Don’t refuse.”
“So all that talk about respect. It meant nothing to
you?”
“It would have meant something if you hadn’t kissed me
like you wished it was my cock in your mouth not my
tongue.” The words were rough-edged and brutal and he
looked at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. “You want
to talk about respect? Then how about you respect your
own f**king desires.”
Electricity snaked down her spine, a white hot thrill. “I
don’t have any desires,” she said desperately.
“Liar.” He raised his hand and jerked the sheet from her
grasp, pulling it right off her.
A pathetic little cry of protest escaped her and she
reached for the cotton, desperate to cover herself, but
he grabbed both her wrists and held them in an iron grip.
She stilled, the breath shuddering in her throat, half
terrified and half…No, no. She could not be turned on by
this. She could not want this. Struggling to contain the
thick, confusing knot of emotions inside her, she asked
in what she hoped was a cool, calm voice, “What are you
doing?”
He said nothing, merely holding her wrists, his gaze
locked with hers.
The smoldering embers inside her began to glow, like the
look in his eyes was a breath on hot coals, and it made
the fear inside her clench tight. Because she didn’t want
these feelings. She didn’t want to want him. There was
another man she wanted, another man she loved.
He never made you feel like this though.
Without a word, Nero brought her wrists together and
transferred them to one large, strong hand, holding on
tightly. Then with his free hand he reached down to the
long, lacy white nightgown she wore and slid his fingers
beneath the hem.
