CHAPTER TWO #2
Slowly, he dropped his hands, cupping her rear. He felt her sigh and she leaned forward, propping herself against the side of the house. The view from where he stood was exquisite. He ran his fingers, down her spine, enjoying the goose bumps that sprung in his wake.
He had only ever tied the hands of women he’d known well; women he’d trusted and who had trusted him. This had gone beyond that, though. He liked having her as his prisoner.
It had sparked something carnal and base in him.
He pulled away from her and she made a noise of complaint.
“I’m not finished, cara,” he assured her. “Now I want to watch you.”
It was only when she turned around that she realised he was still fully dressed. But for the lowered zip, he had not bothered to take his clothes off.
He lay himself on the ground, his erection enormous.
“Come to me,” he invited.
She nodded, already desperate to feel him back inside of her. She straddled him, bringing herself over him somewhat awkwardly.
“My hands,” she said, as she took his length back inside and moaned at the feeling of completion.
“Are unnecessary,” he assured her.
Her smile did something strange to his stomach. “I’m sorry to break it to you but I’m a weakling. I don’t think my legs are strong enough to do what I want to do.”
His laugh was hoarse. He liked her honesty.
Only she wasn’t honest, he reminded himself sharply. She was lying about her name. Her career. And he was certain she’d lie about her father too.
He pressed his hands into her hips, digging his fingers into her soft flesh. “Let me help you, then.”
He lifted her easily; she was light. He guided her over his length, smiling as she tilted her head back and began to make those gorgeous little noises of rapturous pleasure once more.
Holding his control was almost impossible. As he felt her muscles clench and squeeze him anew, he had to use every single ounce of his willpower to stop from emptying himself completely.
He watched her, and he thought again of how great it would be to tell her father how he’d used her beautiful body for his own pleasure.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and she dropped her head forward to look at him. “Who are you?” Her eyes roamed his face; he understood.
“Benedetto Arnaud,” he answered simply, a smile shaping his lips.
She shook her head. “But who are you? How can you do this to me?”
He reached up and flicked one of her taut nipples. She shuddered at the contact.
“It is just sex,” he said simply.
Her expression clouded. “I know. But it’s not like … I mean …”
Pleasure blew through him like a leaf in the breeze. “It is different for you?”
She nodded slowly. “It’s not like I’m completely inexperienced,” she promised, embarrassment bringing colour to her cheeks. He liked it. This version of Kate was completely at odds with the icy woman he’d first met.
“No?” He prompted.
She shook her head. “But it’s always been so … calm … compared to this.”
He moved his hips, reminding her that his length was still hard inside her.
She bit down on her lip. “This is so animalistic. So raw.”
“As sex should be,” he responded simply. He grabbed her hips and now he rolled her easily, catching her so that she didn’t hit the hard tiled floor with force. His hands cradled her head. She squirmed uncomfortably.
“My hands …”
“Are lifting you up, holding you perfect for me.” He spread her legs with his palm and she saw what he meant. It was impossible to lie flat on the ground with her hands behind her back.
“It’s not comfortable,” she murmured, studying his face. There was a duality there beyond the passion.
“You will soon forget about that,” he assured her, and he thrust into her again. This time, when her world began to crumble and break apart, he chased after her. Their cries mingled to make one guttural sound of release.
The last thing Kate was conscious of before she squeezed her eyes shut was the brightness of the stars overhead.
She held darkness around her for several minutes, until reality slowly began to throb through her.
She felt him move away and blinked. He was only gone a second before returning with a soft rug.
“Sit up.”
When she didn’t immediately comply he made a clicking noise of impatience and reached behind her shoulders to guide her to sitting. He deftly untied her wrists, and watched as she brought them in front of her and rubbed the pink flesh.
Shock was shooting through her. He was still clothed, for God’s sake. She was completely naked, and he was wearing a tuxedo. Apart from the missing neck tie, he didn’t look at all out of place.
“Well,” she said, her voice coldly detached despite the heat of passion they’d just shared. “That was unexpected.” Her smile was apologetic.
“Not for me,” he responded.
She lifted the blanket higher, to cover her breasts. “I really don’t do this kind of thing.”
He brushed aside the demurral. In his experience, everyone had one night stands.
“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t care if you’ve done this once, twice or a hundred times. Tonight you did it with me, and I enjoyed it.”
She studied his face thoughtfully. “You’re actually kind of a bastard, aren’t you?”
He laughed, completely surprised by her assessment. “Cara, that’s not the worst I’ve been called.”
“I believe it.” She stood up awkwardly. The dress was across the terrace. “I … I think I should go.”
He followed, standing and catching her around the waist. “We should go,” he corrected, lowering his mouth and pulling her bottom lip between his teeth.
She swallowed. Butterflies were hammering her insides again, making her feel hot and cold and thick with desire.
“Two days, remember?”
Her eyes flared wide and she squashed the small ray of hope that seemed to be gleaning into her heart. “Two days? Surely you don’t mean … I mean …”
His laugh was deep. “Do you realise how many sentences you start and don’t finish?” He ran his hands down her sides.
She expelled a breath and furrowed her brow. The insult was one her father had thrown at her often. “I know,” she apologised. “I do. I’ve tried hard not to but my mouth isn’t always in synch with my mind.”
Something in the way she spoke flared a warning in him. He chose to disregard it. “Come with me tonight. Give me the two days I bought.”
“That isn’t why I’m here,” she said thickly, staring up at his eyes. “I’m here with you … I slept with you … because I wanted to.”
“Yes.” He lowered his mouth and kissed her gently. “And you’ll come with me because you want to as well.”
She swallowed, wanting to challenge him but knowing he was right. “This is completely crazy.”
Her eyes were enormous and terrified. He stared into them but he was seeing the past; he was seeing the eyes of her father, as they’d looked at him with blatant cruelty.
The memory was as acute as if it were happening in that moment.
It played out before him like a film; he was helpless to resist its tug.
“You know he did not do this.” Benedetto weighed his words with care. He was not used to asking for favours. Nor was he used to being refused.
The older man stared across the bar, his expression belligerent. “If I thought he were innocent, I would not have found him guilty.” His eyes were a vivid shade of blue. They made Benedetto long to throw him into an equally blue ocean.
Benedetto lifted his scotch, cradling it thoughtfully in his hands. When he spoke it was with the kind of quiet determination that struck fear into his boardroom rivals’ hearts. “I think you were paid to find him guilty.”
Augustine Beauchamp’s distinguished head jerked upwards. Those enormous eyes shuttered swiftly. “Careful, son. Accusations like that will get you in a lot of trouble.”
Benedetto laughed. “I’m not afraid of you, Beauchamp.”
“A mistake, surely, on your part.”
“The mistake is all yours.” He leaned forward, his expression unknowingly menacing. “How much did it take? I imagine a man like you doesn’t come cheap.”
Augustine sipped his red wine; a dribble escaped the corner of his mouth and rolled down his pale, fleshy chin like blood running across a snow field. “What you imagine isn’t my concern.”
“Do you think not?” Benedetto’s calm tone belied the surge of panic that was spiraling through him. “I don’t care what it takes. I will prove to the world that you’re the epitome of unethical.”
“I doubt that.”
Benedetto narrowed his eyes. “I am trying to decide if you speak with the confidence of a man who has covered his tracks so neatly he need never fear exposure; or if it’s that you’ve paid off so many others that no one will dare reveal the truth.”
“You may try to decide that all night, for all I care. Nothing you or I say here is going to get your father’s verdict vacated.
” His smile was smug. “Your dad’s a murderer.
Plain and simple. So far as everyone else knows, he killed that girl, and I’ve seen to it he’ll spend the rest of his life in the worst prison we’ve got.
” The smugness became unbearable. Beneath the bar, Benedetto’s hands formed fists of iron.
“Make any trouble for me, and he’ll be the one that pays the price. ”
“You’d actually threaten to make his life worse - an innocent man serving a life sentence - because of this conversation?”
“You think your family’s untouchable because you’re as rich as a prince?”
“I don’t think any such thing,” Benedetto denied, straightening to a standing position. At full height, he towered over the diminutive figure of Lord Beauchamp.
“Because he isn’t untouchable. And he isn’t innocent.”
Benedetto shook his head. Frustration was a flood in his system. “He stole a car thirty years ago. He robbed a store. He ran with the wrong crowd. These were stupid crimes of a mis-spent youth. He is not a murderer.”
“I am not interested in debating the case with you. I heard the facts. I heard the arguments. And I found him guilty.”
“You found him guilty before you even arrived at court.”