Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal

Shudders running through her, she begged, ‘Oh, please, Rafe, don’t do this to me. I want to sleep in my own bed…alone…’

When he released her, hardly daring to believe she’d won, Madeleine struggled to her feet.

Rising at the same time, he put a light hand at her waist. ‘I’ll see you up.’

Very conscious of his hand in the small of her back, she was partway across the hall when he stopped her, and said quizzically, ‘I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to kiss Mary, and it’s a shame to waste it.’

As he turned her into his arms and tilted her chin, she caught sight of the mistletoe hanging over them. A second later everything was wiped from her mind as his mouth covered hers.

Though his kiss was light to begin with, it had a devastating effect on her, and, shaken to the very core, she parted her lips beneath his the way a flower opened to the sun.

He made a sound almost like a groan and, running his fingers into her hair, deepened the kiss, taking his own sweet time, until her head was spinning.

There was nothing in the world but this man, his lips, his arms, the warmth and strength of his body, the memories of how it had been, and what he’d once meant to her.

When he finally freed her mouth, blind and dizzy, she swayed and clung to him.

He steadied her, then, lifting her high in his arms, carried her up the stairs. It was like something that was happening in a dream, something she was experiencing, yet not quite real.

When he set her down and flicked on the light she saw that she was in a strange room, a masculine room with a dark blue and white decor, a central chandelier and a king-sized four-poster bed with a blue and silver canopy.

‘You told me you wanted to sleep alone in your own bed. If you still want that, you’re free to go.’

Her whole body crying out for him, she could feel the heat running through her, the passionate hunger, the overwhelming need.

She knew with blinding clarity that she was still in love with him, and no matter that he didn’t love her, no matter that he just wanted to use her, he was the only man she would ever love. She was forever tied to him.

‘Do you still want that?’ he repeated.

No!

She wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken the word aloud, or whether he’d read her surrender, but, his eyes never leaving her face, he began to strip off his clothes.

Her throat dry, her heart beating fast, she stood wide-eyed and defenceless, as if bewitched, and watched him.

He discarded his shoes and socks before taking off and tossing aside the black sweater. Then slowly he unfastened the belt of his trousers, dealt with the clip and zip, slid them down over lean hips and stepped out of them. A moment later his dark silk boxer shorts followed.

Naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and said, as he’d once said before, but this time it was a command, ‘Take off your clothes for me.’

With trembling fingers, she began to strip off her things—shoes, stockings, dress and slip. When she reached behind her to unfasten her bra he got to his feet and, gripping her hands, trapped them there. Then he smiled into her eyes, and bent his head to put his mouth to her breast.

Through the delicate lace of the low-cut cups she could feel the heat and dampness, and her nipples firmed, needing more, aching for the exquisite sensations his mouth and tongue could bestow.

She tried to free her hands, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead he traced the upper curve of her breast with his tongue, coming tantalisingly close, but carrying on to the valley between and the other breast without giving her what she craved.

Then, holding both her wrists with one hand, he used the thumb of his free hand to stimulate without satisfying, while his mouth worked its way up to the warm hollow at the base of her throat and lingered there sensually.

Then suddenly she was free and he was back on the bed, watching her with green eyes that had gone dark and smoky.

She tossed aside the bra and slid the matching panties down over slender hips.

‘Come here,’ he ordered softly.

When she went to him he turned her round and pulled her down between his spread knees. Then, sliding his hands beneath her arms, he began to fondle her small, well-shaped breasts.

She could feel the roughness of his legs against her thighs and his firm flesh pressing urgently against the base of her spine. Even so, he seemed to be in no hurry, but to enjoy pleasuring her.

In the cheval-glass opposite she could see the pair of them reflected, the blonde head and the almost black, his tanned, muscular body in sharp male contrast to her pale, very womanly curves.

See what he was doing to her. How, his lean fingers dark against the creamy skin of her breasts, he was alternately stroking and teasing the dusky-pink nipples, pinching and tugging slightly, rolling each of them between a thumb and forefinger.

In some indefinable way the erotic sight added to the sensations, making them more intense.

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it a moment longer he slid one hand between her thighs, and with long, probing fingers drew all the exquisite sensations into a glorious whole.

When she jerked and began to shudder helplessly he put an arm around her and, drawing her back, held her more firmly against him. It was like holding a lit sparkler, all fire and light.

She was still quivering, still breathing fast when, his hands at her waist, he lifted her to her feet. ‘Now let’s see what you’ve learnt.’

Startled, she turned to look at him.

His green eyes mocking, he said, ‘The days when women were expected to lie down and think of England are well and truly over. In these modern times women are men’s sexual equals, so now it’s your turn to make love to me.’

Stretching out indolently on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, he waited.

While her heart hammered against her breastbone, she dragged air into her lungs and, her hands unsteady, pushed back the long strands of blonde hair that were clinging damply to her cheeks.

‘In the past you’ve always made a pretence of being a little shy and innocent,’ he added caustically. ‘Now you don’t have to pretend any longer, so let’s see what you know or what you’ve learnt since then.’

Her eyes filled with unspoken anguish and she bent her head and looked down, the overhead light casting the shadow of her long lashes onto her cheeks.

That look punched a hole in his heart.

He reached out and, taking her hand, squeezed it gently. A consoling gesture she remembered from the past. A gesture that now seemed to be merely mocking.

Snatching her hand away, she said raggedly, ‘Very well, if that’s what you want.’

When she awoke it was almost ten-thirty, and she was alone in the bed. While her body felt sleek and satisfied, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and mixed feelings.

After her somewhat clumsy attempt to make love to him, mortified by her own inexperience, she had been turning away when he stopped her.

‘Let me go.’ She tried to break free. ‘I’m going back to the flat to spend the night.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s too late.’

Suddenly he rolled and, reversing their positions, trapped her body beneath his. His weight sparked off a heated rush of desire that made her quiver.

Feeling that betraying movement, he put his mouth to her breast and felt her hips jerk in response.

As he recognised that her need was almost as great as his own, his lovemaking was hard and fast and intense, focused simply on the twin goals of pleasure and release.

Caught up in the dark glory of it, her breath ragged, she let go of the hurt and anger and abandoned herself.

This was real. This was enough.

Only it wasn’t.

Despite the explosion of ecstasy, despite the bodily bliss, there was so much missing—the caring, the warmth, the commitment.

She started to cry, and the tears simply wouldn’t stop.

He gathered her up and cradled her to him.

When she was all cried out, he kissed her wet cheeks and, holding her in the crook of his arm, settled her head on his shoulder.

Totally drained, emotionally exhausted, she slept almost at once.

In the early hours of the morning, still tangled in the gossamer threads of a lovely dream of a summer picnic she and Rafe had once shared, she reached out and touched him.

He stirred and turned his head, so that his face pressed into the curve of her neck.

Warm and sleepy, she snuggled against him and felt his immediate response, the hard hammer-blows of his heart as his arms closed round her. Then in the darkness his lips had found hers, and he was kissing her with a passion that once more set her alight.

They had kissed and caressed and made love a second time with an undiminished hunger, before falling asleep again in each other’s arms.

Recalling the piercing beauty of their lovemaking, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She wept then for a lot of things. For past mistakes that couldn’t be altered, for still loving him in spite of everything, but most of all for giving in and going to bed with him.

If she had been strong enough to hold out against him he wouldn’t have forced her, she was sure of that. It was her own need for him that had been her downfall, that had wiped out this last year as if it had never been and left her once more in his thrall.

Despairingly she asked herself, how was it possible to go on loving a man who, once he’d had his revenge, for that was what it amounted to, wouldn’t give her a second thought?

Even so, and though she despised herself, she knew that she might be tempted to stay and give him what he wanted from her, if only Fiona didn’t exist…

But the other woman did exist and presumably she still loved Rafe in spite of everything. Still hoped to marry him.

Poor Fiona.

How was it possible for two women to go on loving a man who was basically rotten?

Three women, if she counted Harriet Rampling.

Out of the blue and for the first time, Madeleine found herself wondering about the relationship between Rafe and his godmother.

How was it that, after he had treated her daughter so shabbily, and apparently reneged on the bargain he had made with her husband, Harriet Rampling and her godson were still so close that she would choose to live in his house?

It didn’t seem to make any sense.

Chapter Seven

MADELINE was drying her cheeks with the back of her hand when the bedroom door opened and Rafe came in carrying a tray of coffee.

He was wearing stone-coloured trousers and a fine olivegreen sweater with a loose, sleeveless jerkin. His thick dark hair, a shade longer than was fashionable and trying to curl, was brushed back from a high forehead.

Needing to be in control, she sat upright and, pulling the duvet up to cover her nakedness, trapped it under her arms.

His eyes on her tear-stained face, he put the tray on the cabinet and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, reached out a hand to tilt her chin. ‘Regrets?’

‘It’s too late for regrets.’ In spite of all her efforts her voice shook betrayingly.

He freed a strand of hair caught in her earring, curled it round his finger and tucked it behind her ear, before cupping her cheek.

There was tenderness in his eyes, in his touch, and, feeling an uncontrollable wave of love, she turned her face into his palm.

The breath hissed through his teeth and then he was holding her close, his mouth muffled in her hair. ‘I think it’s about time we were—’

The trill of a phone cut through his words.

He drew back and, taking the mobile from his jerkin pocket, walked across to the window, saying over his shoulder, ‘Don’t let your coffee get cold.’

There were two cups on the tray, and, as she turned to pick up the coffee-pot and fill them, she heard him say a businesslike, ‘Lombard.’

A second later his voice changed to a softer, more caring tone. ‘Hello, sweetheart, how are you…?’

Fiona, Madeleine realised, and something inside her shrivelled up.

‘That’s good…Yes…yes, that’s right. No, I’m afraid we’re snowed up, you wouldn’t get here by road today. Probably not tomorrow, either…’

Her heart starting to race, Madeleine wondered if perhaps the other woman was in some clinic, and wanting to come home for Christmas?

‘Yes, that would be fine,’ Rafe agreed. ‘I’ll make the arrangements. As a matter of fact it will fit in very nicely with my other plans…’

If Fiona was intent on coming here, somehow she had to get away. The panicky thought was going through her mind when he added, ‘I’ll ring you back in a little while…Yes, yes, I will…Bye.’

He dropped the phone back into his pocket and returned to sit on the bed, making the mattress depress beneath his weight.

She was taken completely by surprise when he asked casually, ‘How do you feel about a trip to London?’

‘A trip to London?’ she echoed blankly.

‘I thought we might have lunch at the Denaught.’

‘Lunch at the Denaught…But I—I thought…’ She stammered to a halt.

‘That I meant to keep you a virtual prisoner?’

Annoyed by his amusement, she demanded, ‘Wasn’t that what you intended me to think?’

Taking a sip of his coffee, which he liked black and sugarless, he admitted blandly, ‘I did mention keeping you with me. But I was hoping to rely on persuasion rather than actual physical confinement.’

Wondering what kind of game he was playing, why he’d suggested having lunch out, she said, ‘Didn’t you just say we were snowed up?’

‘To all intents and purposes we are. But we have a small snowblower that Jack can use to keep the helicopter pad clear. Ever been in a chopper?’

‘No.’

‘Fancy the idea?’

The true answer was no. She was afraid of heights and didn’t much care for flying in any form. But it would be a chance to leave the house. A chance, once they were at the Denaught, to escape. If she excused herself to go to the powder room, hopefully she could get a taxi and be away before he missed her.

Trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, she readjusted the duvet and said, ‘Yes, that would be very nice.’

‘Of course, I’ll want your word that you won’t try to run. That you’ll stick with the role of the physiotherapist Harriet hired.’

Try as she might she was unable to meet his eyes and, with a hark back to childhood, the hand hidden beneath the duvet had the first and middle fingers crossed as, after the briefest hesitation, she agreed, ‘Very well.’

‘Good. Then while you shower and dress I’ll have a word with Jack and get everything organised.’

The second the door had closed behind him, she jumped out of bed, pulled on her clothes and hurried along the corridor to her flat.

As soon as she had dried herself and dressed she put on her make-up and coiled her hair, leaving the same small gold hoops in her ears that she’d worn the previous night.

She couldn’t wait to get away. It would mean leaving her cases, but once she was safely in London she could arrange to have them picked up. In the meantime, Eve would lend her whatever she needed.

Dressed in a cream blouse and a fine wool suit the colour of molasses, she pulled on a pair of matching suede boots and crept downstairs.

As soon as she’d found Mrs Boyce and retrieved her handbag, she would go back to the flat and phone Eve.

There was no sign of the housekeeper, and, having peered into several rooms, including the kitchen, she was returning to the hall when Rafe appeared wearing a hip-length leather jacket.

‘Lost?’ he queried.

‘I was looking for Mrs Boyce.’ Instinctively she spoke the truth.

‘Mary’s off until after Christmas. Annie will be filling in for her, when she gets here.’

‘Oh…’ Madeleine said. But, thinking back, she could vaguely remember Mrs Boyce mentioning it.

‘Were you wanting the housekeeper for any particular reason?’ he asked.

Doing her best to sound casual, she explained, ‘Last night I couldn’t find my handbag. I thought I must have left it in the living room, but when I went to look it wasn’t there. I presume Mrs Boyce must have found it and put it somewhere safe.’

‘Well, if that’s all it is, there’s no problem.’

‘But I need my purse and—’

He smiled lazily. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I’ll buy lunch. Now, about ready to start?’

There was money in her flight bag, and she would need money for a taxi. Her mind working overtime, she said, ‘Not quite…I’d better fetch a coat,’ and fled back upstairs.

It was a moment’s work to unpack her cream coat, and her flight bag was where she’d left it. Knowing how useful its contents would be, she hesitated, sorely tempted to take it.

But the last thing she wanted to do was alert Rafe. Giving up the idea, she unzipped it and felt for the money she’d slipped into the inner pocket alongside her passport and other papers.

The pocket was empty.

It must be the one on the other side.

That too was empty.

Feeling as though she’d been kicked in the solar plexus, she made a more thorough search.

Everything else was there, but her money, her passport and other travel documents were gone.

Suddenly it all added up.

There were money and papers missing, a phone that wasn’t working, no keys in the doors, a handbag that had mysteriously disappeared…

Realising that the whole thing had been carefully planned, she clenched her teeth.

‘Got a problem?’

Looking up, she found Rafe was standing in the doorway, watching her.

Her voice tight with barely controlled anger, she began with the least important. ‘The phone up here isn’t working…’

‘So Mary said,’ he agreed blandly.

‘There are no keys to the doors, and, before you try to fob me off with excuses, I know they’ve been purposely removed…’

Those lazy green eyes regarded her calmly. ‘Then presumably you know why?’

‘Oh, yes, I know why. To prevent me locking myself in, and to enable you to come in and out whenever it suits you—which you’ve no right to do…!’

‘It is my house,’ he pointed out when she paused to draw breath.

‘It might be your house, but that doesn’t give you the right to walk in and take my belongings…’ she said breathlessly.

When he simply stood there and watched her, her voice shaking, she accused, ‘You came in while I was asleep—’ recalling the dream that the slight noise he must have made had triggered off, she shuddered, before going on ‘—and you stole my handbag and the money and papers from my flight bag. Don’t bother to deny it.’

‘I wasn’t going to deny it,’ he said mildly. ‘Though stole is hardly the correct word. I’m merely keeping them safe until I’m satisfied you don’t intend to do anything silly.’

‘How dare you?’ she cried hoarsely. ‘You’ve no right to treat me like this—’

‘Perhaps we could leave the recriminations until later? The chopper’s warming up ready and Jack will be standing around waiting for us.’

Then, with a glance at her mutinous face, ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about going? If you have, we could always stay at home.’

She had opened her mouth to say that she had no intention of going anywhere with him, when she hesitated. There would be no chance of escaping if they stayed here. Better to put on a reasonably amicable front and go with him. Then at the first opportunity she would slip away. Either Eve or Noel would pay her taxi fare…

‘Well?’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

Picking up her coat, he helped her into it. ‘Then let’s go.’

Outside it was a perfect winter’s day, with a cloudless sky as blue as lapis lazuli. Though the sun shone brightly, the air was glacial, and frost sparkled like glitter on a Christmas card.

Snow covered everything in a thick white counterpane, filling in hollows, redefining the landscape, piling on sills and ledges, burying shrubs and plants, clothing bare branches and weighing down the green arms of the pine.

The apron outside the front door had been partially cleared and, harnessed to what appeared to be a child’s sleigh, a small, sturdy pony waited placidly.

‘Courtesy of the previous owner, who was going to live in Australia,’ Rafe explained as he helped Madeleine into the sleigh and fitted himself in beside her.

Pressed as they were, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, there was just enough room for the two of them.

‘It belonged to his children…Cosy, wouldn’t you say?’

Robbed of breath by such close contact, Madeleine said nothing.

‘We do have a snowmobile,’ he went on, ‘but there’s something wrong with the engine and Jack is having to work on it.’

Finding her voice, she asked, ‘How far is it to the helicopter pad?’

‘Only a few hundred yards. But considering the conditions, I thought this mode of transport might be preferable to walking, and Jack says Hercules can do with some exercise.’

He made a clicking noise with his tongue, and apparently eager to live up to his name, Hercules set off with a will.

Though the sleigh ran easily enough, the pony’s short legs sank into the snow alarmingly until they got under the lee of a wall bordering the path to the flat, raised ground where the helicopter pad and hangar were situated.

Looking for all the world like a plastic bubble, the helicopter was waiting, its door open, its rotor blades turning gently.

Jack came to meet them and take charge of the sleigh while Rafe, a hand at her waist, escorted her across to the small silver machine.

After a momentary hesitation, she ducked her head and climbed in.

Rafe closed the door and, a moment later, swung in beside her. Then, having fastened both their seat belts, he put on the headset and turned his attention to the controls.

The engine note rose to a whine and a second or so later, the downdraught from the rotor blades whipping up the surrounding powdery snow, they lifted off into the blue, blue sky.

As they levelled out Rafe glanced sideways at her, noting her absolute stillness, the slim hands clasped into fists, the way her eyes were fixed blindly on the control panel.

‘OK?’ he asked above the engine noise.

She nodded without moving her gaze.

Reaching out, he took the nearest hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

She gave him a small, wavering smile.

‘That’s my girl.’

After a minute or so she took a deep breath and forced herself to look down. She was rewarded by a truly fantastic view. A winter wonderland of glistening snow, a montage of fields and hedgerows and silver filigree trees.

Fascinated, she began to pick out small dwellings and isolated farms, streams and roads, and clearly, on the smooth white snow, the tracks of animals.

Then in no time at all, it seemed, the countryside gave way to town and they were coming in to land on the Denaught’s clearly marked helicopter pad.

With its high grey stone walls, its towers and turrets and battlements, the place looked more like a castle than a hotel, Madeleine thought.

On the same wavelength, as he so often was, Rafe raised his voice to tell her, ‘Long before it became one of London’s top hotels, the Denaught was a fortified country house belonging to Sir Ian Bolton.

‘After the Bolton family died out, the place stood empty for a time until some property developer realised its potential.’

When they touched down and the rotor blades slowed, he removed his headset and, unfastening their seat belts, queried, ‘So how do you feel about your first helicopter flight?’

She surprised herself by saying, ‘I enjoyed it. I hadn’t expected to, as I’m terrified of heights.’

‘It’s somewhat different from standing on the edge of a precipice.’

‘I pictured it as being just as terrifying.’ She laughed.