Billionaires: The Tycoon

Amber shivered. ‘That’s not a very nice image to paint, Your Highness.’

‘Maybe not, but it is an accurate one.’ He gave her a cool smile. ‘And you really should have mentioned that you speak Italian.’

Amber could feel a hot blush rising in her cheeks, so that any thought of denying it went straight out of the window. She looked up into Luciano’s bright blue eyes. ‘How—?’

‘Not difficult.’ He smiled. ‘When I was speaking to my aide you were trying very hard not to react to what I was saying, but I am adept in observing reactions. I have had enough attempts made on my life to recognise subterfuge, even though I sometimes cannot help but admire it. Tell Conall I had always intended to give him a fair price for the painting.’

Amber tilted her chin. ‘She’s related to you, isn’t she? The woman in the painting?’

He grew still. ‘You recognised the family likeness, even though our colouring is quite different?’

Amber nodded. ‘I’m...I’m quite good at doing that. I have a lot of half-brothers and sisters.’

‘She is the daughter of my great-grandfather’s brother who was born at the beginning of the last century. He fell in love with an Englishwoman and eloped with her to America. It caused a great scandal in Mardovia at the time.’

‘I can imagine,’ commented Amber.

Luciano glanced at his watch. ‘At any other time I would be fascinated to continue this discussion but look over there—the Irishman has returned and his expression tells me that he does not like to see you in my arms like this.’

‘And you care what he thinks?’

‘No, but I think you do.’

Amber stiffened. ‘Maybe I do,’ she admitted.

Luciano’s eyes narrowed as he swung her round with a flourish, to the final few bars of the music. ‘You are not aware of his reputation, I think?’

‘With women?’

‘With women, yes. And with business,’ he commented drily. ‘He is known for a detachment and a ruthlessness he has demonstrated tonight by placing a spy in my camp.’

Amber felt her cheeks grow pink. Hadn’t she accused him of the very same thing? ‘I’m sure that wasn’t his intention at all,’ she said doggedly.

The Prince smiled. ‘Ah! Your loyalty to the man is touching—but do not look so alarmed, Amber. Conall and I know one another of old and I have great admiration for someone as ruthless as I am—but I would heed any sensible woman to exercise caution with such a man.’

Amber’s cheeks were still burning as the Prince dropped his hands from her waist as Conall returned to escort him to his waiting car.

There was a loud buzz of chatter as the royal party left the room and Amber moved away from the dance floor and went to stand by the cool shelter of a marble pillar. With both men gone she felt like Cinderella—as if she no longer had any right to be here. As if any minute now her beautiful cream dress would turn into rags. She looked around. Maybe she should take the opportunity to slip out of the ballroom and go back to her room before Conall came back. Nobody would miss her. He might even be glad that she was out of his hair and he could party on without compunction.

But suddenly the decision was taken out of her hands because Conall had returned and was standing in the entrance to the ballroom, his dark suit hugging his muscular frame. He had undone a couple of buttons of his white silk shirt and Amber could see the faint smattering of dark hair there.

His eyes searched the room until he’d found her and as he began to walk towards her, her heart began to pound painfully in her chest. Would he be angry with her? She might have rather clumsily allowed the Prince to realise she was a linguist but he hadn’t seemed to mind and she had done her best. Surely even Conall could understand that.

He was standing in front of her now, his midnight eyes shuttered. He didn’t say a single word, just took her hand and led her onto the dance floor and Amber could feel her pulse rocketing skywards as he pulled her into his arms.

‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she questioned shakily, because she hadn’t felt remotely like this when she’d been dancing with Luciano.

‘Taking over where the Prince left off.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Unless you have decided that dancing with mere mortals has no appeal compared to the heady delights of having a blue-blooded partner?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy to dance with you as long as you promise not to tread on my foot.’

His hands tightened around her waist. ‘And that’s your only stipulation, is it, Amber?’

Her eyes were fixed on the sprinkling of chest hair which was now exactly at eye level. ‘I could think of plenty more.’

‘Such as?’

‘I wonder why you want to dance with me when you seem to have been glaring at me all evening.’

‘Is that what I’ve been doing?’

‘You know you have. Is it...’ She hesitated. ‘Is it because the Prince guessed that I spoke Italian?’

He laughed. ‘He said you frowned when he used the word assassination. I guess most people would. And no, it’s not because of that.’

‘What, then?’

His hands tightened around her waist. ‘Maybe because I have conflicting feelings about you.’

She lifted her face up and met the hard gleam of his eyes. He had feelings for her? She could do absolutely nothing about the sudden race of her heart—only pray he couldn’t detect its erratic thumping. ‘What do you mean?’

Idly, he began to rub his thumb up and down over her ribcage. ‘Just that you arouse me. Deeply and constantly. And I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.’

If anyone else had come out and said that Amber would have been shocked or scared, but somehow when Conall said it she was neither. ‘And I’m supposed to be flattered by such a statement?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said simply. ‘My biggest concern is what I’m going to do about it.’

She could feel danger whispering in the air around them, but far more potent was the sense of excitement which made the danger easy to ignore. ‘And the options are?’

‘Don’t be disingenuous, Amber, because it doesn’t suit you.’ Almost experimentally, he rolled his thumb over one of her ribs, slowly rubbing along the chiffon-covered bone. ‘You know very well what the options are. I can take you upstairs so that we can finish off what we started earlier and maybe rid myself of this damned fever which has been raging in my blood since the moment I first saw you draped all over that white leather sofa.’

Somehow Amber stopped herself from reacting. Since then? ‘Or?’

‘Or I trawl this ballroom looking for someone who would make a more suitable bed partner on so many levels.’ His voice dipped to a deep caress so that it sounded like velvet brushing over gravel. ‘There’s a third choice, of course—but not nearly so inviting. Because I could always go and take a long, cold shower and steer clear of all the complications of sex.’

Amber said nothing. He’d made her sound as disposable as a paper handkerchief. As forgettable as last night’s tangled dreams. Yet he wasn’t lying to her, was he? He wasn’t dressing up his desire with fancy words and meaningless phrases—raising up her hopes before smashing them down again. He wasn’t promising her the stars, but his underlying message was that he would deliver on satisfaction. And didn’t she want that satisfaction for the first time in her life? Didn’t she want to sample what other women just took for granted?

She thought about what the Prince had said to her. That a sensible woman would exercise caution. She guessed he’d been warning her off Conall Devlin, for whatever reason. But she wasn’t known for being sensible, was she? She was known as a wild child—the party animal who was up for anything. And only she knew the truth—that all her wildness was nothing but a façade behind which she hid, a barrier which nobody had ever been able to break down.

But Conall Devlin had got closer than anyone else.

She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers pressing against her flesh and she was acutely conscious that they were inches away from her breast. Through the delicate fabric of her silk dress it felt as if he were touching her bare skin and she felt a shiver rippling down her spine. How did he do that? What power did he have which made her respond to him like this and make her so achingly aware of her own body? The hard jut of his hips and the potent cradle of his masculinity as he pressed himself closer should have intimidated a woman of her laughable experience, but it didn’t. It just made her want more. Much more. Was she really prepared to turn her back on this opportunity to become a real woman at last?

Instinct made her lips part as she looked into his eyes and saw the sudden gleam of intensity in his darkened gaze.

‘And don’t I get a say in what happens?’ she questioned, as lightly as if she had this kind of conversation every day of the week.

‘Of course. You get to choose—because that is a woman’s prerogative. Tell me what you want, Amber.’

The mood of the conversation had switched and beneath the teasing banter of his tone she could sense his sudden urgency. But still Amber held back, telling herself to confront the reality of what was happening here. For him this was just a liaison no different from countless others—apart from her name and her hair colour, she was probably as interchangeable as the last woman who had shared his bed.

And for her?

It was going to be no good if she started weakening. If she made the mistake of falling for him. She could only go ahead if she accepted it for what it was. Not stardust and roses, but a powerful sexual hunger. A physical awakening which was long overdue.

Rising up on tiptoe, she put her lips to his ear and only just refrained from sliding her tongue across the lobe.

‘I want to have sex with you,’ she whispered.

Conall stiffened, thinking he had misheard her. He must have done. She had been feisty and defiant every step of the way—surely she wasn’t rolling over and capitulating that easily. And didn’t he want her to go on resisting him for a little while longer, because it was so deliciously rare and because the conquest was never quite as good as the chase...

‘You mean that?’ he questioned softly, his fingertips continuing to slide over her silk-covered torso.

She nodded, her words uncharacteristically brief. ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

A smile curved the edges of his lips as he felt the heat begin to rise within him. ‘Very well. This is what I want you to do. You will go upstairs to your room and wait for me while I say goodbye to my guests. But you will not undress before I arrive.’ He paused. ‘Because undressing a woman is one of the greatest pleasures known to man. Is that clear?’

She nodded—more obedient than he had ever seen her. ‘Very clear.’

‘I shall come to you before midnight.’ He tilted her chin with his thumb and stared straight into her emerald eyes. ‘But if before that you decide—for whatever reason—that you’ve changed your mind, then you must tell me and we will consider this conversation never to have happened. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Conall.’

He put his lips very close to her ear. ‘I’m not quite sure how to cope with this unusually docile Amber.’

She turned her head to meet his gaze. ‘Would you prefer defiance, then?’

‘I’ll let you know in graphic detail exactly what I’d prefer but I think it had better wait until we are alone. Because my words are having an unfortunate but predictable effect on my body, and having you this close to me is making me want to tear that dress off you and see the flesh beneath, and I don’t think that would go down very well with my guests, do you?’

She shook her head but, to his surprise, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink and he felt a doubling of his desire for her. ‘Go upstairs and wait for me,’ he said roughly. ‘Because the sooner this evening ends, the sooner we can begin.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AMBER HEARD A CREAK behind her and turned to see the handle turning and the door slowly opening to reveal Conall standing rock still on the threshold of her bedroom. The light from the corridor spilled in from behind him, turning his muscular physique into a powerful silhouette, but not for long—because he closed the door and walked across the room, his eyes shuttered as he grew close and looked down at her. His voice sounded like velvet encasing steel.

‘Changed your mind?’

She shook her head. Admittedly, she had been having second thoughts about their cold-blooded sexual liaison as she’d been sitting perched on the window seat waiting for him. Not undressing as per his curt instructions and feeling a bit like a sacrificial lamb in her evening dress as she stared out at the bright stars which spattered the night sky and the crescent moon which gleamed against the darkness. But her flutterings of apprehension were nothing compared to the stealthy creep of desire which was making her nerve endings feel so raw and her breasts so heavy and tingling. ‘No,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

Conall expelled the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding because hadn’t he almost wished she had? He’d been plagued by feelings of guilt the moment she had walked off the dance floor with her pale dress floating around her like a cloud. He had felt tortured by his conscience and even now something told him he should get out while he still could.

‘I told your father that I would set you on the right path,’ he growled.

She looked up into his face. ‘And you have. You know you have. I felt so confident tonight—as if anything was possible and it was because of you and the chance you gave me. A few weeks ago I wouldn’t have done that but you’ve made me see new possibilities. I’m a grown woman, Conall, not a child—so don’t treat me like one. And my father is not my keeper.’

Transfixed by the unusually steadfast note in her voice and the rise and fall of her breasts, Conall felt the last of his resistance melting away as he took hold of her hands and lifted her to her feet. In the moonlight her face was almost as pale as her silky dress and, in vivid contrast, her dark hair spilled like ebony over her shoulders. She looked like a witch, he thought longingly. Was she a witch? Able to enchant him with things he suspected were the wrong things for a man like him? His mouth hardened. So make sure she knows your boundaries. Make sure she doesn’t read anything into what is going to happen.

‘I guess we’d better have the disclaimer conversation,’ he said abruptly.

She blinked up at him. ‘Disclaimer conversation?’

‘Sure. I’m pretty certain a hard-partying woman like you isn’t going to object to a one-night stand on moral grounds but just in case—I’d better make it clear that this is all this is going to be. One night. Great sex. But no more.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Any objections?’

‘None from me,’ she said, in that flippant way which was so much a part of her, though for a second he wondered if he had imagined the faint shadow which crossed over her face. ‘So what are we waiting for?’

Heart pounding, he reached for the zip of her dress and slid it down. One small tug and it had pooled to her ankles and she was standing wearing nothing but her high-heeled silver shoes and her underwear.

Conall frowned because somehow her lingerie didn’t match her sassy image. Her plain white bra looked like something a woman might wear to the gym and she had on a pair of those big knickers which had been the butt of a national joke for a while. It was not the lingerie of a woman who had boldly whispered to him on the dance floor that she wanted to have sex with him and that puzzled him.

Had she sensed his disquiet? Was that why she reached behind her and unclipped her bra—as careless as a woman getting changed on the beach? He stilled as her breasts spilled free and he felt a jerk of almost unbearable lust as he stared at them. Did she know that they were the stuff of his fevered fantasies—large yet pert, with their rosy-pink and perfect nipples? Of course she did. With a groan he pulled her into his arms and pushed back the spill of her hair as he kissed her. He kissed her until she was melting and her lips opened eagerly beneath his, until she began to move restlessly in his arms. And when he drew his face away, her eyes looked huge and dark in her face. As if she was completely dazed by that kiss. Conall shook his head a little. Come to think of it—wasn’t he a little dazed himself?

‘You are the most unfathomable woman I’ve ever met, Amber Carter,’ he groaned, taking each nipple between a finger and a thumb and squeezing them until she squirmed with pleasure.

Her eyelids seemed to be having difficulty staying open. ‘And is that a good thing, or a bad thing?’

‘I haven’t made my mind up yet. It’s unusual, that’s for sure.’ He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. ‘I keep thinking I’ve got you all worked out and then you go and confound all my expectations.’

‘And what do you have me worked out as?’

He laughed and his voice grew serious as he traced the outline of her lips with his finger. ‘One minute you’re unbearably spoilt, with a sense of entitlement so strong it almost takes my breath away, while the next...’

But Amber halted his words by leaning forward to kiss him, mimicking the almost careless way he’d just brushed his lips over hers. She guessed what was coming and she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t dare. She didn’t want to hear about her flaws and she certainly didn’t want him to work out why she was feeling out of her depth. He was a sexually experienced man—and a perceptive man—who was doubtless going to make some comment about her seeming gauche and innocent. Some bone-deep instinct told her he would run a mile if he knew the truth—and that was something she wasn’t prepared to tolerate. Because she wanted Conall Devlin. She didn’t care if it was a one-night stand. She couldn’t think beyond the sudden urgent needs of her body and she wanted him more than she could remember wanting anything. More than the security she’d prayed for as a child, or the peace which had always eluded her. More than any of that.

So stop behaving like someone who is a stranger to intimacy. Start being the person he thinks you are.

Looping her arms around his neck, she slanted him a coquettish smile. ‘Look, I know the Irish are famous for talking, but do you think we could save this conversation until later?’

And suddenly they seemed to be reading from the same page, because his eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, I’m happy to skip the talking, sweetheart,’ he promised, his voice laden with silken intent. ‘What is it they say—action, not words?’

He picked her up and carried her over to the four-poster bed, laying her down on top of it and bending his head to a nipple. Her eyes closed as his tongue flicked over the puckered skin and his teeth gently grazed the engorged nub, making her wriggle her hips with helpless pleasure before he turned his attention to the other. Sweet sensation speared through her, flooding her body with a sudden rush of honeyed warmth as his dark head moved over her sensitive skin. Did he realise that her desire was rapidly building, or could he detect it from the subtle new perfume now scenting the air? Was that why he slipped his hand between her legs, burrowing beneath the plain white fabric of her briefs and brushing over the mound of curls before alighting on the heated flesh beneath?

She felt so wet. Maybe that was why he gave a low laugh which sent shivers down her spine. Amber’s mouth dried as he began to move his finger against her so that her little gasp was scarcely more than a sigh. It felt as if he were building a wall of pleasure, brick by delicious brick, and she fell back against the pillows, her thighs parting of their own accord, when suddenly he stopped. Her eyes snapped open, terrified he had changed his mind. Her heart pounded. He mustn’t change his mind!

But he was smiling as he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not like that. Not the first time.’

He moved away from the bed and began to undress—removing his clothes and producing a small silver packet from his pocket with an efficiency which suggested he’d done this many times before. Of course he had. And although fear that she would somehow disappoint him began to bubble up inside her—it quickly disappeared the moment she saw him in all his naked glory.

Amber shivered. He was like a classical statue you might see in a museum—with broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and muscular legs. But statues didn’t have tawny skin which glowed with life, nor midnight eyes which gleamed with hunger. Inevitably, her gaze was drawn down towards the cradle of his masculinity where, against a palette of jet-dark curls, his erection was thick and pale and prominent. Amber felt her pulse go shooting skywards. She’d never got this far before—she’d always fallen at much earlier hurdles—and perhaps she should have been daunted by what she saw. But she wasn’t. It felt natural. As if it was supposed to happen. As if fate had intended it to happen—before she reminded herself that she wasn’t going down that path. Stardust and roses weren’t part of this equation, she reminded herself fiercely. This was sex. Nothing but sex. He’d told her that himself.

‘I like it,’ he murmured as he came over to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

‘Wh-what?’

‘The look on your face.’ He smiled. ‘As if this was the first time all over again. Have you spent years perfecting that look of wonder and innocence, Amber—knowing just how much it will turn a man on?’

If she’d written the script herself, there wouldn’t have been a better time to tell him but Amber couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because now he was kissing her and his hands were starfishing over her breasts and she could feel his hardness pressing against her belly.

‘Conall,’ she gasped as he pulled back for a moment to slide her panties down and she lifted up her bottom to help him.

‘You were the one who didn’t want to talk,’ he murmured as he fumbled for the silver packet he’d put beside the bed. ‘Though maybe you’d better say something to distract me because I’ve never had so much trouble putting on a damned condom.’

‘Be...be careful.’

The smile on his lips died. ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. Having a baby with you was never part of my agenda.’

The stark statement was oddly painful and yet somehow it helped. It helped her focus on the way he was making her feel and not the conflicting thoughts which were swirling around inside her head.

So she kissed him back with a passion which came from somewhere deep inside her, and with growing confidence began to explore the warm satin of his skin with her mouth and her fingers. And when he moved over her and parted her thighs, the fear she felt was only fleeting. She was twenty-four years old, for heaven’s sake. It was time.

Conall gave a groan as he thrust into her, knowing he was going to have to be very careful because he was so aroused he wanted to come straight away. And she was so tight. His heart pounded like some caged animal locked inside his chest. Too tight. He gave a near-silent curse as realisation dawned on him and his body stilled. For a moment he almost achieved the impossible by starting to withdraw from her, but the moment was lost the second she cried out and he couldn’t work out if the sound was pain or pleasure. Had he hurt her? He stared down into her face, into eyes which were wide—as if seeking some kind of approval—and instantly he shut his own with grim deliberation, not wanting her to see his anger or his disbelief as he began to move inside her. Part of him wanted to just spill his seed and have done with it, but the pride he took in his reputation as a lover made him take his time...

Duplicitous little bitch, he thought as he drove into her—each thrust making her gasp out her pleasure. With almost cold-hearted precision he did all the things to her which women liked best. He tilted up her hips to increase the level of penetration while he played with her clitoris. He rode her hard and he rode her slow, and only when he felt her body begin to tense did he let go—and then it was his time for bewilderment. Because it had never happened to him before. Not like this. Not at exactly the same time—as if they’d worked very hard at sexual choreography classes to ensure the ultimate in mutual fulfilment. So that as her back began to arch and her long legs began to splay, he couldn’t even watch her—he was too busy focusing on his own orgasm, which was welling up inside him like an almighty wave, before taking him under.