Virgin: Undone by the Billionaire: The Innocent's Dark Seduction / Count Maxime's Virgin / Untamed Billionaire, Undressed Virgin. Jennie Lucas
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I won’t let him take me, she promised herself.
But when he came to her that night after she’d fallen asleep, waking her with his lips against her mouth even as his hands reached beneath her nightgown to stroke her naked body, she trembled and obeyed.
Not because he forced her.
Because she could not resist.
Some nights he didn’t even bother to kiss her, but tonight he did. She heard the thwap-thwap-thwap of the ceiling fan above them as he pulled off her nightgown and panties in the darkness. She couldn’t see his face. She could only feel his hands, rough and seductive against her skin. She felt her body start to rise, even as her heart split in her chest.
“Please,” she cried hoarsely. “Please don’t do this to me.”
For answer, he kissed down her naked body, nuzzling her breasts. She felt the rough hair of his legs against hers, felt his hard muscles against her soft body. Her body cried out for his touch, like an addiction she couldn’t control.
Stroking her hips, he spread her legs and tasted between her thighs. Her breathing became shallow, quick gasps.
She wanted him. Wanted this. So much it was killing her.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
She wanted all of him.
She was in love with him. In love with the man who was so loving to their daughter. Who for one afternoon had been kind to her, as well.
She’d fallen in love with her tormentor. Wasn’t there a name for that?
Marriage.
“Please, just let me go,” she whispered. “Roark. Just let me go.”
A trick of moonlight traced his cruel, sensual mouth as he gave her a smile.
“You’re my wife. You belong to me.”
He thrust into her, and she gasped as her whole body arched to meet his with the shock of unwilling pleasure. And she knew she loved him. Wanted him. Wanted everything.
She loved a man who only wanted to punish her.
And as he left her to sleep alone, she knew she’d just lost herself, body and soul, in hell.
The next morning she was surprised to see him at the breakfast table. Drinking black coffee and reading a Japanese-language newspaper, he didn’t even bother to look up when she sat down across from him.
Then he said, “We’ll be leaving for Tokyo today.”
Leaving Hawaii? Lia should have been relieved. She should have been thrilled.
Instead she felt sad. These four days could have been a romantic honeymoon. A chance to make a wonderful memory as a family. Instead she would look back on their days in Kauai and remember only pain.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” she pleaded, ignoring the painful lump in her throat. “Couldn’t we at least stay here until …”
“We leave within the hour,” he said coolly. And, throwing the newspaper down on the glossy wood table, he left her to eat alone, and salt her own bitter coffee with tears.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHRISTMAS morning, their luxurious Tokyo hotel suite was filled with mountains of presents organized and wrapped by Roark’s personal staff. The bright silver Christmas tree decorated in blue had also been designed by his staff. Everywhere they went, they were serviced by the vast network of servants and employees around the world who existed to make Roark Navarre’s life easier.
Lia hated it.
He’d ignored Lia’s plea for a real green tree that she could decorate herself. She’d wanted to have her old family Christmas heirlooms shipped from Italy. But Roark had refused that, as well. He didn’t want her to do anything for him. Ever.
Except, of course, at night. When he cruelly broke her spirit and her heart with her body’s own desires.
Lia sucked in her breath as she saw Roark, wrapped in a black robe, enter the room carrying two Christmas gifts he’d obviously bought himself. No self-respecting member of his staff could have done it—the presents had been impatiently wrapped with rough, clumsy edges, and no bows or cards.
But as he came toward the couch where Lia sat with Ruby and Mrs. O’Keefe, she wanted one of those hand-wrapped presents more desperately than she’d ever wanted anything from Santa as a child.
But, of course, neither gift was for her. The first one was for Ruby—a handmade doll that he’d personally ordered from a tiny village in Peru. The second was a Himalayan cashmere scarf for Mrs. O’Keefe.
But as Lia pulled her cotton robe tighter over her nightgown, furiously swallowing back grief and disappointment, he miraculously pulled a box from his pocket.
“For me?” she whispered. As Ruby crawled around the floor in her footsie pajamas, gleefully ripping the wrapping paper, Lia placed the box carefully on her knees. This gift had obviously been professionally wrapped with its tinsel paper and big blue bow, but still …
Hope rushed into her heart.
He’d gotten her a gift. Could he be starting to care for her? To feel even a fraction of what she felt for him?
Was he starting to forgive her?
She looked up at him with a tremulous smile. “What is it?”
He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Just open it.”
Holding her breath, she slowly opened the gift. Inside the silver wrapping paper was a flat velvet box. Inside the box was an expensive diamond necklace.
At least fifty carats of cold facets glittered at her. Diamonds as cold as his heart when he took her body in the darkness.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
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