Imprisoned by a Vow. Annie West
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His utter indifference rankled. Surprising how much it rankled. After years under her stepfather’s brutish regime it shouldn’t bother her.
Why should a stranger’s indifference matter? She should be grateful he had no personal interest in her. She couldn’t have gone through with this if he’d looked at her the way Gamil had once stared at her mother—with that hot, hungry possessiveness.
Joss Carmody didn’t see her, just a parcel of arid, oil-rich land. She’d be safe with him.
Joss turned to the silent woman sitting opposite.
Her green-grey stare had surprised him when he arrived. He’d sensed intelligence, curiosity and, could it be, a hint of disapproval in that gaze? The idea intrigued.
Now she lowered her eyes demurely to the cup in her hand. She was the epitome of Middle Eastern modesty melded with elegant Western sophistication. From her sleek, dark chignon to the high heels that had restricted her walk to a delicate, swaying glide, she was the real thing.
Class. She had it in spades.
He didn’t need the opulent black pearl pendant or the matching bracelet of massive pearls to tell him she was accustomed to luxury. She wore them with a casual nonchalance only those born to an easy life of privilege could achieve.
For a split second something like envy stirred.
He repressed it as he did anything that resembled untoward emotion. Instead he appraised her.
She seemed suitable. Her ownership of those enormously rich oilfields made her eminently suitable. It was the only reason he considered marriage: to get his hands on what would be the key to his next major venture. Besides that she had connections and the right background to be useful. Yet Joss never left anything to chance.
‘I’d like to know your daughter better,’ he said as Gamil drew breath. ‘Alone.’
There was a flash of something in the other man’s eyes. Fear or speculation? Then Gamil nodded and departed with one last, warning look at his daughter.
Joss pondered that look. Surely the old man didn’t fear he’d force himself on her? As if Joss hadn’t women enough to satisfy every whim!
‘You’ve been very quiet. You don’t take an interest in the oilfields you own?’
Eyes cool and clear as a mountain stream lifted to his. ‘There seemed little to add.’ Her English was flawless with a subtle, barely there accent that proved curiously enticing. ‘You and my stepfather were engrossed in your plans.’ Her charming smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘You disapprove?’ Sixth sense warned that her smile concealed rather than revealed.
She shrugged and he watched, intrigued as the silk slid and moulded a pleasing, feminine figure. His chosen bride was rounded in the right places, despite the fragility of her throat and wrists.
She was a necessary part of the deal yet he hadn’t expected to feel more than slight curiosity about her.
The stirring of male appreciation in his belly surprised him. He hadn’t expected a beauty. He permitted himself a moment’s satisfaction. At least being with her occasionally wouldn’t be a hardship.
‘The fields will be developed.’ Her low voice had a husky edge that drew his skin taut with anticipation. ‘You have the resources to do that and my stepfather maintains a very close interest in the family business.’
In other words she didn’t bother her head with sordid details like where her wealth came from. Why wasn’t he surprised? He’d met lots like her: privileged, pampered and eager to live off the hard work of others.
‘You don’t work in the industry yourself? Take a personal interest in your assets?’
A spark of something lit her eyes, darkening them to stormy green. her nostrils flared. Then her lips curved in another of those small Madonna smiles and she leaned forward gracefully to put her cup down with a click on the alabaster table.
Joss had an impression of something rippling like an undercurrent beneath her calm expression. Something elemental that made the air between them thicken, heavy with contained energy.
She spread her manicured hands. ‘My stepfather takes care of all that.’ Yet there was something ever so slightly out of kilter, perhaps the way her tinted lips thinned a fraction too much.
Then the impression was gone, leaving Joss to wonder at his flight of fancy. An overactive imagination wasn’t his style.
He was accustomed to brokering deals with men as hard as himself. A life in mining had made him rough around the edges, unused to dealing with delicate females, except on the most basic level. His groin tightened as he imagined his cool bride-to-be losing that superior air and growing hot and eager under his touch. Satisfaction filled him, till he remembered that wasn’t what he wanted from this deal. She’d sidetracked him.
‘You expect your husband to take care of business while you enjoy the fruits of his labour?’
She darted a glance at the door where Gamil had exited. ‘Forgive me. Perhaps I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I was under the impression you wanted me as a silent partner while you make the business decisions.’ Her eyes were bright with apparently innocent enquiry. ‘Would you welcome my interference?’
Her fine dark brows arched in eloquent surprise. For the first time in over a decade he felt wrong-footed.
Joss stiffened. It was an illusion, of course. Far from being out of his depth, he was running this whole scheme, including the marriage arrangements, to suit himself.
He didn’t want her amateur meddling. Bad enough that he had to put up with her stepfather’s uninformed ideas until the deal was done.
‘If you have expertise in the area I’d like to hear it.’ The words were mere form. Joss worked alone. There was room for only one commander in his empire. ‘And of course your connections to key figures across the region will be invaluable.’
‘Of course.’ The flat expression in her eyes, now dulling to grey, told him she’d already lost interest. ‘But I’m afraid I have no expertise in petrochemicals.’
‘And where does your expertise lie?’
Again that darting glance to the door. If it weren’t for her smooth serenity he’d almost believe she was worried about saying the wrong thing.
‘I doubt they overlap with yours. Mine are more on the domestic scale.’ She smoothed a hand over the green silk of her dress.
‘Domestic as in shopping?’ This desire to delve beneath her self-satisfied composure surprised him. Why the need to understand her? To label her in a box marked ‘self-absorbed heiress’?
Because she was to be his wife.
After thirty-two years he was finally acquiring a spouse, if only to further his commercial interests.
Marrying went against every inclination. His life was a cautionary tale about its inherent dangers. But the commercial imperative decided him. She was a business asset.
‘How did you guess I love to shop?’ she cooed, stroking the pearls at her wrist. Yet the light in her eyes and that heightened spark of energy humming between them said something else went on inside that lovely head.
‘Just so long as you’re not under the impression I’m looking for someone to domesticate me.’ He didn’t want her thinking this was personal.
Her eyes rounded and a gurgle of delicious laughter broke across his senses, tightening his skin and circling his vitals. He straightened. But already she’d clamped her lips against the sound.
Domesticating Joss Carmody!
Who in their right mind would take on that challenge? He was a big, hard man, all sharp edges and steely determination. It would take someone foolishly besotted by his brooding aura of power and that sizzle