Seducing the Enemy Page 4

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Very good. Upstairs with you.”

  He leads me up a slightly curved staircase with an ornate wrought-iron railing. At the top, we reach the landing. His hand at the small of my back guides me to the end of the hall without a word.

  My breath catches when I take in the room.

  A massive bed dominates the space, topped with soft white cotton and gray velvet. Pillows of all shapes, sizes, and textures are propped against a mirrored headboard and take up half the mattress. Above, a chandelier that’s a balance between light-refracting crystals and elemental iron hangs. It’s anchored to a ceiling covered in mirrors, too. There are a pair of nightstands flanking the bed and a plush white chair in the corner. A shaggy gray throw rug warms up the milkwashed planks of the floor. There’s a cheerful hearth opposite the bed. Open French doors overlook the backyard, blowing gauzy sheers in with the summery breeze.

  It’s all warm and sensual and so perfect for a romantic seduction.

  Except the thick black leather restraints dangling from each corner of the bed.

  I can’t help it. When I see them, I gasp.

  Beside me, Jett smiles and points to an open door tucked into a corner. “Use the restroom.”

  “I don’t need to go.” The protest slips out automatically. I’m not trying to be argumentative.

  His face tightens as he closes in. “Go now. You won’t have another chance to use it for a while.”

  Because I’ll be restrained to his bed. Right.

  With a nervous bob of my head, I hustle across the floor and duck inside, turning to shut the door behind me. As I do, I see Jett watching me with an unwavering stare until the second the door clicks shut between us.

  Dear God, what am I doing?

  I flip on the overhead lights and blink. I look flushed and aroused, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy. What will happen when he actually kisses me? Touches me? Fucks me?

  I swallow. I can’t come apart yet. I need to hold myself together until I understand what he’s really after.

  Then, I’ll have to make another life-altering decision.

  After I peek at my lipstick, I take care of business, flushing the toilet and washing my hands. Then I fluff my hair again and sigh. I’m nervous and I’m wasting time. I just need to face Jett. I need to give him whatever he wants and let the chips fall.

  Otherwise, I’ll be marrying Michael Crawley in three weeks. And I’ll never see Jett again.

  Bracing myself, I pull the door open and step into the bedroom for what I’m sure will either be the best or the worst night of my life.

  Chapter Three

  Jett

  When Whitney finally pads out of the bathroom and into the room I brightly lit, I clench my fists for two reasons. First, it stops me from tapping my thigh impatiently. Second, if I don’t, I fear I’ll grab her, kiss her, throw her on the bed…and forget about every plan I have.

  Breathe. Stay calm, logical, and measured.

  When I see the stare she cuts my way and the uncertainty in her hazel eyes, it’s hard not to comfort her. It’s almost impossible to feel nothing.

  I have to try. Unemotional was the way she treated me last time I saw her—in court. I do nothing except give her my power if I reveal everything in an unguarded moment.

  “Are you ready?”

  She shrugs. “As I’ll ever be.”

  Maybe, but she looks nervous. That should please me. After all, I need the upper hand if I’m going to win my way. But there’s that part of me that remembers the innocent girl I once kissed breathless, who so softly and sweetly offered me her innocence. That girl didn’t seem capable of giving me a knife in the back, just her heart. The me then would have punched the me now for my plans.

  But the me now is more practical.

  “Excellent. Take off your robe and hand it to me.” I hold my palm up between us.

  She hesitates, seems to gather herself to unknot the belt around her small waist, then slides the robe off her shoulders.

  I stop breathing as she exposes her naked body to me again. No, I didn’t imagine how sexy she looked by the pool, under the moonlight. Her breasts, like the rest of her body, have matured. They are definitely more than a handful now, topped with dusky nipples I can’t wait to slide my tongue across. She’s built like an hourglass with a small waist that’s exaggerated by the lingering shadows in the room. Her hips have widened. They’re not a girl’s now, but a woman’s. She’s got long, sleek thighs for someone so petite. But it’s her pussy I can’t stop staring at. Under the sparse dusting of downy, dark hair, it’s puffy and pink.

  I know where I’m going to expend most of my effort and energy tonight.

  Finally, she drops the robe onto my palm. I toss it on the back of the nearby chair, then sit.

  “Come here, Whitney.” I point to the floor in front of me.

  Wordlessly, she does. I’d think she was calm—except for the pulse beating wildly at her neck. When we’re sharing breath and space, she stops.

  I nod my approval. “Kneel.”

  She hesitates, then descends gracefully to her knees, looking up at me with big, beseeching eyes that threaten to turn me inside out.

  I can’t let her.

  Instead, I fist a handful of hair at her crown and jerk her head back before inching forward in my seat, leaving her no doubt I mean to kiss her, rob her thoughts, obliterate her resistance.

  Make her beg.

  God, how many fantasies have I had about that?

  “Jett?” Her voice shakes.

  She’s incredibly brave to put herself completely in the hands of a wealthy, powerful enemy for a week who has an unending hard-on and an ax to grind. I have to give her points for that. The question is, what am I going to do next? Punish her for the choice she made as a girl that ripped out my heart? Or forget revenge for one night and give in to every urge I’ve ever had to make her scream my name?

  “Whitney.”

  “What am I doing here? What are you hoping to gain?”

  She’s always been insightful. Then again, she’s smart, poised, assured as only someone raised with money and surrounded by a family full of sharks can be.

  “I want what you promised me eight years ago. But since I can’t have your virginity”—or your heart—“I’ll settle for my pound of flesh.”

  Whitney opens her mouth to say something. I don’t want to hear it. I’m done talking.

  To silence her, I grab her face with one hand, thumb and fingers pressing in just above her jaw with the right pressure to force her to open for me.

  Her lips part. Her pink tongue perches on her upper lip as her eyes widen with uncertainty. My heart shudders. My skin is on fire. My cock aches.

  God, everything about this woman turns me on.

  It’s my last thought before I swoop down, seize her mouth, and force her lips even farther apart with my own.

  The moment our kiss connects, I jerk. She’s like a jolt of pure electricity screaming fire through my body, especially when she stills against me…then suddenly softens with a little cry and throws her arms around my neck.

  That’s all the green light I need.

  I release her jaw, clutch my greedy fingers around her nape, and deepen the kiss by sliding my tongue against hers. Fuck, I can’t stop myself from inhaling her. She’s every bit as delectable as I remember—but more. She’s no longer cotton-candy sweet. Now, she’s a complex flavor, like a perfectly balanced dessert, some combination of sugary and salty that lingers and makes me crave more.

  I fall into her. I lose myself in her. And even though she’s killing my good intentions and self-control, I let myself drown in her.

  A groan slips free as I pull her up. She clambers onto my lap. I barely have to encourage her to get closer before she melts against me, angling her head to allow me even deeper into her hot, honeyed mouth.

  I drop a palm to her hip and use it to drag her closer. With the corner of my brain still functioning, I realize
she doesn’t kiss like a woman who’s been satisfied well and often by her fiancé. She kisses with the desperate hunger of someone lonely, who’s been craving touch. I can use that against her, to make her putty in my hands. But I can also use that to pleasure and sate her, to make her sigh with the kind of bliss she’s never known. I’ll make it my mission to be her fucking best.

  And if she still walks away at the end…well, I really will know what she values hasn’t changed.

  I’m distracted when her fingers find their way under my tie, to the buttons of my dress shirt beneath. She plucks them open and slides her fingers under the fabric, smoothing the tips over my skin. I start sweating. Then she eats at my lips and makes these seductive little sounds that spark an even hotter desire in my gut. She climbs all over my lap, changing positions, trying to get even closer. It’s all I can do not to plaster her against me and forget about everything but the pleasure.

  As much as I’m curious to see what Whitney would do and how far she would go if I gave her free rein tonight, I can’t forfeit that kind of control. I need her under my hand, under my command, under my body.

  When she tosses my necktie over my shoulder and attacks the rest of my shirt buttons, I grab her wrists to stay her. “Don’t.”

  Her breathing is labored, her eyes wide and excited. “Jett…”

  I shake my head coolly. But my expression is a lie. Inside, I’m thrilled that she’s so unabashed and eager. That she’s already begging.

  “Who’s in control?”

  She swallows as a frown settles between her brows. Resignation follows.

  Her downshift is a kick to the solar plexus. I hate that I put that expression there.

  But I have a plan. I need to see it through.

  “You,” she finally murmurs.

  “That’s right. I want you on the bed. Flat. Legs spread.”

  A wariness I don’t precisely understand crosses her face. If she was ready and willing to jump on me mere moments ago, why is she hesitating now? Do the restraints scare her? Or do I?

  Finally, she collects herself and nods before crawling off my lap, chin held high. Then she climbs on the bed on all fours and rolls to her back, meeting my stare with challenge in her eyes. She settles her feet a few inches apart.

  That won’t do.

  But damn if she doesn’t look absolutely beautiful spread across this sumptuous bed all sleek and rosy-cheeked and ripe for fucking.

  Never taking my stare from her, I rise to my feet, standing tall, and slowly tear away my tie. My coat follows, then my half-buttoned shirt. I shrug it off my shoulders and stand over her, naked from the waist up.

  She might want me to think she’s ambivalent or even reluctant to be here. She might try to act as if she’s rebellious, hostile, or indifferent. But the way her hungry stare gnaws at me makes a liar out of her. So does her wet pussy.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  Her voice still shakes…but I don’t think that trembling note is powered by fear now.

  “Whatever I want. It’s my forty million dollars.”

  The second the words are out of my mouth, Whitney stiffens. Shit, I fucked up. She might be a lot of things, but she isn’t a whore. She’d never do anything purely for money. The question is, did she come with me strictly to help Vance? Or because somewhere deep down she wanted to?

  That’s what I need to figure out. That will tell me how to proceed for the rest of the week.

  Her face closes up. “Don’t let the money fool you, Jett. You always did whatever you wanted, regardless of anyone else’s feelings.”

  That bullshit insult is an argument starter. She’s baiting me, and I refuse to fall into the trap. “I’m not here to talk, Whitney.”

  “You’re here to fuck me.” She spits the words like I ought to be ashamed of myself.

  “I am.” I have to know what’s left between us before I burn this bridge for good. “And I think you’re here to fuck me, too. Find out what you missed out on all those years ago.”

  She doesn’t answer right away. “Think what you want. You always do.”

  “I’m done talking.” In fact, I’m over this cat-and-mouse game altogether. She’s naked, spread across my bed, and open to me. Why are we even talking before I’ve stripped away her barriers? Once I’ve made her beg and plead for orgasm, then we’ll see what she really wants.

  I cup one of her ankles and reposition her leg toward the corner of the bed, then I bend to retrieve the cuff. She’s gasping when I buckle her in, sliding my fingers underneath to ensure she still has adequate blood flow.

  When I’m satisfied, I reach for her other foot.

  She jerks it out of my grasp, biting her lip, “Jett…”

  I shake my head. “You’ve heard the rumors about me. I’ve given you plenty of proof they’re true. So don’t act surprised. I won’t hurt you, but I want you completely open to me. You agreed to submit to my every whim this week. I’m waiting.”

  This is normally where I would give my partner a safe word, but Whitney would only use it to escape her mental discomfort. I won’t put her in physical peril enough to need to speak at all except a gasping, screaming plea.

  In fact, I look forward to it.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes…Sir.”

  “That’s right. Now give me your foot.” I hold out my hand. In the other, I’ve already gathered the cuff.

  Whitney stares at me. I sense her fear. And I smell her desire. She’s confused and she doesn’t understand her reaction.

  I simply smile.

  Slowly, she slides her free leg in my direction, then places her dainty instep in my palm.

  Without any haste at all, I buckle her in and step back. And I stare at the banquet of female spread out before me. My mouth waters.

  Since it’s wiser for me to keep my pants on—at least for now—I shuck my shoes, then crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. I study her delicate face.

  I remember when I thought I’d be the luckiest bastard in the world if I could just call her mine. It’s been eight years, two continents, and too many meaningless fucks later. Goddamn it if I don’t still think that having her, even just for the week, will make me a lucky bastard.

  Whitney looks nervous. “Are you leaving my hands free?”

  “For now.” Unless she gives me a reason not to.

  When she nods, it takes everything inside me not to give in to my urge to soothe and reassure her. Instead, I dip my head and take her mouth in a demanding kiss. Fuck if I don’t have the urge to stay at her soft, bee stung lips and feast. There’s something so delectable about them. The top bow tempts. The bottom pout lures. How can I not want her?

  But there’s more—a lot more—I haven’t touched in what seems like forever.

  “These breasts. Hmm…” The words slip out. I’m so busy staring at her swells and the dark nipples tipping them that I don’t even realize I’ve spoken.

  “I’ve changed since I was sixteen.”

  “For the better,” I murmur as I open my lips to her neck and taste her skin.

  She tips her head back and offers me her vulnerable throat. Absently wondering if she understands the unconscious trust she’s giving me, I skim my mouth down her flesh, kissing the pounding pulse point at her neck, tonguing the swells of her breasts, and nipping my way to her hard, tempting crests.

  I remember her being sensitive…but it was a long time ago, and I was the first man to touch them. Thankfully, when I catch one of her nipples between my thumb and finger and pull, her body tightens. Her breathing stutters.

  Fuck, she’s still incredibly responsive to my touch. I shouldn’t let that arouse me more, but I gorge on the visual feast of her arching and sucking in a sharp breath as sensation hits her. Need flares through me unchecked.

  Again, I pluck at her tender peak, gratified by the way she grips the bedding and stares up at me like she wants to control her body…and she can’t.

  “Do you want
me to suck your nipples?”

  I pinch her hard tip again, rolling and thumbing it without mercy. She swallows and presses her lips together. “Do what you want. You’re going to anyway.”

  “Answer me.” When she doesn’t, I plant my knees on either side of her hips and take both nipples in my grip, manipulating them simultaneously. “I can do this all night, Whitney, until you’re willing to beg me for relief. If you force me to, how much mercy do you think I’ll have?”

  She tosses her head back and closes her eyes as if she’s trying to shove me out of her reality. But we both know I won’t let her.

  “None,” she pants.

  “That’s right. Last time I’ll ask. Do you want me to suck them?”

  “No matter what I say, you’ll undo me.”

  The crying catch in her voice flips more than my libido. “Yes, so you’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “I hate you.”

  That hurts, but I hate myself far more for not being able to fall out of love with her.

  Whitney is still pushing, testing. What is she after?

  “So you’ve said.” I tug and caress the tips. They harden more as she flushes and writhes in unconscious offering. “But that doesn’t change anything, so why not take what you want from me?”

  I release her and sit back on my heels, watching and waiting.

  Seconds later, her eyes flash open. They’re even more dilated than before. A little whimper escapes from her throat. Jesus, how long before I get inside her? How long before I feel—at least for a few precious minutes—like she’s mine?

  “Suck my nipples,” she finally gasps. “Hard.”

  “Please?” I taunt.

  She nods. “Please.”

  “Sir?”

  She sighs, then jolts when I pinch the sensitive tips again, this time with more bite. “Please suck my nipples hard, Sir.”

  “I know that wasn’t easy for you, so I’m inclined to comply. This time. But next time you want something, the begging will have to be much sweeter.”