At No Man's Command Read online

James gave her a dismissive look but she noticed the hammer was back in the lower quadrant of his jaw. ‘Keep your Vegas-showgirl tactics for someone who actually gives a damn,’ he said. ‘I have far better things to do with my time.’

  Aiesha watched as he turned and strode purposefully out of the room, his back and shoulders as stiff as a plank, his hands balled into fists as hard as cannonballs at his sides.

  An anticipatory smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

  I am so going to win this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JAMES STARED AT his computer screen, but instead of seeing the designs he’d drawn up for the Sherwood townhouse he saw Aiesha lying naked on the Persian rug in the sitting room with him pounding into her. Her hair was fanned out over the rug, her beautiful breasts jiggling sexily, her feline back arching as she came with a primal scream that—

  He gave himself a mental slap and refocused on the project in front of him. The plans, which had seemed so brilliant the day before, now looked like a boring set of angles and planes.

  He pushed himself back from the desk and stood and stretched the stiffness out of his back. That wasn’t all that was stiff...but the less he thought about that the better.

  He stood in front of the window, staring at the moonlit white-out outside. His Highland sanctuary had become a prison of torturous temptation. A temple of sinful longings. He was trapped inside a house with a wanton woman with seduction on her mind. Aiesha was on a mission and he was her target. How was he going to resist her? She was a potent cocktail of sass and sensuality. He was already drunk on looking at her. On smelling her exotic fragrance that seemed to be in every room of the house, following him, haunting him, tempting him. He was mesmerised by those unique eyes, transfixed by that sinfully luscious mouth and that lithe body with its catwalk sway of hips and pelvis. His body throbbed with such raw longing he considered plunging himself in the snow outside to cool off.

  Everything about her turned him on. Her wilfulness, her naughty pouts, the way she tossed her hair over her shoulders like a flighty filly tossed its mane. The way her grey eyes looked at him knowingly, smoulderingly, with that come-and-get-me-I-know-you-want-to steadiness as if she could sense his lust for her lurking, thickening him beneath his clothes.

  James muttered an expletive and turned away from the window. It was well past midnight and he hadn’t eaten. He would kill for a glass of red wine but bringing alcohol into a situation like this was asking for the sort of trouble he could do without right now. Falling into Aiesha’s honey trap was exactly what she expected him to do. It was what every man she set her sights on did. She collected men like trophies, the richer and more powerful the better. He was just another prize to tick off her list. One she had wanted a long time. It was her unfinished business—the seduction of the son and heir to complete her set—the father and now the son. He would be discarded like yesterday’s news as soon as she proved what she wanted to prove.

  James could only hope the fervid interest in their relationship would die away once some other couple was targeted. He loathed being besieged by the press. It brought back the cringeworthy memories of the days after Aiesha had sold her story. The cameras had been set up outside his parents’ London home for over a week. He hadn’t been living at home at the time but that didn’t stop the barrage of attention. He was set upon at his apartment in Notting Hill. Every day microphones were thrust in his face as he left for work, asking him for comments on his father’s behaviour. They followed him everywhere, even during work hours. The intrusion was so bad at one point that one of his most important clients had taken his business to a rival firm.

  It had taken him this long to build up trust with a good clientele and now Aiesha was back and up to her usual mischief.

  James took Bonnie out for a last pit stop before doing the rounds of turning off the lights downstairs. He came to the sitting room, where the door was slightly ajar, the muted light of the side-table lamps creating a soft V-shaped beam across the floor of the hall.

  He pushed the door open to find the coffee table in front of the sofa littered with the remains of a snatch-and-grab meal: an empty wine glass, a side plate with cheese fragments and a browned apple core on it, a scrunched-up paper napkin, an empty yogurt container and a sticky teaspoon, a trail of crumbs. Typical. She was swanning about the place like the lady of the manor, expecting everyone else to pick up after her. He wasn’t running a hotel, for God’s sake. Who did she think she was, leaving his mother’s sitting room in such a state?

  His gaze went to the sofa and found...Sleeping Beauty.

  That was exactly what Aiesha looked like. She was lying on her side facing the fire that had burned down low in the grate, her cheek resting on one of the velvet scatter cushions, her arms tucked in close to her chest and her slim legs curled up like a child’s. Her hair was tousled and loose about her shoulders, one curly tendril lying like an S on her cheek. In sleep she looked innocent and vulnerable, far younger than twenty-five.

  The eight years difference in their ages suddenly felt like a century. Make that an entire geological period.

  Should he wake her?

  No!

  James looked at the fire. It would make too much noise getting that going again. The room, along with the rest of the house, was centrally heated but set on a timer. He could feel the slight chill in the air as the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked its way to 1:00 a.m.

  His gaze went to the mohair throw rug draped over the back of the wing chair. Should he or shouldn’t he? He debated with himself for another thirty seconds as he watched her sleep. Her chest rose and fell, her soft mouth opening slightly as her breath came out on a sigh. Her eyelids with their spider-leg-long lashes fluttered and her forehead puckered as if something she was dreaming about had disturbed her. But after a moment or two her forehead smoothed out and she burrowed deeper into the sofa cushions like a dormouse curling up for winter.

  James waited another half a minute before stealthily tiptoeing across the carpet like a burglar to get the throw rug—mentally rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of his caution—and brought it back to gently cover her with it.

  It was as if he had dropped a plank of timber on her.

  She suddenly leapt off the sofa and struck out with her fists, catching him on the side of the nose in a glancing blow that made stars explode behind his eyes.

  James swore and, stumbling backwards, cupped his hand over his throbbing nose, the blood dripping through his fingers to the carpet at his feet. Pain pulsed in sickening waves through his face, his skull and his stomach. He swayed on his feet as he fought against the dizziness as a school of silverfish floated before his gaze.

  Aiesha reeled back from him, speaking through her hands that were clasped over her mouth in stunned horror. ‘Oh, my God! Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ he said through clenched teeth as he reached with his other hand for his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. ‘I have spontaneous nosebleeds all the time.’

  Her eyes were still as wide as her discarded dinner plate. ‘I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know who it was.’

  He glared at her over the wad of his handkerchief. His nose was still pulsating with eye-watering pain as it hosed blood. What was she thinking, swinging at him like that? She was the intruder, not him. ‘Who the hell did you think it was?’

  Her teeth chewed at her lower lip, her gaze falling away from his as she backed out of the room. ‘Erm...I’ll go and get you some ice...’

  * * *

  Aiesha held a hand against her juddering heart as she stumbled to the kitchen. The shock of waking to see a dark shape looming over her had made her react on instinct. Her primal brain hadn’t had time to recognise it was not some predatory lecher after a quick feel. Her instinctive reaction to hit out was something she’d learned from a young age, having to dodge the inappropria
te attention from her mother’s collection of unsavoury partners. It was why she never spent the whole night with anyone. Ever. It was too awkward explaining her restlessness...or the nightmares. The last time she’d had a nightmare she’d wet the bed.

  Try explaining that to a lover.

  Aiesha looked at her reddened knuckles. If the pain throbbing in them was any indication, James was going to have a shiner by morning, if not sooner.

  Her heart was not quite back where it belonged when she came back with a therapeutic ice pack she’d found in the freezer.

  James was sitting on the sofa she had fallen asleep on earlier, his head tilted back, the strong column of his throat exposed. He opened one eye to look at her. ‘That’s a mean right hook you’ve got there.’

  Aiesha averted her gaze as she handed him the ice pack. ‘I took up boxing classes a couple of years ago. It’s great for fitness. You should try it.’

  He winced as he pressed the pack to the bridge of his nose. ‘Somehow, the thought of thumping an opponent until they lose consciousness doesn’t appeal.’

  She bit her lip again. ‘Does it hurt terribly?’

  He gave her a look. ‘That was the intention, wasn’t it?’

  Aiesha walked over to the remains of the fire and gave it a futile poke. She could sense his watchful gaze resting on her. He’d found her asleep. Off guard. Vulnerable. Had she given anything away while sleeping? Murmured anything? Revealed anything of the turmoil of her past?

  She tamed her body language the way she’d been doing since she was eight years old. Show no emotion. Show no fear. ‘I don’t like people sneaking up on me.’

  ‘I was trying to make you comfortable. You were lying asleep in front of a dead fire. I was worried you might be cold.’

  Worried? Ha. When had anyone been concerned about her welfare? She was invisible unless she made people notice her. She had spent her life as an outsider. Not good enough. Not educated enough. Not posh enough.

  The thought of him caring about her comfort disturbed her. No one cared about her. No one watched out for her. Not unless they wanted something.

  Aiesha turned and squared her gaze with his. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up? Why creep around and scare the crap out of me? I’m glad I punched you. I should’ve hit you harder.’

  He took the ice pack away from his face, frowning at her, but not in anger. There was something measuring about his gaze as it held hers. She looked away, flattening her mouth, locking him out.

  He came over to where she was standing in front of the dead fire. ‘You want to hit me again?’ he asked. ‘Come on. Put up your fists and clobber me with your best shot.’

  She crossed her arms, flashing him a cutting glare. ‘Stop making fun of me.’

  Those dark blue eyes continued to penetrate and probe. ‘I’m not joking, Aiesha. Get it out of your system. You want to hit me, then go ahead and hit me. I won’t hit you back. I can take it like a man.’

  Aiesha clenched her fists. She could hit him. She could probably knock him out cold if she put her mind to it. Trouble was, her mind was out of sync with her heart.

  She hated that she’d hurt him. She loathed violence. Violence sickened her. She’d only taken up boxing as a precaution while living in Vegas. It wasn’t called Sin City for nothing. Men with too much alcohol on board thought it their right to grope and proposition her each night as she left the club. She had never hit anyone before, just a punching bag in the gym. That punching bag had been the substitute for all the men she wished she’d been able to pummel back the way they had pummelled her mother. Hadn’t she herself copped enough hits and slaps in her time to want to eradicate all violence from the world?

  And then there was poor little Archie. He had trusted her to keep him safe from that despicable Beast Man and she had failed him. She tried to block the sound of that startled yelp inside her brain. She tried to block the sound of that fatal crack, as poor little Archie’s neck was broken. She tried to block the sight of that poor little limp body hanging from Beast Man’s horrible hand like a trophy.

  Aiesha could feel her defences crumbling like the ashes of the log she’d poked in the grate a minute ago. James had seen her off guard. Unprotected by her outer shell of hard-nosed tart. Her fight-or-flight instincts were battling it out inside her chest. She could feel every moment of the struggle like fists landing heavy blows against her heart.

  Flee.

  Fight.

  Flee.

  Fight.

  She was conscious of the silence...measured by the sound of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. She was conscious of the dryness of her mouth and the unfamiliar hot moist prickling at the back of her eyes. She was conscious of a tight restriction as the deep well of her buried emotion bubbled up in her throat like a foul sewer.

  She. Would. Not. Cry.

  Aiesha blinked and quickly slipped her armour back on. She opened and closed her hands, testing him. Watching to see if he so much as flinched. ‘I could really hurt you,’ she said.

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  She couldn’t make out his expression. Was he testing her? Seeing if she would take up the dare? She brought her hand up but he didn’t move a muscle. His gaze was steady on hers. She placed her hand on the side of his face, her skin catching on the graze of his stubble. Something caught in her chest. A snag. A hitch. Then a letting go...

  There was another heartbeat of silence.

  He covered her hand with his, holding it within the gentle prison of his fingers. ‘That the best you could do?’ he said.

  Aiesha looked at his mouth before flicking her gaze back to his. ‘I don’t want to ruin that pretty-boy face of yours.’

  The dark blue of his eyes intensified, holding hers in a lock that made something inside her belly tilt and then spill. ‘You’re scared.’

  She sent her tongue out in a quick darting movement to moisten her lips. ‘Let me go, James.’

  ‘I have a little forfeit to collect first.’

  Something dropped off a shelf in her stomach. ‘Forfeit?’

  He spread his hands through the mane of her hair, his gaze moving from her eyes to her mouth in a slow and mesmerising fashion. ‘You punched me in the nose. I get to kiss you. Fair’s fair.’

  She affected a sneer but was pretty sure it was wide off the mark. ‘Is that meant to be a punishment?’

  ‘Why don’t we find out?’ he said and, tugging her against him, his mouth came down over hers.

  His lips were warm and firm, slow and deliberate. Purposeful. His tongue stroked against her top lip and then her lower lip without deepening the kiss. It sent every one of Aiesha’s nerves into a frenzied clamour of want. She wound her arms around his neck, leaning into him to give more of herself to the kiss. She opened her mouth, inviting him in, teasing him with the flicker of her tongue against his lips.

  He made a deep growling sound in the back of his throat and thrust his tongue against hers, wrangling and tangling with it, sending her pulses soaring. He tasted unique, not sour or beery, or stale or too mouthwashy or minty.

  He tasted...just right.

  Aiesha delved her fingers into his thick dark hair as he continued to explore her mouth in spine-loosening detail. Her body trembled with desire, great giant waves of it coursing through her as his tongue moved inside her mouth with erotic intent. His kiss was mesmerising, magical and intoxicating. Not rushed and greedy, but respectful and enticing. Her mouth responded to him like a flower opening to warm rays of sunshine. She had been kissed too many times to count but not one of them had been like this. Gentle and yet determined, passionate and yet controlled.

  His pelvis was pressed against hers, his erection leaving her in no doubt of the effect she was having on him. She could feel the length of it against her belly, making her desperate to touch him sk
in on skin. She felt her inner core contract, the silky moisture of arousal anointing her in anticipation of his possession.

  His breathing was heavy, as if he was only just holding on to his self-control. She felt the tension in him, the way his hands were holding her by the hips, set there, anchored there as if moving them to another part of her body would be dangerous.

  She made a mewling sound as his teeth grazed her lower lip, tugging on it before salving it with the stroke of his tongue. He repeated the process with her top lip, little teasing nips and tugs that made the hairs on the back of her neck quiver. He smoothly glided his tongue back into her mouth, sweeping hers up into a tango of lustful longings.

  Aiesha wanted him so badly she could feel it writhing and coiling like a serpent inside her. Had she ever wanted a man more than James Challender? He was the ultimate prize. Rich, powerful, well-to-do. She had always wanted him. From the first moment she had met him when he came to visit his parents soon after she had come to stay she had felt a lightning flash of awareness arc between them. He had kept a respectful distance, making it abundantly clear he was not going to be seduced by a teenager. He hadn’t been rude to her or cruel. He had been polite but firm. Implacable. And back then she had hated him for it.

  Now...now she wasn’t quite so sure what she felt other than rip-roaring lust.

  She wanted him because he represented everything she had missed out on during her harrowing childhood. Success. Stability. Safety.

  She made a move for his belt buckle but he stalled her hand, holding it against him as he fought to control his breathing.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  No?

  What man had ever said no to her? Ever since she was a kid she’d been fighting them off. Rejecting them, not them rejecting her. The shift in power was new and troubling...unsettling. She liked to be the one who said yay or nay. ‘You want me.’ She said it matter-of-factly. Without emotion.

  He released her hand and stepped back from her. ‘This can’t go anywhere.’ He pushed his hair back over his forehead. ‘You know it can’t.’