Imprisoned by a Vow Read online

  He stepped nearer, close enough to inhale her fresh scent, and she angled her head high. He’d give her this: she didn’t back down from confrontation. His skin sizzled as she surveyed him. A pulse of something like desire beat hard in his belly.

  If he’d known Leila could be so...animated, he might have thought twice about marriage. He’d wanted a demure, stylish hostess, not a spitfire. But the coiling heat in his lower body made a lie of the thought.

  ‘Do you always jump to conclusions?’ One fine eyebrow arched high on her smooth forehead, giving her a supercilious, touch-me-not air that made him want to level the barriers between them and give her a taste of raw, earthy pleasure. The force of that need shocked him.

  ‘Do you always avoid questions for which you’ve no answer?’

  Her nostrils flared as if she kept tight rein on a quick temper. Unbidden, interest stirred. He’d always liked passion in a woman—in bed, not emotionally.

  The thought brought him up sharply.

  Leila was his wife. He was not going to bed her. He was not going to risk the possibility of messy, emotional scenes with the woman he’d just tied himself to.

  She folded her hands in a show of patience that might have fooled him but for the heat still simmering in those luminous eyes. Despite his better judgement he found himself enjoying the contrast.

  ‘I haven’t been eating rich meals lately. The food at the wedding feast was designed to impress but it wasn’t to my taste.’

  ‘You’ve been dieting? Didn’t your father warn you about becoming underweight?’ His mouth thinned at her stupidity. Didn’t she value her health?

  ‘Stepfather.’ Instantly she pursed her lips as if regretting the correction. ‘And no, he didn’t have a problem with my diet.’

  Again that puzzling flicker of almost-expression crossed her face, as if she suppressed something. Something Joss was determined to uncover.

  ‘And now? You can’t tell me the cakes aren’t to your taste. I saw the look on your face when you took that first bite.’ She’d closed her eyes as if overcome by bliss. The sight of such unadulterated sensual pleasure had been arresting, drawing him towards her and heating a coil of masculine anticipation low in his groin.

  Leila shrugged. ‘It was lovely but, as I said, my diet has been very plain, very...restricted. This was just too much of a good thing.’

  Joss clamped down the surge of admonition on his tongue. He knew she hid something. But her shock at his accusation seemed genuine. For the moment he’d have to reserve judgement.

  ‘And now? Do you still feel sick?’

  She tilted her head, her eyes widening. ‘You know...’ she paused as if considering ‘...I don’t!’ She looked genuinely pleased.

  ‘Good. You need to build up your appetite.’

  ‘I do?’

  He nodded, already resuming his seat and picking up his coffee. He was savvy enough to realise it would take a while to get to the bottom of whatever ailed Leila. ‘I’m going away on business but when I return and we start entertaining you won’t be able to run to the bathroom through every meal.’

  * * *

  Entertaining? Shock slammed her and her stomach knotted in dismay. Since when would a couple leading separate lives entertain guests?

  Leila sank into her chair, her eyes fixed on Joss as he drained his coffee then bit into another syrupy nut roll with strong white teeth. Dazed, she watched the rhythmic movement of his solid jaw. Clearly he was a man of healthy appetite, part of her brain registered, just as if she weren’t reeling from his announcement.

  ‘What do you mean, entertaining?’

  ‘You’ll assist when we have guests.’ He shrugged. ‘A lot of business is done, connections made, socially. One of the reasons I considered you a suitable bride is your pedigree: child of diplomats, brought up in the best circles, with links to many powerful families with whom I’ll be doing business.’ He sat back, clearly pleased with himself. ‘You’re a born hostess. It was one of the things I checked when we met.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The word emerged between gritted teeth. Her skin prickled as fury engulfed her.

  He looked so smug that he’d deigned to consider her suitable as his wife. And he wanted her to be his hostess? As if she owed him something! He’d come to her, wanting her inheritance.

  ‘That wasn’t in our agreement,’ she bit out.

  ‘It wasn’t?’ His sculpted lower lip firmed. His eyes narrowed and abruptly the tension in the air thickened.

  ‘No.’ Leila refused to be cowed. ‘You didn’t mention us entertaining together.’

  Slowly Joss crossed one leg over another. His fingers splayed over the arms of his chair. But Leila wasn’t fooled into believing he was relaxed. There was an alertness about him that made her think of a predator, sizing up dinner.

  ‘You think the mere fact of our marriage entitles you to be kept in the style to which you’d like to be accustomed? Without stirring yourself in any way?’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk. You married me for my father’s oil-rich land.’ How dared he try to make her sound mercenary?

  ‘So I did.’ His smile had a hungry edge that tightened every nerve. ‘And in doing so I acquired a hostess to help me achieve my goals. At present that involves smoothing my dealings with the elite of European and Middle Eastern society. You’re perfectly placed to assist me.’

  Perfectly placed!

  Leila pressed her lips together rather than let rip with a scathing retort.

  ‘I’m afraid I have other plans.’ She sat back and stared into sparking midnight-dark eyes.

  She was safe now, out of Bakhara. Soon she’d have her own funds and in a country like England Joss couldn’t impose his will as her stepfather had.

  ‘Other plans?’ Joss surveyed her critically, noting the mulish line of her lips. ‘How can you have other plans when we’ve just married?’

  He stifled a sigh. Wasn’t this one of the reasons he’d avoided marriage? The contrariness of women? To marry and then tell him she had other plans!

  If she thought to play him the way his mother had played everyone around her, Leila had plenty to learn.

  Leila shrugged and her insouciance needled a spur of annoyance under his skin. ‘You said this was a paper marriage. You made it clear we’d live separate lives.’

  Why did her eagerness to be rid of him rankle? He didn’t want a clinging vine. But he wasn’t used to a woman trying to dump him. He always ended relationships.

  ‘So we will. Except when we appear together for major social functions.’ He knew her interest in his dividends. She’d sold herself without any pretence of emotional connection. That had been the clinching factor in his decision to marry her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t interfere in your private life so long as you’re discreet.’ He smiled, secure in the knowledge the penalty clause for pregnancy in their prenup meant she wouldn’t try foisting another man’s baby on him. ‘But there will be times when I need your services as hostess.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’ Her voice was cool.

  ‘Refuse?’ The idea of anyone refusing Joss was so novel it took a moment for anger to kick in. ‘Don’t be absurd. Why would you refuse?’ Surely she wasn’t so lazy as to begrudge this small effort?

  ‘It doesn’t suit me. I intend to live my own life from now on.’

  Joss fixed her with a glare. ‘I think not, dear wife.’ His words were silky, delivered in a tone under-performing managers on four continents dreaded. ‘Remember the prenup you signed. You’ve already agreed to this. You have no choice.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE AIR SQUEEZED from Leila’s chest.

  He wasn’t kidding.

  What sort of man specified such detail in a marriage agreement? Weren’t they supposed to be about safe
guarding wealth, not setting out wifely duties?

  Though looking into his furious eyes, Leila realised Joss Carmody was the sort of man who crossed every t and dotted every i, especially in business. And this marriage was business.

  Leila clung to that like a lifeline in a stormy sea. Business she could cope with, it was emotional games she couldn’t face.

  ‘You did read the prenup?’ One ebony eyebrow shot up in disbelief.

  How she hated his supercilious expression! She’d had enough of men who thought themselves superior.

  Leila’s hands curled into damp palms, her nails scoring her flesh.

  She’d wanted to read the papers but her stepfather had covered them so all she’d seen was the bottom of each page where she’d initialled and the final page where she’d signed in full. She’d been furious and frustrated, but so desperate she’d signed. It had made her sick to the stomach but she’d forced herself to do it so she could get away.

  ‘Leila?’ Joss’s terse voice demanded an instant response. Had she escaped one tyrant only to fall under the yoke of another? Her heart plummeted at the possibility.

  ‘I must have skimmed that section.’

  Pride demanded she gloss over the truth. That was in the past. She refused to revisit it, especially in front of a man who viewed her as a tool to be used for his own ends.

  Her stepfather had exploited any weakness. Leila had no intention of revealing weakness to any man again. Especially to her husband. It was too dangerous.

  Dark eyes bored into hers. It felt like a daring luxury to meet his stare head-on and not look away as she’d trained herself to do with Gamil. Even something as small as that made her feel strong and intrepid.

  How far her stepfather had eroded her life!

  Leila was determined to start anew as she meant to go on. Now she was free, or almost, she’d never let a man bully her again.

  ‘Ah, you concentrated on the financial rewards. Naturally.’ Joss nodded. He didn’t even sound sarcastic. He seriously believed money was all she cared about.

  ‘You don’t think much of women, do you?’

  He looked surprised. ‘I treat people as I find them, male or female.’

  Which meant he had little respect for anyone.

  What sort of man had she married? She knew of his ruthless reputation in business—that was something Gamil respected. But she’d assumed Joss would have a softer side, not with her, but with someone.

  She pushed aside the memory of the competent way he’d handled her weakness yesterday. His unfussy sympathy that had eased her fear.

  He’d dealt with the situation because he’d had to get to London. That was all there was to it. She’d be foolish to mistake necessity for caring.

  Everything she learned about him confirmed he was a man she preferred not to know better.

  ‘So the contract specifies my duties as hostess.’ Leila forced her mind to the matter in hand. ‘Is there anything else?’ She was proud of the cool tone that hid galloping nerves. What else was included in those papers?

  ‘I’ll have a copy brought round so you can reacquaint yourself with it.’ He shot a look at his custom-made watch, as if turning his mind to more important matters.

  Damn him! This was important.

  ‘Indulge me, Joss.’ She crossed her legs and eased back nonchalantly though every tensed muscle protested. Instinctively she hid how desperate she was for details.

  His gaze returned, travelling the length of her legs before skimming her dress to rest on her face. Leila’s skin tingled where his look brushed her like a caress. Defiantly she angled her chin, pretending she felt nothing.

  Something flickered in his hooded eyes. Her nape prickled as if she confronted danger.

  Clearly Joss was used to calling the shots, not answering questions.

  Strange how the flare of warning in his eyes spurred her on. As if she enjoyed her ability to provoke him. After years of feigned subservience it was wonderful to exercise her independence even in such a small way.

  She stroked her mother’s pearl pendant, projecting an air of casual interest. ‘What else might I have missed?’

  His stillness was unnerving. He was so completely focused on her, and, it appeared, on the massive pearl in her hand. Hurriedly she released the pendant, feeling it fall between her breasts.

  Joss’s eyes fixed on the spot where it rested and Leila’s breath hissed in a rush of reaction as heat hazed her breasts and her pulse danced.

  She wasn’t used to being looked at like that.

  ‘You should read the papers.’ His tone suggested she wouldn’t understand them. Annoyance shook her from the strange stasis his look had induced.

  ‘I will.’ Leila made her smile saccharine sweet. ‘But in the meantime...?’

  He exhaled audibly, his jaw tensing—an indication he wasn’t totally in control. Her smile widened. She detested the idea he could simply dismiss her as his latest commercial acquisition.

  ‘You agreed to act as my hostess, but don’t worry, the work won’t be hard. There’ll be plenty of time for...’ He waved a hand as if unsure what ordinary people did with their time.

  ‘Shopping?’ Her smile grew fixed. Her stepfather’s obsessive need to control had deprived her of the right to make even the smallest decisions. Now she’d married a man who thought she wanted only to spend his money! It didn’t occur to him that she might aspire to a career.

  ‘Precisely.’ He gestured again. ‘Apart from that there are penalties if you embroil yourself in scandal. Penalties for divorce or pregnancy—’

  ‘Penalties for what?’ Her tone rose in disbelief.

  ‘You heard me.’ He drained his coffee as casually as if they discussed the weather. ‘I specified no children in this marriage.’

  ‘I remember.’ How could she forget? She’d clung to the knowledge he didn’t expect her to share his bed. ‘But surely it takes two to—’

  ‘It may very well take two to conceive a child but I won’t be one of them.’ The words shot out like rifle fire, biting into her. The warning glitter in his eyes chilled her to the marrow.

  Finally she understood. He meant children with other men, other lovers.

  ‘If you find yourself pregnant, don’t come whining to me for support. You’d lose every benefit this marriage gives you.’ His tone was glacial, each syllable brittle with disdain. He looked every inch the tycoon, a man devoid of human warmth.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, Leila. I’m sure you’re too sensible to get pregnant.’

  His distaste was unmistakeable. For the notion of a child? Or at the idea of getting her pregnant himself? It couldn’t be at the possibility of his wife having sex with another man. Joss had told her she could do as she liked so long as she was ‘discreet’. He virtually invited her to sleep around, so long as she didn’t become pregnant!

  Leila had experienced degradation at her stepfather’s hands but Joss plumbed new depths. He’d managed to hurt a part of her Gamil had never touched. Pain scored her vitals and she sat straighter, every sinew taut with disgust.

  This shouldn’t hurt. She knew Joss had a low opinion of her. Yet his casual assumption about her morals felt like the final straw.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t get pregnant.’ When she eventually had children it would be with a man she loved. A man who loved her with his whole being, not a man fixated on contracts and profits. One day when this union was just a bad memory...

  Her forced smile felt stiff but Joss’s narrowed eyes told her it looked real. It prompted her to make her point.

  ‘I have no intention of sleeping with any man, especially you.’

  Joss put his cup down on the table with a precise click, his gaze fixed on her. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, his voice a low purr that fuzzed the sensitive skin of her neck
and arms, ‘I never sleep with women. My interest in them is rather more active than that. I always sleep alone.’

  His lips curled in a smile of pure satisfaction that sent a warning jangling through her. Despite his despicably smug attitude, that smile was dangerous.

  Fire seared Leila’s face as he did that thing with his eyes, that sweeping glance that drew every nerve tight with thrumming awareness.

  Whatever this strange sensation was she’d almost rather face the sick panic she’d experienced at the airport yesterday. Instinct warned her that the unfamiliar awareness deep inside put her at Joss’s mercy.

  Leila couldn’t allow that to happen.

  She’d be at no man’s mercy ever again.

  Deliberately she shifted her weight, settling more squarely in the seat and recrossing her legs, projecting an air of assurance. She lifted the pendant, reassured by its smooth solidity and the fact it had been her mother’s. Gamil had kept it and the rest of her mother’s jewellery locked away, begrudgingly giving this to her so she could dress the part to convince Joss she was a suitable fiancée.

  ‘Excellent.’ She paused to make sure she had Joss’s full attention. ‘It’s reassuring to hear confirmation you don’t expect intimacy.’ She pitched her voice low. ‘Just make sure you maintain your fitness regime elsewhere. Accidental meetings with your workout partners would be so tiresome.’

  Joss’s eyes widened fractionally, and then to her amazement he tipped his head back and laughed.

  The sound was deep and rich, surprisingly inviting. Amusement cast his features in a younger, more approachable light. Yet she felt no inclination to join his mirth.

  ‘Touché. Spoken like a true wife.’

  ‘I’ll do better next time,’ she bit, annoyed at being the butt of his humour.

  At his quizzical look she explained, ‘It’s not a real wife you want.’

  * * *

  ‘Of course not.’

  The laugh died on Joss’s lips. For an instant there, enjoying her sharp retort, he’d almost forgotten the need for distance between them. Getting close to his wife would complicate things unnecessarily.