Imprisoned by a Vow Read online

  Gamil’s obsession with counteracting her supposedly loose morals and flawed character had obviously influenced the selection. Or was he just having the last laugh?

  ‘Some time soon would be good.’

  Leila jerked her head up to find Joss, arms crossed, looking the picture of masculine impatience. The fact that he looked gorgeous—if you liked bold, powerful features and raw testosterone—didn’t help.

  Her hackles rose. She was not his servant to be ordered around. She’d spent too long dancing to her stepfather’s tune to do it again. Indignation was a welcome change from anxiety and the self-doubt that dogged her.

  ‘You’re so persuasive when you ask nicely, Joss.’ She purred his name coolly, putting one hand on her hip in a show of easy confidence. ‘I bet women just queue up to get a taste of that charm.’

  He didn’t move an inch yet suddenly loomed larger than ever. His long fingers twitched then curled at his sides. His midnight eyes glittered and a sizzle shot down her spine that she felt all the way to her toes.

  She refused to be cowed. His fury spurred her defiance.

  Leila had grown up around men in formal clothes. She’d been a diplomat’s daughter. Yet she couldn’t remember one to match Joss for sheer impact. Magnificent tailoring complemented what she guessed was an equally magnificent body. But it was his potent power, the sense of barely restrained masculinity, that had shackled her attention from the moment he entered the room.

  That and his anger.

  Strange how it didn’t scare her the way Gamil’s cold fury had. But then her stepfather’s emotions had been sickly distorted.

  By comparison there was something almost reassuringly healthy about the simmering heat in her husband’s expression.

  Was that why she enjoyed provoking him?

  ‘I’ll go change.’ She swung towards the door, appalled at her thoughts.

  Nevertheless she rather enjoyed the undulating sway her high heels gave her. It made her feel feminine and...powerful. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Heat seared her. It should be impossible yet she was sure it was from the impact of his eyes on her. Leila felt his gaze as if he reached out and touched her. The sway of her hips grew a touch more pronounced. She half turned her head. ‘Formal, you said?’

  ‘Formal,’ he reiterated. ‘I want you to look spectacular.’

  Spectacular!

  Leila’s footsteps faltered and she almost tripped. She hadn’t a hope of achieving spectacular. Even on a good day and in the loveliest of clothes.

  It had taken hours of practice and multiple mistakes just to get her make-up passable. It had been years since she’d worn any and it had been no mean feat to replicate the work of the beautician brought in for the wedding.

  Nevertheless Leila held her shoulders straight, determined not to let Joss see her doubts.

  ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  Two minutes later Leila surveyed the racks of exquisitely made clothes her stepfather had ordered. Apart from a couple of casual dresses and a pair of black trousers that, miraculously, fitted like a glove, the rest was a disaster.

  Beige, navy, drab olive and a mustard that made her look jaundiced. The worst colours for her. Leila flicked through the clothes, spirits plummeting.

  There was nothing spectacular. The best she could hope for was neat and not over-sized.

  With one fluid movement she unzipped the navy dress, stepped out and hung it up. Then, hands on hips, stood pondering, hoping for inspiration. None came.

  ‘Can’t decide?’

  The deep drawl from the doorway made her spin round, her heart thudding high in her throat.

  ‘You can’t come in here!’ Frantically she searched for a wrap to throw round herself but everything was stowed away.

  She raised her hands to cover herself, till she saw the quizzical tilt of one straight eyebrow and read the glint in his eye. Heat shimmered under her skin. Her mouth dried and she was sure the blush covered her whole body. Yet she forced her hands to her sides.

  Instinct told her revealing her nerves at being half naked would give Joss a weapon to use against her later. That was how dominating men operated.

  He’d see more on a beach any day, she assured herself. Her cream panties and bra were conservatively cut, plus she wore sheer stay-up stockings and stilettos. Yet she felt vulnerable. Whether from baring so much flesh after years of being covered or from the fact it was Joss who saw her, she didn’t want to investigate.

  Insouciance was beyond her. She settled for keeping her hands at her sides though it strained every muscle to breaking point.

  ‘I can’t come in?’ He shook his head. ‘But I just did.’ He paced further into the room she’d once thought enormous. His presence filled it, drawing out all the air and leaving in its place prickling, static electricity. His subtle scent surrounded her.

  And his eyes didn’t leave her. Surely she imagined heat flaring in those dark irises?

  Finally, thankfully, he turned to the clothes on the hangers. Leila put a hand to her chest as she gulped in air and her blood started to pump again.

  He rifled through the first few outfits.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t choose this stuff.’ Disbelief dripped from each word.

  ‘I didn’t.’

  He didn’t turn to face her. ‘Then who—’

  ‘My stepfather. It’s complicated.’

  Joss paused, then began shoving his way through the hangers again. Clearly he had no interest in the reasons for her sombre wardrobe. All he cared about was her appearance as a fitting companion. She had a precise function in his life and that was all that concerned him.

  It should be a relief to remember that, but she was too agitated to feel anything like relief.

  ‘What about this?’ He held up a pair of trousers in some fluid black fabric. ‘Do they fit?’

  ‘Yes, but you said formal. They’re not—’

  ‘At this point I’ll settle for anything vaguely acceptable.’ He tossed the trousers to her, already turning to the large bank of drawers.

  Leila opened her mouth to protest the invasion of privacy, but he’d already opened and closed a drawer full of panties and bras and was yanking open another one. His hand plunged into silk.

  Disturbingly, as he sifted through camisoles and nightwear, Leila imagined the feel of his hand on her, his long fingers stroking then moving on.

  She staggered back a pace, horrified and a little scared at the weird sensations bombarding her. She shot out a hand to brace herself against a cupboard. Her pulse thudded too fast and there was a curious stirring in her lower body as she watched him trawl through her things.

  ‘How about this?’ He turned, a camisole of sea-green silk in his hand.

  ‘What about it?’ Her brain was slow to chug into gear.

  His brows lowered. ‘How about wearing it with the black pants?’

  She took the proffered camisole. The silk was so fine she’d be wearing the barest whisper of covering. Did she want to dress like that when she was with Joss—a man whose gaze already evoked the strangest reactions?

  She had no choice. Besides, all day she’d fretted and worried about the challenge of merely leaving the apartment. What she wore would soon pale into insignificance beside that.

  ‘I’ll try them together.’ She paused, taking in his waiting stance. ‘When you’ve left.’

  With one last, impenetrable stare Joss turned and walked out. ‘I’ll meet you in the foyer.’

  * * *

  Joss stood, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the city view. But he didn’t take in the glittering vista.

  It was Leila he saw in his mind’s eye. Spunky, sassy Leila with her air of challenge and smart mouth. Berating him in his own house! Infuriating him
as no one in recent memory had been able to do.

  Nearly naked Leila wearing surprisingly decorous underwear and a full-body blush that made her look like a virginal innocent, even with sexy heels and even sexier stockings accentuating the long, slender line of her legs.

  He shook his head, trying to banish the vision.

  How could he think her sexy when he preferred ripe, voluptuous women? True, she wasn’t as bone-thin as she’d felt when he carried her on their wedding day. Thank God for that! According to Mrs Draycott, Leila had been eating regularly, so hopefully her extreme dieting was a thing of the past.

  In fact, he’d found her slim form with its lithe curves and high, pouting breasts surprisingly arousing.

  Joss wondered how Leila’s pert breasts would fit in his palms. Would her hair be as soft as he imagined? Long enough perhaps to bury his face in as he gave himself up to pleasure?

  He’d had no trouble calculating exactly how those long, coltish legs of hers would feel wrapped around his waist. Blood pooled heavily in his groin as he remembered her half naked and delectable, staring defiantly down her neat nose at him.

  Didn’t she realise he was a man who always rose to a challenge?

  He stalked into the sitting room where decanters sat on a sideboard. Reaching out to pour a slug of whisky, he paused. He rarely drank. He’d watched his father, a shrewdly calculating businessman with the scruples of a barracuda, use alcohol too often to soften weaker opponents. He’d seen them lose control.

  Joss was nothing if not controlled. Discipline, determination and vision had got him where he was today.

  Since when had he turned to alcohol when his feelings overcame him?

  Since when had he experienced feelings?

  He jerked his hand away, heart thudding as a premonition of danger punched hard in his gut.

  Yet strengthening his will didn’t prevent the insidious knowledge filling his brain. That the sight of Leila, defiant and desirable, had ignited a blaze of desire within him.

  He’d like to ignore his plans to network at a charity gala and instead enjoy sparring verbally with his bride.

  Or exploring the fine texture of her flesh. He’d taste her sulky pouting lips and lose himself in pleasure. The sort of pleasure logic decreed should be forbidden between them.

  He spun on his heel and paced, frustration soaring.

  Leila was mouthy. She didn’t have the richly curvaceous shape he preferred.

  She had eyes that gleamed provocatively and shadowed with secrets and intrigued him as if he were some callow youth lusting after his first woman.

  Joss forked his hand through his hair in exasperation. For reasons he couldn’t fathom his convenient bride upset his well-ordered existence.

  ‘I’m ready.’ The husky voice swept across his senses.

  Joss turned and wished he’d taken that drink.

  The black trousers accentuated her feminine shape, clinging to hips and thighs. The camisole matched her eyes, making them look bigger than ever. The silk was fragile, shifting with each breath she took and shimmering invitingly over the unfettered curves of her breasts.

  Heat roared in his belly as he prowled across the room to stand before her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t budge. He liked the fact she stood up to him. Or perhaps she had no notion what was on his mind.

  He wanted to touch her, possess what after all was his, bought in marriage.

  The appealing, insidious thought set warning lights blazing in his head.

  ‘That’s better,’ he murmured, despising the effort it cost him to sound casual. ‘It suits you.’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘It’s too simple, considering you’re wearing a dinner jacket. We’re mismatched.’

  Joss shook his head. ‘Far from it. But now you mention it, the chignon doesn’t suit your new look. Take it down.’

  As he said it a spark of anticipation ignited.

  She stared, wide-eyed for a moment, then with a half-shrug reached up to release her hair. It uncoiled in a long, glossy swinging curtain. Not straight as he’d thought but softly waving, a gentle froth of mahogany across her shoulders and halfway down her back.

  Lust jabbed his vitals.

  In barely there silk and nothing beneath it, with her loose hair curling around her in gentle disarray, she looked as if she’d just risen from bed.

  His lower body tightened and he fought the urge to haul her to him, determined to conquer this weakness.

  ‘Much better,’ he grated through choked vocal cords. ‘Let’s go.’

  * * *

  He didn’t touch her but Leila was aware of his palm hovering at the small of her back as he ushered her into the foyer.

  Her pulse still raced after that scene in her dressing room. Joss’s presence, his glinting stare on her half-naked body, had stolen her breath and turned her into an incoherent idiot.

  Hastily she donned her coat before he could help. Call her a coward, but she preferred not to meet his eyes or feel his touch. She needed all her willpower for the hurdle to come. The moment she’d alternately feared and prepared herself for all day. When she’d face the demon of fear that had prevented her going out and exploring the city.

  Too soon the plush, mirrored lift arrived.

  Leila took a step towards it and halted, heels squeaking in protest on the marble floor.

  ‘Leila?’ He stood aside so she could precede him.

  She took another staccato step, only to stop on the threshold, her heart hammering out of control.

  Was it the thought of leaving the apartment or the sight of that confined space that sent anxious fingers clawing at her lungs?

  Leila had spent too long locked in a space not much bigger than that. Even today after weeks of trying she’d not managed to stay in the lift long enough to reach the foyer.

  An off-key laugh escaped her lips.

  She’d prided herself on the fact Gamil hadn’t broken her will and she’d remained strong. Now had she developed a fear of wide-open spaces and small ones too?

  It was preposterous. Absurd. Terrifying.

  Fury as well as fear surged in her veins. At Gamil for bringing her to this. At herself for succumbing.

  At Joss for being here to witness it.

  ‘Have you forgotten something?’

  Leila cast a quick glance upwards, seeing that firm chin and that lavishly sculpted lower lip. She swallowed an obstruction in her throat. Maybe if she concentrated on Joss...

  ‘Leila?’ His tone was impatient.

  On a rush of determination she stepped over the threshold, her body chilling instantly as if she’d walked into a deep freeze.

  She felt Joss enter behind her, his big hand at her waist. If she focused on the feel of his palm, maybe she could push aside the terror eating at her.

  The sinister hiss of the doors closing almost stopped her breath. She swung round, her hand already raised to slam the control that would open the door.

  Her hand hit a deep chest, a smooth lapel. Hard fingers wrapped around hers, pressing her palm to the rhythmic thud of Joss’s heart.

  ‘What is it, Leila?’

  She shook her head, barely conscious of the unfamiliar caress of unbound hair on naked shoulders and arms. She pressed forward, swallowing convulsively, trying to move him, to reach the controls before the panic gnawing at her stomach got the better of her.

  He didn’t budge, just stood blocking her escape.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind.’ Her voice was raw. ‘I don’t want to go out.’ Desperation drove her. This cramped lift was bad enough, but then she faced the vast space that was the city of London—huge and sprawling and as terrifying as the desert had been. Leila tried a shaky sidestep but Joss’s hand clamped hers. His grasp tightened at her waist.

 
‘It’s too late for that!’

  ‘I don’t care...’ The words clogged in her throat as her chest constricted.

  A large hand tilted her chin. Blazing midnight-dark eyes held hers. She shoved at his chest, needing to make him open the door, even as the lift descended with a sudden slide that rearranged all her internal organs.

  ‘Let me out!’ Terror made the words a glacial command.

  Hazily she saw his perplexed scowl and the flash of ire. One solid arm wrapped round her back and hard fingers angled her jaw up, his thumb hot on her frozen cheek.

  ‘You really are some piece of work,’ he mused. ‘Is this a game to make me jump to your tune because I made you change? Your stepfather may have allowed you to play the spoiled princess but you’re with me now, sweetheart.’

  For the length of one heartbeat he stared. Then his lips tilted into a grim smile. ‘I won’t be made a fool of, Leila. We play by my rules now.’

  Then his head swooped down, blocking the light.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOSS’S MOUTH SLAMMED into hers with a precision that spoke of furious control and deadly expertise. His arm at her waist lashed tight, securing her against his unforgiving frame. His hand on her face held her uncompromisingly still.

  Not that there was anywhere to escape. Nowhere except the tiny, enclosed lift.

  A tiny sob welled in her throat. A sob of frustration and despair that for all her vaunted strength she had no weapons to fight this new challenge. Not when the fear came from within.

  How could she fight the weakness when it was inside her head?

  Joss’s mouth moved expertly on hers, shaping its contours, his head tilting overhead.

  Heat, darkness, danger. She didn’t know if she tasted them on his lips or absorbed them with the air she tried frantically to drag into her lungs.

  The spice scent that had intrigued earlier filled her nostrils and she knew it for his scent. Not bottled, but the fragrance of his skin, unique and intrinsically masculine.