Secret Surrender. Laura MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.
and sensuality.
What had been her undoing? Finally meeting him after all the hype and the expectation? Had that contributed in some way to what had followed? But why should it have? she thought as she struggled into her sleek linen skirt. She had met many famous people before, many attractive men who were successful, who commanded respect.
A tormented sigh escaped her lips. Who was she kidding? None of them, not the powerful politicians, nor the wealthy businessmen, nor the renowned authorities on one subject or another, had possessed this aura, this magnetism. All Drew Michaels had had to do was stare long and hard with those magical deep blue eyes as he murmured her name and held out his hand in greeting and she was hooked—she along with all the others…
Christy jerked her head up and saw that his mouth was widening into the semblance of a smile now—a cynical, mocking twist of the lips that held precious little warmth, certainly no feeling. ‘You’re really intent on leaving?’ He lay back against the pillows, clasping his hands behind his head, appraising Christy with a look that chilled her through to the bone, because suddenly he looked so cold and distant. ‘And the night is still so young! This is hardly the exit I would have expected, Christy—a little undignified, don’t you think? Rather lacking in the composure that we’ve all come to expect from so celebrated a television personality. What do you think the concierge will make of your exit when you fling yourself out through the main entrance at this time of the night?’
‘If it’s your reputation you’re worried about——’ Christy began through tight lips.
‘My reputation?’ Drew let out a harsh laugh and shook his head. ‘Oh, no! Mine’s past redemption, I’m afraid, and besides, I’ve reached a stage in my life where I’m past caring what other people think of me. Oh, no, Christy, it was actually yours I had in mind.’
Drew rose from the bed. His naked body was lean and taut, powerful, thrilling with its mat of dark hair covering the sculptured chest, the strong solidness of his thighs, his abdomen…
‘Take a look in the mirror, Christy—see how beautiful you look: tousled, fulfilled…Do it!’ Drew placed commanding hands on her waist, twisted her around so that he was standing behind her, so that she had no choice but to do as he bid. ‘Go on—take a look at yourself.’
She swallowed, fighting hard against the instinct to hold her head in her hands as she viewed their reflection in the full-length mirror. It was a striking combination: two physically attuned bodies, tall, athletic figures with features that were in stark contrast. Drew rugged and darkly handsome, with hair as black as night. Christy lithe and elegant with a delicate face, a halo of golden hair.
Drew spanned his hands against her stomach, pulling the fabric of her silk blouse taut so that the outline of her full breasts was clearly visible beneath. She watched and felt the stirring of desire, saw the evidence of her own weakness as their outline became more and more prominent. ‘You see how good we look together, Christy? How easily your body registers its need? Once is never enough; let me make love to you again, let me fulfil your desires again and again…’
Her breathing was rapid now, as if oxygen was at a premium. Drew’s gaze, his voice dripped sexuality, contributing as much to the way she felt as the thrill of his hands on the smooth, flat plane of her stomach. She hated herself for this weakness. It shocked her that despite everything she could still be tempted to turn and press herself against the sculptured body, to lift her face and accept the ravaging hunger of his mouth. It had felt like pure heaven before, in that moment when desire had overtaken sense, in that length of time that had felt like eternity and no time at all, and despite everything the need to experience such a pinnacle of pleasure again and again was strong within.
‘No!’ Somehow, from somewhere, she dragged up enough resistance. It had been a fool’s paradise, she knew that, didn’t she? Hadn’t she experienced dreadful despair as soon as that most glorious sensation had been reached because she had allowed Drew to make love to her purely for physical reasons alone? ‘No!’ Christy ran a shaky hand through her hair and then jerked herself free. ‘I’m leaving, Drew and I’m leaving now!’ She turned, struggling for a moment to keep hold of what little composure she had left, then she spun back around to face him, to stare Drew in the eyes and make him believe that what she was about to say was the truth. ‘Can’t you understand that I feel dreadful, like a stranger inside? I’ve allowed this to happen. I’ve allowed a man I don’t know, don’t particularly like even, to make love to me…’ Her voice trailed miserably away—even now she could hardly believe that she had allowed herself to be seduced.
‘You make it sound as if you were an unwilling participant,’ Drew murmured with a casual quietness that seemed only to emphasise the ice beneath his words, ‘when in fact we both know that you were feverish, passionate—dare I say desperate?—to secure a union between us.’
He stunned her with his cruel bluntness for all of three slow seconds. ‘My God, I hate you!’ Christy’s violet eyes blazed with dislike. ‘I must have been mad…or drunk…or…’
‘You were neither and you know it!’ Drew growled menacingly. ‘As soon as we laid eyes on one another we both knew the outcome of this evening. We made love because it was what we both wanted and don’t you dare start pretending otherwise!’
‘Don’t you presume to tell me how to behave!’ Christy snapped, swinging back round to face him. ‘I’ll act just however I feel like acting! Don’t think you can talk to me like all the other women you entice into your bed. I lost my senses for a couple of hours, but they’re back now and in full working order.’
‘Are they?’ Drew raised a dark enquiring brow and something in his expression, some hint of what was to come perhaps, sent a shiver of trepidation down Christy’s spine. ‘This is hardly as your public usually sees you, is it? Composed and in control at all times, isn’t that the Christy King maxim? “The ice-cool goddess of the small screen"—wasn’t that how one columnist recently described you? So what happens when we meet tomorrow? When we face one another in the studio? How cool will the icy interviewer Miss King be then, I wonder?’
That had been his parting shot, and the next day in the studio he had proceeded to make life as difficult as possible for her…
‘I believe I’m particularly honoured this evening; you don’t give interviews as a rule, do you, Mr Michaels?’ Christy managed somehow to force her widest, most appealing smile, purely for the viewers’ benefit, of course, and waited with bated breath for his answer. A direct, no-nonsense first question. Why should she change her tactics? she thought.
He took his time, oblivious, it seemed, of the fact that several million viewers were waiting on his reply. Were nerves a part of this man’s make-up? Christy wondered, as she registered her own familiar thudding heart and damp palms.
‘Interviews are a rather boring and incredibly egotistical way of passing the time,’ he drawled, leaning one arm along the back of his chair. ‘To be honest— and of course I realise that that is what you of all people would want, Christy,’ he added with more than a hint of sarcasm, his mouth widening into a charming, all too attractive smile that no doubt sent millions of Michaels fans swooning over their television sets, ‘I can think of a hundred and one things I would rather be doing at this very moment.’
‘Such as?’ Christy asked swiftly, leaning forward slightly in her chair, determined not to let this unpromising start get the better of her. ‘What would you be doing now, Mr Michaels, if you weren’t sitting here talking to me?’ She raised questioning eyebrows and tried to look as if she really wanted to know, as if she cared about the answer.
Drew’s mouth twisted suggestively, his eyes narrowed, and for several calculating seconds he stayed silent. What was he going to say? Christy felt the automatic shiver race through her body as sexual tension sparked between them. She tried not to think about the night before and failed dreadfully. ‘I think perhaps I’d better leave that to the imagination,’ he murmured after a moment. ‘Suffice to say it would involve soft lights, wine and a very attractive female.’
The audience laughed at