Imprisoned by a Vow. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
the pupils wide in clear grey depths. Then as he watched velvety shades of green appeared, turning her gaze bewitching.
She smiled. Not that tiny knowing smile of last month, but a broad grin that made something roll over in the pit of his stomach.
Ensnared, he drank in the sight of her, the warmth in her frank appraisal, the pleasure that drew him closer.
Heavy scent filled his nostrils, a dusky rose that clogged his senses. It wasn’t right on her. But then this woman, decked in the traditional wedding finery of her land, seemed so different from the one whose verbal sparring had intrigued him weeks ago.
‘I was waiting for you.’ There was no rancour in her voice but her eyes held his as if awaiting his explanation.
A hot spurt of sensation warmed his skin. Guilt?
Gamil hadn’t dared voice reproach when Joss arrived, knowing as countless others had before him that Joss lived by his own rules, at his own convenience. He didn’t give a damn if his priorities didn’t match anyone else’s.
Business came first with him—always. The urgent calls he’d taken this morning had required immediate action whereas a wedding could be delayed.
Yet seeing her expression, Joss had the rare, uncomfortable feeling he’d disappointed. It evoked memories of childhood when nothing he did had lived up to expectations. His tough-as-nails father had wanted a clone of himself: utterly ruthless. His mother…just thinking of his mother made him break into a cold sweat. He shoved aside the dark memories.
‘You waited out here? Couldn’t you have waited in the cool? You look—’ he bent closer, cataloguing her pallor and the damp sheen on her forehead and upper lip ‘—unwell.’
Her smile slid away and her gaze dropped. Instantly the heat in his belly eased.
‘My stepfather made arrangements for the ceremony to take place here.’ She gestured across to a fanciful silk canopy. Joss dragged his gaze from her. There were pots of heavy-scented roses, ornate gilded furniture, garlands of flowers, rich hand-woven rugs and gauzy hangings of spangled fabric.
‘Clearly he’s not familiar with the idea that less is more,’ Joss murmured.
A choked laugh drew his attention, but Leila was already turning away in answer to a brusque command from her stepfather. Beneath the flowing silk of her robe, she was rigid. She paced slowly, as if reluctant.
Joss watched the interchange between them. One so decisive and bossy, the other unnaturally still. His hackles rose.
He stalked across the courtyard to join his affianced bride. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his pleasure at today’s business coup faded. He felt out of sorts.
The wedding was almost over. The ceremony had been short, the gifts lavish and the feast massive, though Leila hadn’t been able to indulge much. After short rations for so long, she felt queasy even smelling rich food and the room had spun if she’d moved too quickly.
She’d had to work to repress excitement. Soon she’d be out of her stepfather’s house for good.
She’d be the wife of a man who wouldn’t impose himself on her. He’d take her away from here, his only interest in the oilfields she’d inherited. They’d negotiate a suitable arrangement—separate residences and then eventually a discreet divorce. He’d keep the land and she’d be free to—
‘Leila.’ His deep voice curled around her and she turned to find him watching, his dark gaze intent. He held out a heavy goblet.
Obediently she sipped, repressing a cough at the heady traditional brew. A concoction designed, it was said, to heighten physical awareness and increase sexual potency.
Joss lifted the cup, drinking deeply, and the crowd roared its approval. When he looked at her again his gaze as it trawled her was different. Heat fired under her skin. It felt as if he caressed her: across her cheek, down her throat then lingering on her lips.
Something flared in his eyes. Speculation.
Sharply she sat back, fingers splayed on the chair’s gilt arms as she braced herself against welling anxiety.
‘You make a beautiful bride, Leila.’ The words were trite but the warmth in his eyes was real.
‘Thank you. You’re a very attractive groom.’ She’d never seen a man fill a suit with such panache or with that underlying hint of predatory power.
Joss’s mouth stretched in a smile. A moment later a rumble of laughter filled the space between them. ‘Such praise! Thank you, wife.’
She didn’t know if it was the unexpected sound of his amusement or the velvet caress of his gaze but Leila felt an abrupt tumble of emotions.
Suddenly this marriage didn’t seem so simple. She’d spent so long fretting about escape, focused on getting through the marriage ceremony. Now it hit her that perhaps he had other ideas on what happened after the wedding.
Leila shivered.
For the first time she realised Joss Carmody might be dangerous in ways she’d never considered.
CHAPTER TWO
‘THERE’S BEEN A CHANGE of plan,’ Joss said as the limousine surged forward. ‘We’re going straight to the airport. I need to be in London.’
He turned to his bride, surprised to find her attention fixed on the back of their driver’s head. She didn’t acknowledge the wedding guests clustered to see them off. She didn’t even lift an arm to wave to her stepfather, standing at the ornate gates to the road.
With her gold-encrusted headscarf pulled forward, obscuring her profile, Joss only caught a glimpse of her straight, elegant nose.
‘Leila?’ He leaned forward. ‘Did you hear me?’
Her hands were clasped in her lap, the knuckles white.
What now? He didn’t have time for feminine games. He’d already given up a whole afternoon playing the attentive bridegroom.
‘Leila, look at me.’
The command did the trick and she turned instantly. Her eyes were a smoky grey, wide and unfocused. Her lips were flattened and her skin pale.
Impatience flared. What was the problem? Something he’d have to deal with no doubt when all he wanted was to get back to business.
He should have known marriage would complicate his plans! It had gone against every instinct to acquire a wife, though the business benefits had outweighed the negatives.
Yet with the impatience came an unfamiliar pinprick of concern. ‘What is it, Leila? Are you unwell?’
‘No.’ The single word was husky, as if issued from a dry mouth. ‘I’m never sick.’ Her lips moved in a shadow of a smile.
Joss remained silent. Something was definitely amiss. He told himself that so long as it didn’t affect him it didn’t matter. He wasn’t his wife’s keeper. But curiosity stirred. More, he acknowledged a faint but real desire to ease what he guessed was pain behind those beautiful blank features.
‘Would you like to stop the car?’ After the interminable wedding, he couldn’t believe he was offering to delay further. ‘We could go back inside and—’
‘No!’ Her voice was strident, her face no longer blank but animated at last.
‘No,’ she repeated, her voice softer. ‘That’s not necessary. Let’s just…go.’
Was it his imagination or was that a plea in her voice?
‘As you wish.’ He leaned forward and opened the limousine’s bar fridge. Ignoring the foil-topped bottle of Cristal and gold-rimmed champagne flutes some romantically inclined staffer had placed there, Joss reached for bottled water. Unscrewing the cap, he passed it to her.
She