Kitabı oku: «King's Price», sayfa 3

CHAPTER SIX
Vita

LEON KING WAS a Grade A bastard.

The day after I’d met him in the nightclub and he’d forced me to dance he sent me a schedule of the dates he’d be taking me on, with times, not to mention the name of the wedding planner who’d be handling the wedding itself. There were dates attached to that too—he wanted the marriage to happen as soon as possible while at the same time generating the maximum amount of publicity.

Four weeks was enough time apparently.

And he hadn’t only sent the schedule to me; he’d sent it to my father as well. So now Dad knew that not only had I met with Leon King without telling him, I’d tipped Leon off about me being Clara’s stand-in.

Yet that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the link Leon had included with the schedule. A link that went to a page on some awful gossip website where there was a terrible write-up about Leon King’s new ‘love’. A photo accompanied it. A photo of him holding me on the dance floor just before he’d walked away.

I’d tried very hard to forget about the moment he’d held me close, his predator’s eyes watching me all the while. And I still didn’t know what had happened to me in that second. Why I’d let those big, warm hands of his rest on my hips and that tall, muscled body get close to mine.

It had been like I’d gone deaf, the beat of the music fading away, the crowds disappearing, everything lost in the dark gold of his eyes.

I’d just...forgotten I could move.

I’d forgotten I could breathe.

His nearness had been electric, my skin prickling all over, a strange restlessness coiling deep inside me, a heat that seemed to pool right down between my thighs.

It was as if he’d hypnotised me.

I didn’t know what it was in the end that made him walk away, but I was glad of it. Even more glad to get out of that damn club as quickly as I could.

What would you have done if he hadn’t let you go?

Nothing, of course. All that physical reaction was simply oestrogen reacting to testosterone, or pheromones or adrenaline, take your pick. None of that meant anything, and I should know since I still had the scars to prove it.

Anyway, the upshot was Dad not being pleased and I had to endure a speech down the phone about how irresponsible I’d been and how I’d put the whole plan at risk. I decided not to bother telling him I’d been trying to get Leon to drop the marriage thing to save us both, listening to him in silence instead then disconnecting the call without a word.

He wanted me to marry Leon King and I would.

But not for him or my sister. I was going to do it for me.

For the last ten years I’d been the one in charge of my life and now that I had the chance to right a wrong that had been done to me, I’d take it. I’d marry Leon, slay a few personal demons and then return to the peace of the lab.

My father could take my so-called ‘debt’ and go screw himself.

The next date was in a couple of days, which unfortunately left some time for the media to find out where I was and how to contact me, and it wasn’t long before the phone calls and emails started.

Dread coiled in my stomach every time I looked at my phone and all the notifications and missed calls, but fear was just another chemical reaction and that made it easy to ignore.

I spent the day of the next date head down in the lab, experimenting with a few new compounds. Concentrating only on that and not on the fact that I would be entering the arena again, the media circling me like wolves, while the lion I had to defeat waited in the centre for me, a hungry look in his eyes.

Luckily it didn’t seem like my colleagues had noticed any of the websites carrying the story, so I was able to go about my day with relative ease. But naturally Leon wouldn’t let me forget and I received a text in the afternoon from him, reminding me of the date and time I would be picked up.

How he’d got hold of my number I didn’t know, but it annoyed me.

That night I put on my black dress again—it was the only halfway decent thing in my wardrobe and I couldn’t be bothered dressing up anyway—and did a quick make-up job. I hated spending too much time on my appearance and didn’t see why I should take more time on it now.

Leon might want us to look like we were in love—as real as love ever got—but we weren’t. It was all fake, all pretend. A show for the cameras. Except that I wasn’t very good at pretend.

Leon would be, though, I’d have laid money on it. After all, he was a man with a very dark past, though you’d never know to look at him. On the surface he was all beauty and charm, while underneath lurked something else. Something much darker.

Something that makes you curious...

No. Most definitely not. Curious was the last thing I was about him. The very last.

A car came to pick me up at eight and I got in, refusing to give in to my trepidation about the evening by thinking about a new muffin recipe I wanted to try. I loved baking in my spare time since it was basically chemistry with delicious results. And it worked. Kind of.

But what I really should have been thinking about was how I was going to handle this date. I was supposed to be calling the shots yet I had no idea what kind of shots I wanted to call.

It had been ten years since I’d been on a date and I could hardly remember what one was like. Dinner, a movie and awkward conversation were the only things I could recall. That and the desperate desire to be more like my sister and not the gangly girl that nobody liked.

Hideous in other words.

I forced aside the memory and stared out into the city as the car moved through the streets. We were supposed to be going to some expensive restaurant down by the waterfront and he was going to meet me there.

I wondered what on earth I’d talk to him about because we’d have nothing in common, and then what I’d do if he tried to touch me again. It was disconcerting to realise I had no idea about either of those things.

At that moment the driver unexpectedly pulled the car over to the kerb and I was about to ask him what was happening when the back door opened.

And Leon King got in beside me.

I was so surprised that for a second I could only stare at him.

Back in the nightclub, he’d seemed tall—over six two at least—but now, in the close confines of the car, there was no escaping the sheer size of him. He took up all the space with his long legs and broad shoulders, making me feel dwarfed even though I had to be only a couple of inches shorter than he was.

And it wasn’t only to do with his height. His physical presence pushed at me, making me want to squeeze myself into the corner of the seat and get as far away from him as possible.

He was so...hot. I could feel the warmth of his body even though he wasn’t touching me, and I could smell his scent too. Spicy, like a cedar forest. And I had a weird urge to get close and inhale it, touch his skin to test his heat.

You wanted to do that with Simon too. Remember?

How could I forget? Handsome, attractive Simon. The first man to pay attention to me. The first man I fell in love with. The man who recorded himself taking my virginity then uploaded it onto the Net, complete with commentary.

The memory was enough to banish the urge to touch Leon King completely, but not quite enough to make me shift away. No way was I going to let him know that he affected me.

‘Good evening, sweetheart,’ he said, grinning as he pulled the door closed after him. ‘Hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this, but I thought we should arrive together. Plus, I wanted to give you something.’ His smoky golden gaze flashed over me then narrowed as he took in what I was wearing, his grin fading. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re wearing the same dress that you wore to the nightclub.’

Irritated by the effect of his physical presence and unexpectedly stung by the disapproving look on his face, I folded my hands in my lap and lifted my chin. ‘Okay. I won’t tell you.’

‘You couldn’t have worn something different?’

‘I don’t have anything different. Anyway, it’s a perfectly nice dress.’

‘For a funeral.’ He shifted, reaching into his back pocket to take something out of it. ‘We need to have a little talk about clothing.’

‘No, we don’t,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m the one calling the shots, remember? And if I want to wear this, I will. Besides...’ I sniffed ‘...you’re my fiancé and you’re supposed to love me no matter what I wear.’

His mouth curled and for a second genuine amusement gleamed in his eyes. It made something in my chest shift and I had to look away, pretending I was smoothing a crease in the material over my knees instead.

‘I stand corrected.’ There was a note I couldn’t place in his rich voice. ‘But you need to work on being more convincing when you mention the word love. Especially since we’re supposed to be in it.’

‘Love isn’t real,’ I informed him, keeping my attention on my dress. ‘Feelings are simply chemicals.’

‘Is that so?’ He really did sound amused now. ‘Well, you might not want to say that where people can hear us.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Excellent. Well, keep the dress, but for the love of God, could you not wear your hair like that?’

I bristled. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

‘It’s a bit...’ He stopped, frowning. Then, before I could protest, he leaned towards me, reaching around behind my head and neatly pulling off the band I’d used to secure my hair.

I blinked in surprise, feeling the heavy weight of it begin to uncoil and slide down over my shoulders. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ I demanded. ‘I didn’t say you could touch me.’

‘You didn’t say I couldn’t either.’ A look of satisfaction crossed his ridiculously handsome face. ‘But that’s better. Much better.’

‘You can’t touch me.’ I had to fight not to slap him, which only rattled me further since I had no idea why. ‘That’s my first rule for the evening.’

He only stared at me, perfectly composed, taking up all the space the way arrogant men often did. He wore another beautifully tailored suit, in dark charcoal this time, with a black shirt open at the neck, revealing smooth golden skin.

He was gorgeous, and rationally I knew it. But he didn’t affect me physically. To admit that would be stupid.

Testosterone. Dopamine. Serotonin. That was all it was.

‘Well,’ he said on a long sigh, ‘I suppose if you insist. But if I can’t touch you, how am I going to give you this?’ He lifted the box he’d taken out of his pocket. It was small and black—a ring box.

I glanced at it. ‘An engagement ring?’

‘Of course. I organised one this week.’ He flipped open the lid, revealing a massive diamond gleaming on a platinum band. ‘You’re going to need to wear something.’

It wasn’t just ‘something’. It was a ring that must have cost him thousands. And all for a pretence.

‘I hope you can return that,’ I muttered, staring at the diamond.

‘No. It’s yours.’ He took the ring out, discarding the box then holding out his other hand imperiously. ‘Your hand, sweetheart.’

Oh, no. Not again.

I kept my hands firmly in my lap. ‘I can put my own ring on, thank you.’

His eyes gleamed and suddenly I knew I’d said the wrong thing. ‘Of course you can. But I want to do it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so.’

My heart began to beat a little faster. ‘I thought I got to call the shots.’ I had no idea why I was arguing since it would only make things worse. I just...didn’t want him to touch me again.

‘And you do,’ he said easily. ‘While we’re on the date. But we’re not on the date yet.’

‘Yes, we are.’

‘We’re not in public. And we’re not at the restaurant. Therefore we’re not on a date.’ His mouth curved into the same lazy, dangerous smile he’d given me at the nightclub. ‘Your hand, sweetheart.’

Protesting more would only make this into a big deal and it was already a bigger deal than I’d intended it to be.

I was being stupid. He was simply going to put the ring on, nothing more. So there was no reason for my heartbeat to speed up, or my lungs to feel like they couldn’t get enough air. No reason for a prickle of excitement to race down my spine.

A streetlight shining through the window of the car highlighted the exquisite bone structure of his face, picking up the brilliant gold threads in his dark tawny hair. The same gold that gleamed deep in his eyes as he stared at me.

A challenge.

‘Can’t handle it?’ His velvety voice slid over me. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bite.’ He paused and his smile widened. ‘Much.’

Now he’s playing with you again. And you’re letting him. Idiot.

Annoyed with myself, I shoved my hand at him, inwardly bracing myself for his touch. And, sure enough, I felt it as his fingers closed around mine, a shock of heat, a burst of wild electricity that made me nearly shiver.

I remembered that electricity. I’d felt it with Simon. Only with Leon it was ten thousand times more intense. Which made it ten thousand times more dangerous.

With an effort I managed to repress the shiver and simply stared back as he studied me, clearly looking for a reaction.

I didn’t give it to him.

His smile deepened, as if he knew what I was feeling anyway. As if he could tell how hot the tips of his fingers felt against my skin and how badly I wanted to pull away. And how much his touch frightened me.

And not because you don’t like it.

Testosterone. Dopamine. Serotonin.

Maybe if you keep telling yourself that you’ll believe it.

I ignored the voice in my head, keeping my gaze on his as he slid the diamond onto my ring finger, his fingertips brushing my skin all the way. It felt like I’d been stroked with a flame and it was all I could do not to jerk away.

But I didn’t.

He continued to hold my hand, turning it this way and that, admiring the sparkle of the diamond. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘It’s too big.’ My voice sounded thick. ‘And it’s too expensive.’

‘Yes. That’s what I wanted. Big, flashy and expensive.’ A gleam of gold as he looked at me. ‘Like me.’

‘I’m not keeping it,’ I said flatly. ‘I can’t.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care what you do with it. It’s yours now.’ He released my hand, turning his attention to the driver. ‘Let’s go.’

I felt relieved that he wasn’t touching me any more, but the heat of it lingered on my skin like a burn.

And that disturbed me more than anything else the entire evening.