Heat intensified as her gaze landed on his flat brown nipples. A decadent shudder coursed through her. She grasped the sturdy, intricately carved bedpost made of highly polished Chinese cedarwood, pulled herself closer to the edge of the bed and peered closer at the intricate knots that bound her.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he rasped.
‘I can’t stay trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey all night long.’
‘Answer my questions and I’ll consider freeing you.’
‘You’ll consider it?’
‘Have you forgotten already that I hold all the cards here?’ He sauntered back and stopped in front of her.
Suddenly, Ruby wished she’d stayed put in the middle of the bed. This close the heat emanating from his satin-like skin blanketed her. The urge to move her fingers just that little bit and touch the skin covering his ribcage was immense.
‘Go ahead,’ he invited softly. Silkily.
Flames leapt through her bloodstream. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You want to touch me. Go ahead. We can pick up this conversation in a moment once you’ve satisfied your craving.’
‘I... You’re wrong. I don’t want to touch you. There’s no craving. What I want is to be set free—’
Her words froze when he placed large hands on her hips and pulled her into his body.
‘Well, despite you ruining my evening, I still have a craving for you.’
He smothered her protests by capturing her mouth again. It was as potent as before but this time there was a rough demand in his kiss that spoke of his fury beneath all that outward calm.
But rough didn’t mean less pleasurable. Her lips parted, welcoming the jagged thrust of his tongue and the domineering pressure of his kiss.
She moaned before she could stop herself, flexing fingers that wouldn’t obey their order to stay put, and touching the velvety smoothness of his neck and collarbone.
By the time he lifted his head, they were both panting. He slowly licked his lips, savouring her taste. The sight of his wet tongue sent liquid fire straight to that raging hunger between her thighs.
Ruby shut her eyes in shuddering despair and opened them to find him sliding off her shoes.
‘God, will you please stop doing things like that?’ she snapped.
‘I’m into kinky when the occasion calls for it, but I don’t generally risk puncturing a lung with stiletto heels unless the payback is worth it.’ He flung her shoes away. ‘Do you need help with your dress?’
‘No! Why on earth would I want that?’ She edged away from him, the fear that her emotions wouldn’t be as easy to control around this man spiking through her.
‘It’s nearly two a.m. And we’re yet to have our little tête-à-tête. But if you want to keep cutting off your circulation in that restricting dress, suit yourself. Tell me why you’re here,’ he bit out, as if he wanted to be done with the conversation.
‘Release me first,’ she insisted.
‘I released you three minutes ago.’
Shocked, Ruby glanced down at her wrists. Sure enough, the velvet rope was loose enough to free herself. She’d been too spellbound by his kiss to notice.
She met his hard, mocking gaze. Rubbing her right wrist, she encountered his watch. She pulled it off and held it out to him.
He didn’t take it. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’
‘My name is Ruby Trevelli.’
He continued to stare at her. ‘Should that mean anything to me?’
Despite knowing how self-absorbed he was, that flippant question hurt. She flung his watch on the bed. He calmly retrieved it, took hold of her wrist, slipped it back on, and returned to his predator-like position.
‘What—?’
‘Answer me. Should your name mean anything to me?’
‘Yes. I was recently voted Élite Chef.’
His lips twisted. ‘My apologies. I don’t keep up with pop culture,’ he said.
‘Well, you should. Your TV company sponsored the show.’
He frowned. ‘I have over sixty media companies scattered all over the world. It would be impossible to keep up with every progamme that’s aired through my networks. So you’re here to collect some sort of prize—is that it?’ The disappointment she’d heard earlier was back, accompanied this time by a flash of weariness that disappeared as quickly as it’d arrived.
‘You make it sound like a whimsical endeavour. I assure you, it’s not.’
‘Enlighten me, then, Miss Contest Winner. Why have you flown thousands of miles to accost me?’
Put like that it did sound whimsical. Except this was her life and livelihood they were talking about, the independent life she’d worked hard for so she wouldn’t be pulled into her parents’ damaging orbit. The life that was being threatened by a loan shark.