So he guessed how she had seen his thoughts. Clever. Very well, then. He still couldn’t know how
much
she had seen.
“And this is Christian,” Leander said, with a sharp nod toward the younger man seated next to him. Their similar features spoke to their relation, but Leander did not add more.
“I must tell you,” Christian drawled, gazing at her intently from beneath his lashes. A rakish smile played over his lips. “What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He broke into a huge grin. “The mysterious little stray gone so long from the nest is finally coming home—shouldn’t we have a party or something?”
“Christian,” Leander warned, his lips pressed to a thin line, his gaze turned to flint.
Morgan clapped her hands together in delight and sat up in her chair. “Yes! A party! When we all get back to Sommerley I’m going to organize a ball in honor of Jenna’s return and we’ll have dancing and music and—”
“Stop this, both of you,” Leander hissed through clenched teeth. His face had gone dark with a cold fury that silenced them both.
Jenna shifted in her chair, aware on a visceral level of the power play Christian had just orchestrated, of Morgan’s innocent accomplice to it, of Leander’s outrage with both of them.
“Are you related to my father?” she said to him abruptly, pressing her advantage.
“Yes,” Leander said, answering roughly, out of anger, before he could think. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closed his eyes. “No, I mean. Not like
you
mean it anyway. It’s not as simple as that, it’s very—”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
He looked up at her and his eyebrows drew together, casting a shadow over his eyes. “Again, it’s not as simple as—”
“Do you know where he is? Is he
alive
?” she said, her voice rising.
“Jenna, for God’s sake, this is not the place to be discussing—”
Jenna shot up from the chair, her face blazing in the sudden burst of anger that surged through her. The chair fell over and crashed against the marble floor with a sharp clatter that turned heads around them. She ignored every-thing else and focused her vision like a laser beam onto Leander’s unsmiling face.
“Why have you been following me? What do you want from me? Where is my father?” she demanded.
He knew. He knew everything. He knew and he remained silent as a statue, staring at her with that infuriating look of cold condemnation, as if all he cared about was the scene she was making, as if all that mattered was maintaining decorum.
The truth,
you bastard
, she thought, bile rising in her throat,
that’s
what matters
.
Her hands began to tremble, as did her lower lip, her knees, and every nerve within her body. Something inside her snapped.
“
Who the hell are you people
?” she shouted at the top of her lungs.
Everyone and everything in the bar fell into abrupt, complete silence save for Leander’s heart. This she heard as clear as a bell, thumping hard within his chest, strong and loud and filled with blood.
He stood up from his chair with an unhurried luxury of motion, every muscle flexed taut as he rose to face her. He regarded her with a gaze so icy it would have frozen molten lava.
“I am willing to answer all of your questions, Jenna, as you requested,” he said quietly, the anger obvious beneath the soft tone. “But perhaps it’s time we went somewhere less public to continue our discussion, as it seems to be getting rather...heated. I suggest my suite.”
Jenna bristled at this, still shaking. “You expect me to go with you, alone, to your suite, where you could do God knows what? If you think I am that gullible, you are
sadly
mistaken.”
His gaze thawed a few degrees and he allowed himself a cheerless smile. He lifted his hand and held it out toward her: an invitation. “If you don’t believe me...” He turned his palm up. “Satisfy yourself.”
Jenna stared at his outstretched hand and then back at his face, handsome and severe. She wouldn’t touch him again, she
couldn’t
. She wasn’t ready for the onslaught, for the terrifying glut of sensation that came with the pressure of his skin on hers. She would never be ready. It occurred to her she might never be able to touch anyone again, and she was so upside down she didn’t know if that bothered her or not.
So...she would just have to trust him.
“Fine. Your suite then,” Jenna said, curling her hands into fists again to control their shaking. “But we’re leaving the door
open
.”
Leander inclined his head without breaking her gaze. His voice low, he said, “Follow me.”
The
if you dare
was left unsaid, but she heard it clear as day anyway.
She didn’t go first. She followed the three of them as they moved silently through the lobby with its gargantuan flower displays and glistening mirrors, past the serene glassed atrium filled with tropical plants and a dark pond with restless orange koi, through the glass doors that opened outward with a burst of hot, rose-scented air. Those doors led to the back gardens and the private staircase that wound up to the presidential suite on the top floor.
She had refused to get into the elevator with the three of them.
She couldn’t take her eyes off them as they moved, seeing the animal in each one. The way their feet stepped without noise over marble and concrete and grass, the way their limbs moved, supple and elegant, powerful and lissome, every turn and bend revealing their true nature, every motion a symphony of natural, dangerous, perfect grace.
Jenna couldn’t help but picture them moving through a darkened forest, on the prowl.
Hunting.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Leander opened the door to his suite and gestured for her to come inside.
“Here we are,” he said, his voice neutral, his body relaxed as he leaned a strong shoulder against the door to hold it open.
But those eyes, so piercing green and fierce. They sent a shiver down her spine.
“Morgan, Christian, I’ll speak to you later.” He made a small motion with his chin to indicate they should continue on down the corridor.
“Of course, Leander,” Morgan said, sounding happy to oblige. “We’ll see you later. And Jenna,” she turned her head and spoke as she moved gracefully away, her long black hair rippling down her back like waves of dark water over a bed of smooth stones. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I do hope we’ll get to see each other again very soon.”
“No—wait, where are you going! You need to
stay—
”
But she only smiled and turned away, leading Christian by the arm, her cutout dress revealing a tanned expanse of back and a hint of the top swell of firm derrière.
Christian looked back at Jenna over his shoulder, but his face was layered in shadow under light thrown from the sconces on the wall. She could not read his expression. They both kept walking and went out of sight around the corner.
Without speaking, Leander raised his hand in invitation to enter the suite.
Jenna huffed, ignored his heated gaze, and moved past him, carefully avoiding any physical contact. She walked through the marble foyer into the sumptuous main room, admiring the exquisite furnishings, the broad expanse of marbled veranda visible through sheer curtains, the king-size bed.
Her gaze flew away from the bed before it could linger there.
Damn. She wasn’t in control. She
needed
to be in control.
She was flushed and trembling. She somehow felt both exhausted and exhilarated, strung out and calm. Every fiber in her body was attuned to the room around her, to the warm air and the slanting light, and the beautiful, obviously
dangerous man standing at the door, watching her, silent and so still she might have thought he’d disappeared.
Except for the beating of his heart. She still heard it and struggled to smother the staccato, pulsing beat from her mind.
“It will get easier in time,” Leander said softly from behind her, his voice surprisingly tender. “You just need to practice.”
Startled, Jenna turned so quickly she nearly lost her footing. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the back of a silk-covered chair, its polished wooden arms strangely cracked and splintered.
Control
, she admonished herself.
“What will?”
“The sensations. You could quite easily overdose on the glut of information your senses will be able to pick up, but it can be managed. After a while,” he said, moving away from the door to let it swing shut with a soft click behind him, “you’ll be able to control it. You’ll hardly notice it at all, unless you want to.”
He took a few steps toward her with great deliberation, his eyes focused on her face.
“No,” Jenna said, taking one step back, forgetting for a moment that he had known she could hear his heart. “The door stays open. That was our agreement.”
“No, that was your demand. However,” he said, still advancing with that suggestion of coiled power in every movement, a look of slowly simmering sensuality darkening his features. “I think it would be wiser to keep the door shut for the moment. Especially with what I’d like to show you.”
Jenna’s heart began to pound with such ferocity she thought she might faint.
Instead she jerked away until her behind hit the desk against the wall. She kept backing up as he continued to advance, stepping around the desk, moving farther into the room, until finally her shoulders came to rest against the smooth silk paneling of the far wall.
“Stop!” Her voice cracked in panic. He smiled, awfully, and kept on. Her gaze flew around the room for something to leap at, to stab him with—was that a knife on the desk—no, a letter opener—
But then he was standing right in front of her, a razor-thin slice of electrified air vibrating between their bodies.
Jenna froze. She felt burned by the heat and muscled tension of him, the aching strain of awareness between their bodies. She struggled to control her breathing, to control the butterflies in her stomach, to stand without fear and look up into his eyes.
What she saw there made the butterflies dance.
“I believe you wanted answers,” he murmured, raising his forearms to rest against the wall on either side of her head. She turned her face away and tried to flatten herself even farther against the wall to escape what was between them, that glowing dark burn.
“I don’t see how this—” she broke off as he lowered his head and trailed the tip of his nose slowly down from a spot just under her earlobe to where the pulse beat at the base of her throat.
He inhaled deeply and made a low, masculine sound in his throat.
“—is any kind of answer.” She said it on an exhalation of breath, fighting back the ripple of pleasure the touch of his skin had sent flooding through her body.
He chuckled, low and amused, and spoke without lifting his head, his breath warm on her skin. “It’s not,” he agreed. “I’m just indulging myself.”
“Well, you can stop it, please.
Now
,” she added severely, trying very hard to sound convincing.
He tipped his head back, looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, and smiled. A line of light from the veranda windows caught the shadows in his hair, turning it shades of mink and chocolate brown under the thick, shining layers of ebony.
“Do you really want me to?” he murmured, that lazy smile deepening. His eyes glowed green, and the line of slanted light cast rippled shadows across the arch of his cheekbone, showing the detail of his skin: perfect, poreless, and burnished gold.
“Beautiful girl,” he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. “Tell me the truth.”
Jenna preferred the truth; she’d spent her entire life trying to discern it. But now, for the second time today, she very much appreciated the value of a good lie.
“Yes, I do,” she said coldly, with as much blunt force as she could muster.
“I see,” he said, unaffected, his smile growing even deeper, a hint of whimsy there. “So you would not like it if I, for instance, did this.”
He lowered his face and brushed his lips against hers with a bare, languid lightness, back and forth, touching but not touching, sliding and slow.
Jenna gasped and tried to turn her head away, but he caught her by the jaw, his strong hand firm against her face, and turned it back.
Her mind was instantly filled with images not her own, her skin burned with the stinging hot pulse of him, his desire, his memory, his
essence
. “Stop!” she cried.
“You can learn to control it, Jenna,” he said roughly, moving his lips against hers. He pressed his body hard against her so she felt the heat of him scorch straight through her clothing, burning her chest and abdomen and thighs. Her body arched against the wall, flexed hard against him, aching and wanting and full of need. Her hands made fists and she wasn’t sure if she meant to hit him or if it was to keep from pulling him harder against her.
“Try to control it,” he said, fierce and adamant.
He flicked the tip of his tongue out to stroke over her lower lip and she was flooded straight through with crystal clear pictures of herself in passionate surrender, pictures snatched straight from his mind.
Feel me, Jenna.
Lie back, let me taste you.
Tell me what you want. Do you like this? And this?
Say my name,
whispered hot into her ear as he thrust deep inside her and she shuddered and climaxed beneath him.
Say it and belong to me.
“Leander,” she whispered, just as her knees gave out.
He caught her up in his arms as she fell, as easily as if she weighed next to nothing, and swung her around. He carried her over to the bed and gently laid her on it, then settled himself on the down coverlet next to her in one fluid motion, warm and masculine and solid against her side. One finger brushed a lock of stray hair from her eyes, leaving a trail of images burning vividly over her skin, and though it was crazy and wrong and impossible, his body beside hers felt so
right
.
“Just focus on your breathing,” he said, his voice stroking and soft. “I swear you’re safe with me, Jenna—I won’t cause you any harm. Nothing will ever cause you harm again.”