had burned with anger against his father, unable to understand how a man who had always prided himself on his moral stance, a man who was so proud of his family’s reputation, quick to condemn others for their moral lapses, should behave in such a way.
In the end Jay had quarrelled so badly with his father that he had had no option other than to leave home.
Both his mother and Rao had begged him not to go, but Jay had his own pride and so he had left, announcing that he no longer wished to be known as the second son of the Maharaja, and that from now on he would make his own way in the world. A foolish claim, perhaps, for a boy of only just eighteen
His father had laughed at him, and so had she—the slut who had ultimately been responsible for the death of his mother. Officially the cause of her death had been pneumonia, but Jay knew better. His gentle, beautiful mother had died of the wounds inflicted on her heart and her pride by a tramp who hadn’t been fit to breathe the same air. He loathed the kind of woman his father’s lover had been—greedy, sexually available to any man who had the price of her in his pocket.
He had been reluctant to return to Ralapur at first, when Rao had succeeded their father, but Rao had persisted, and out of love for his brother Jay had finally given in. Even now he wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing.
The boy who had walked away from a life that held the status of being his father’s second son into an uncertain future where he would have nothing but his own abilities had returned to the place of his birth a very wealthy man, who commanded respect not only in his own country but throughout Europe and North America as well. A billionaire property developer with such a sure eye for a successful venture that he was besieged by people wanting to go into business with him.
Now he was old enough to understand the sexual heat that had driven his father to forsake the high-born wife he had wed as a matter of state protocol and tradition for the courtesan who had courted and mastered his physical desire. Jay could to some extent exonerate his father, but he could never and would never forgive the harlot who had shamed their mother and stained the honour of their family name.
Keira watched his expression change and saw cold hauteur replacing the earlier heavy-lidded sexual interest that had darkened his eyes. What was he thinking? What was responsible for that look of arrogance and pride? Did he know how daunting it was? Did he care?
‘You’re here alone?’ Jay cursed himself under his breath for having stepped into a trap he had known was there. But secretly he had wanted to—just as secretly he wanted her, this woman with her high cheekbones and her soft full lips, her golden eyes and her pale, almost translucent skin.
Why on earth should he want her? Women like her were ten a penny. She wasn’t wearing any rings, which might not mean anything other than the fact that no one had ever given her a ring expensive enough for her to want to wear it. His last mistress had only accepted the end of their affair after a swift visit to Graff, the famous diamond house in London, where she had quickly pointed out to him the pink diamond she had obviously already picked out ahead of their visit there.
If he hadn’t already been tired of her the fact that she had chosen such a gaudy stone would have killed his desire for her. Like all his lovers, she had been married. Married women were far easier and less expensive to leave when the affair was over, since they had husbands to answer to.
Jay had no desire to marry, though his status as the second son of the late Maharaja meant that it would be expected that he would make a dynastic marriage to someone deemed high-born enough to become his wife, their marriage negotiated by courtiers and lawyers. Jay had a deep-rooted aversion to allowing other people to arrange his life for him, aside from the fact that he had absolutely no interest in bedding a naïve, carefully protected ‘suitable’ girl, whose virginity would be traded as part of the deal in the negotiations for their marriage.
Such a marriage would be for life. The truth was that he was vehemently opposed to making a long-term commitment of any kind to any woman. No way was he going to be forced to part with any of the vast fortune he had built up through his own blood, sweat and tears to some conniving gold-digger who thought he would be stupid enough to commit to her in the heat of lust, and would expect a handsome ‘separation’ settlement from him once that lust had cooled and he wanted to get rid of her.
Keira hesitated, well aware of her own vulnerability. But it wasn’t in her nature to lie, and even if it had been she suspected that Great-Aunt Ethel, the cold and embittered relative who had brought her up after her mother had died, would have beaten it out of her.
‘Yes.’ Somehow she managed to stop herself from saying those telltale words, And you? But she knew that they were there, spoken or not, and it made her realise how far she had already travelled along a road that she knew to be forbidden to her. If the great-aunt who had brought her up—reluctantly—after her mother’s death were here now, she would make it very plain what she thought of her behaviour in talking to a strange man, giving him heaven alone knew what impression of herself, risking bringing shame and disgrace on her family, just like…
Keira’s heart was thumping with all the driven intensity of the thud of war drums, menacing as they came ever closer, pouring the sound of threat and fear into the pounding hearts of their enemy. She wasn’t going to be trapped by her own panic, though.
Perhaps she had looked at him for a split second too long, but that did not mean anything—not in this day and age, when a woman could look as boldly at a man as she chose. A man, maybe. But never this man. This man would see such a look as a challenge, an infringement upon his male right to be the hunter, and he would react powerfully to it, taking…Taking what? Taking her?
The unwanted direction of her own thoughts was so shocking that she immediately recoiled, fighting to push them away as she struggled to force herself to look at him without giving herself away.
Heavens, but he was good-looking—more than good-looking. He wore his blatantly male sexuality with the same careless ease with which he wore his hand-stitched suit. But she, of course, was immune to the message being subliminally relayed to her by the suit and his sexuality. Wasn’t she?
Keira shivered. It was never a good idea to challenge fate. She knew that. This was a man who positively oozed a raw sexuality that had the air around him thrumming with male hubris and testosterone—a man who, without her being able to do a single thing about it, had got under her carefully constructed guard and forced her body to acknowledge his effect on it.
He wanted her, Jay admitted reluctantly. He wanted her very badly.
Her full-length cream skirt, worn with a round-necked sleeved top, and the fine long cream silk scarf she was wearing certainly stood out amongst the jewel colours most of the other female guests were wearing, giving her an angelic air despite the darkness of her hair. She looked ethereal, and fragile, but there had been nothing ethereal about the look he had caught her giving him a few seconds ago: the look of a woman whose sensuality was aroused and clamouring for satisfaction.
The courtyard was almost empty now, the other guests having made their way to their rooms to change for the evening reception, and they were alone together. A small frisson of something that wasn’t entirely a warning shivered over her skin.
This was getting ridiculous—and dangerous. She should have stepped out of his path the second he had asked her to do so, instead of…Instead of what? Standing here, watching him, greedily absorbing every detail of his vibrant maleness as though she was savouring some forbidden treat? What was she going to do with those stolen images? Take them to her bed and replay them inside her head whilst she…?
She had to get away from him, and
