Annie West - Undone by His Touch

Self-hatred for not saving his brother.

Hatred too for the woman with red-gold hair and come-hither green eyes in the photo his brother had shown him so proudly. A photo so candid it was obvious he’d taken the shot in bed. The woman had lain sprawled in abandon, as if sated from love-making. Golden light had bathed her, giving her the aura of a languid sex goddess inviting adoration.

And Declan had felt a shot of pure, unadulterated lust blast through him at the sight of her.

Remembering made him sick to the stomach, as if he’d betrayed his brother with his response to the woman Adrian had loved. The woman who’d driven Adrian to fatal despair.

Between them they were responsible for Adrian’s death.

HE NO longer touched her, yet Chloe burned as if still pressed against him.

Shivers trembled down her spine. She had to lock her knees to stand firm. But nothing, not all her willpower, could prevent her dragging in the scent of citrus and man, spice and warm musk, that tickled her nostrils. Her gaze strayed to his half-naked form.

She’d never seen anyone like Declan Carstairs—his powerful, beautiful body and his larger-than-life aura. Unshaven, hard-jawed and scarred he looked more then ever like a pirate. The sort who thrived on danger and the pleasures of the flesh.

Chloe tried to recall Mark’s generous smile, the twinkle of encouragement in his hazel eyes and, to her horror, conjured only the weakest of images. Could she have forgotten in just six years? Or was Declan Carstairs clouding her thoughts? The idea appalled her.

Eyes wide, she retreated a step and put down her bucket of supplies, crossing her arms defensively.

‘Mr Carstairs? If there’s nothing else I really should be getting on.’

A flicker of movement stirred his features as if he’d only just recalled her presence. Why did he look so grim?

‘Actually there is something, Ms Daniels.’

He flexed his hands, drawing her gaze to the sinewy strength in his forearms.

What would it be like to be held by him? Not supported impersonally after bumping into each other, but embraced?

It felt like betrayal of her past even to wonder. Yet she couldn’t prevent the niggle of curiosity.

‘You were working here when my brother came to stay, weren’t you? While I was in China?’

Instantly alert, Chloe darted a look at his face.

‘Yes. I’d been here some time when he arrived.’ Anxiety jiggled inside. Just the mention of Adrian Carstairs gave her the jitters.

How could one brother fascinate and reawaken long-dormant female awareness when the other had left her cold?

‘Tell me, did he bring anyone to stay with him?’

She shook her head, remembering too late that Declan needed to hear her response. ‘No, he came alone.’

‘But there must have been visitors.’ Dark eyes fixed at a point near her mouth, as if focused on her words. She sensed an intensity in her employer she hadn’t encountered before, even when he’d quizzed her about confidentiality.

‘There were no overnight guests.’

‘But for a meal perhaps?’

‘No, not that I recall. Your brother ate alone.’

Except for the days he’d turned up in the big kitchen and insisted on sharing a meal with her.

At first Chloe had welcomed him. Then, when he had grown more intense—his gaze fixing on her hungrily, his moods unstable—she’d taken to eating early in her room or finding an excuse to be away at meal time.

But she couldn’t say that to his brother. There was nothing to be gained by sharing the fact Adrian Carstairs had made her life hell those last weeks. Declan had enough to deal with without her dumping that on him.

‘I see.’ Yet still he frowned, his brows bunched. ‘But it’s possible he had a visitor you didn’t know about?’

‘It’s possible,’ she said slowly. ‘Though not likely.’

Increasingly Adrian had spent his time within sight of her until she’d had to resort to subterfuge to escape him. She’d have been grateful then for visitors to distract him from his fixation on her.

‘He didn’t mention anyone?’ The urgency of her boss’s tone surprised her.

‘I … Not that I recall.’

‘I see.’ Declan’s head sank slowly, as if weighted. The vibrant energy that was so much part of him dimmed and she sensed despair.

Impulsively she lifted her hand to him, then let it drop. She could imagine his sharp rejection of unwanted sympathy.

‘I’m sorry I can’t help.’

His lips curved in a twist that might have passed for a smile if it weren’t for the grim lines creasing his cheek and pulling his scar tight.

‘No matter.’ He lifted a hand to thrust back a lock of dark hair from his brow. ‘But if you recall seeing a woman with gold hair—a friend of Adrian’s—you’ll let me know? I’m trying to contact her. It’s … important.’

‘Of course.’

Chloe frowned. Adrian had never mentioned a girlfriend. He’d seemed a loner.

‘Good.’ For a moment longer Declan stood, as if wanting to prolong conversation. Then he turned and paced stiffly away, arm out in front of him till he reached the hall door and disappeared towards his room.

‘I have a favour to ask.’

Chloe spun round to find her employer leaning against the doorjamb as if he’d been there for ages, watching her.

Her pulse accelerated. Though he clearly hadn’t been watching, she was unsettled by the notion he’d been there, listening to her potter in the kitchen, humming under her breath.

Yet even as the thought surfaced, she realised it wasn’t anxiety she felt. Not like when his brother had stalked her, silently watching with an intensity that had given her the creeps.

No, this was different—a spiralling drop of excitement that drew her skin tight and clenched her stomach muscles in awareness. It had everything to do with her inability to blot Declan Carstairs from her brain.

His charismatic presence had banished the last shadows of anxiety she’d felt about returning to Carinya.

At least now her dreams weren’t all nightmares, she admitted with a grimace. The last few nights she’d woken hot and shaken by vivid fantasies featuring Declan in glorious, nude detail. An insidious little tremor shot through her at the memory.

‘Yes, Mr Carstairs?’ She injected her tone with a brisk efficiency she was far from feeling.

He straightened and stepped into the room, turning to the sound of her voice.

‘I have a meeting in Sydney and I want to be rid of this beard.’ He lifted one hand ruminatively to his chin and Chloe heard the scratch of bristles.

For one insane moment she was tempted to lift her hand so they rasped against her palm. She could almost feel the rough pleasure of that tickle on her skin.

The realisation hit her like a hammer blow, robbing her of speech.

How had she grown so desperate for this man? Just imagining the scrape of his unshaven skin made her insides liquefy. How could that be? They weren’t friends or anything like lovers. She barely knew him! With Mark, desire had grown with liking, with love. By comparison this was a smash-and-grab raid on her senses.

‘David’s gone on ahead so I wondered if you’d oblige. I can just about get by with an electric razor but it’s pretty haphazard.’

‘Of course, Mr Carstairs. I’m happy to help. But I should warn you, I’ve never shaved anyone.’

‘Then I’ll be your first.’ His mouth widened in a slow smile that snagged her heart mid-beat. ‘A first for us both.’

Not once in these last weeks had he smiled at her properly. Chloe wished fervently he hadn’t decided to begin. She sagged against the worktop, her hand to the pulse trembling in her throat. Just as well he couldn’t see her.

Even blind and scarred the man was devastating. What would he be like if he set his mind to seducing a woman?

She should be grateful for his usually brusque manner. It was a buffer to what she guessed could be formidable charm. His rare smile set her heart hammering.

‘Shall we say my bathroom in five?’

Though she’d lived with Mark for almost a year, Chloe hadn’t realised how intimate shaving a man could be.

Standing between Declan’s splayed knees as he sat on the bathroom stool, jammed between the basin on her right and the wall at her back, she felt hemmed in. Not by the room, but by his proximity.

Her breathing shallowed as she slid the razor over his foamy cheek, too aware of the soft puff of his breath against her shirt and the heat of his legs around hers.

Her hand trembled and slowed.

‘Like this.’ His hand closed on hers, guiding her. She tried to concentrate on the shape of his jaw, the need to be careful. Yet her mind kept straying to the way his long fingers encircled hers.

‘Got it?’ His hand dropped and she sucked in a breath.

‘I think so.’ She cleaned the blade then made herself lean in, stoically ignoring his citrus scent and concentrating on the next stroke of the blade.

He sat statue-still and she told herself this would get easier. Except she made the mistake of looking into his eyes between strokes, intrigued to find they weren’t blank as expected. Even unseeing they fascinated her. Deepest brown, so dark they hinted at blackness, yet rayed at the centre with a rim of golden shards.

‘Chloe?’ The question in his voice focused her wandering thoughts.

‘Yes, Mr Carstairs?’ This time she dared to tilt his chin for better access, telling herself the faster she got this done the sooner he’d leave and she’d be alone, safe from these unsettling feelings.

‘Just checking,’ he murmured. ‘Given the circumstances, you can drop the “Mr Carstairs”. It sounds too formal when you’re holding a razor to my throat.’

Chloe rinsed off the razor and tilted his head further to the side, trying to ignore the fact his face was bare inches from her breasts. And that her nipples puckered flagrantly against the lace of her bra.

‘You are my employer,’ she protested, clinging to formality to counter the rising tide of utterly inappropriate feelings. She looked down, registering the way his jeans clung to solid, muscled thighs and felt a jab of longing deep in her belly.

‘So, if I don’t mind you calling me Declan, there’s no reason to refuse.’

Silently she shook her head and ventured another stroke down the hard line of his cheek. The scrape of the blade against his skin was curiously sensuous. There was something intriguing about revealing the strong contours of his face with each careful stroke.

‘Do it, Chloe.’ The words feathered the bare flesh above the top button of her shirt and a line of tingling fire ran from her tight breasts to her groin.

‘Sorry?’

‘Say my name.’

‘I really don’t think …’ It was stupid to refuse, but at some instinctive level she knew she’d be crossing into dangerous territory from which there’d be no retreat.

‘Are you contradicting me?’ His deep voice slid like silk across her skin.

‘Are you ordering me?’

She watched his mouth lift at one corner.

‘How did you get this job when you’re so unwilling to comply with reasonable requests?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that calling him Declan wasn’t reasonable. That it might reveal the pent-up longing she’d been trying so hard to repress, the very unprofessional thoughts she’d been able to hide only because he couldn’t see.

‘If that’s what you want,’ she said grudgingly.

‘I want.’

His eyes lowered. Did he realise he appeared to be looking straight at her breasts? Was that why a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth? She made to step back, only to find his thighs imprisoned her. A pulse of sensation throbbed low in her body.