Captive but Forbidden

“Who are you?” she blurted, her heart beginning to hammer in her throat as she faced him.

The man was tall and clad in a tuxedo that appeared to be custom-fitted. The fabric looked expensive, with a hint of shine that came from how tightly the cloth was woven. His dark hair curled over his collar, his golden skin so exotic and beautiful.

She’d seen this man by the bar, talking to her old friend Brady Thompson. She relaxed infinitesimally. If he knew Brady …

“I am Rajesh Vala.”

The name meant nothing to her.

His hands were shoved casually into the pockets of his trousers. The door swung shut behind him, and then it was just the two of them in the small anterior suite of the powder room. Mirrors lined three walls, giving her the impression there was more than one man in the room with her.

She swallowed, the pulse in her neck tapping a rhythm he surely could see.

He said nothing, as if he were waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t. She could only stare. He was Bollywood-handsome, with his tanned skin and honey-gold eyes, and she found herself thinking of tigers. Sleek, gorgeous, deadly.

Her heart kicked up again and she found her voice. “What have you done with my bodyguard?”

His scorn was not promising. “Your security is sadly lacking, Madam President. The most inept criminal could get to you with little trouble. And that’s a problem.”

“My security is fine—”

He took another step closer, his hands sliding free of his pockets like an animal unsheathing its claws. Instinctively, she backed away, her bottom hitting the ledge she’d rested her purse on only a few moments ago.

He held up his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then step aside and let me leave.”

His sensual lips parted in a mocking smile. Her heart stuttered, then tripped forward again. Too handsome and flashy. Too, too dangerous.

She had no use for men like this. No use for any man, she silently corrected, not for a long time now. Not since she’d realized there were consequences to be paid.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet, Madam President.”

“I beg your pardon?” Veronica said, as coldly as she was able to. She’d learned, over the years, to brazen her way through when necessary. Sometimes all it took was the perception of authority to actually imbue authority. “That is not your decision to make.”

Again the concentrated power of the leashed tiger reflected in his eyes. “Ah, but it is.”

A chill rippled down her spine like the beginnings of an avalanche. Understanding unfolded within. She’d seen this man with Brady, but she had no idea who he really was.

What he was capable of.

Why he was here, now.

Her pulse throbbed even faster. “What have you done to my bodyguard? If you’ve hurt him …”

His head tilted. “He is special to you?”

Veronica clasped her tiny purse in both hands, holding it in front of her body like a shield. A very inadequate shield. A sudden, overwhelming urge to walk over and wipe the superior look off this man’s face rolled through her. She would not act upon it, however.

“He is my countryman, and he’s in my employ. Yes, I care about him.”

“I see. Admirable of you, Madam President. But tell me, why are you not so careful with your own person?”

Veronica gave her head a little shake. She almost felt as if she’d been drinking, when in fact she’d had nothing stronger than sparkling water, so completely did this man befuddle her senses. “I beg your pardon?”

“Once more with the begging? I’m surprised. I understood that you were far more fierce than this.”

A current of anger spiked in her belly. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Vala. You seem to know so much about me, and I know nothing of you. Other than I saw you talking with Brady Thompson in the bar.”

“So you were paying attention.”

Veronica ground her teeth in frustration. “I would appreciate it very much if you could stop talking to me like I’m a two-year-old and tell me what you want.”

Rajesh Vala laughed. The sound startled her. It was rich, deep. Sexy. It curled around her, slid through her. Disconcerted her.

“Very good, Veronica. No wonder they elected you. You project competence, regardless of whether or not it’s true.”

She refused to rise to the bait, though a worm of hurt burrowed through her composure. But what did she expect? She’d spent years being the kind of person no one would ever take seriously.

“If you truly know Brady, then you’ll know you aren’t impressing me at the moment. What is the purpose of the exercise, Mr. Vala?”

His golden eyes sparkled. Those sensual lips twitched. She found herself focusing on them, thinking how they would feel pressed against her own.

The thought shocked her. She hadn’t felt the slightest hint of interest or attraction for any man in over a year. She simply wasn’t ready for it.

To say this was an inconvenient time for those feelings to return was an understatement.

“No purpose, other than to see how good your security is. It isn’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. It was such a casual pose.

But it was deceptive. She had the impression that he wasn’t relaxed at all. That he could spring into action at any second. Could strike without warning.

Like a scorpion in the night.

“The guard?” she demanded again.

“He’s fine. He might even be achieving his own personal Shangri-la right about now. Depending on his staying power, of course.”

She felt her face redden and she glanced away. Since when did she blush over innuendo? She was Veronica St. Germaine, notorious trendsetter. She’d once attended a party in Saint-Tropez wearing a dress that had been airbrushed onto her body. She’d literally been naked, other than the paint.

And this man made her blush?

“He was quite easily distracted, by the way. The charms of lovely Tammy, an Irish lass from Cork, were too much to resist, it seems.”

“You’re despicable.”

“No. I’m thorough. And quite adept at staying.”

Her ears were on fire. She was no longer certain what they were talking about. Security? Sex? Her mind was opting for sex and her body was reacting to the suggestion.