A Touch of Temptation. Tara Pammi
“Not if you make it your life’s mission to destroy it,” she said. Her voice rang with accusation, anger, and beneath it all, a curious hurt. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Anyone who crosses you, who disappoints you, you ensure their ruin. Now it’s my turn.”
She straightened, her hands folded at her middle. The action pushed her small breasts into prominence. He trained his gaze on her face as though his life depended on it. Maybe not his life, but his very sanity relied on his self-control.
He didn’t plan to lose it again.
“Six years ago you were obsessed with revenge, driven by only one goal—to ruin your father. You didn’t care who you hurt in the process. You took his small construction company and expanded it into an empire—encompassing energy generation, mining. If I were to believe the media—and knowing you personally I’m very much inclined to—you are called a bastard with alarming frequency. You crushed anything that got in your way. Including your own father.” She shot up from the seat and paced the length of the room. “I don’t believe in wasting precious time fighting the inevitable. So whatever you’re about to do—do it. But I won’t go down without a fight. My company—”
“Means everything to you, right? You should be held up as an example to anyone who doubts that women can be as unfeeling and ruthless as men,” he interjected smoothly, feeling that flare of anger again.
She stared at him, her gaze puzzled. “Why do I get the feeling that that’s not a compliment?”
“It’s not.”
Her fingers tightened on the windowsill behind her. “We’re even now, Diego. Let’s just leave it at that.”
He moved closer. He could see his reflection in her eyes, her slender shoulders falling and rising with her rapid breathing. Her gaze moved to his mouth and he felt a roar of desire pummel through his blood. It was impossible not to remember how good she had felt, how she had wrapped her legs around him and urged him on with soft little growls.
If he kissed her she wouldn’t push him away. If he ran the pad of his thumb over the pulse beating frantically at her throat she wouldn’t argue. She would be putty in his hands.
Wasn’t that why he felt such a physical pull toward her? Because when he touched her, when he kissed her, it was the one time he felt that he owned this woman—all of her. Her thoughts, her emotions, the core of her.
He fisted his hands. But it would prove nothing new—to him or to her. Self-disgust boiled through him for even thinking it. He had let her get to him on the island, burrow under his skin until the past six years had fallen away and he’d been standing there with her letter in hand.
Never again.
He needed a new beginning without being haunted by memories of this woman. He needed to do what he had come for and leave—now.
“I realized what I had done wrong the moment I left the island,” he said, unable to stop himself from wringing out the last drop of satisfaction. He had never claimed to be a great man. He had been born a bastard, and to this day he was one. “I’ve come to rectify that mistake.”
Kim trembled all over, an almighty buzz filling up her ears.
“A mistake?” Her throat ached as it pushed that word out.
His golden gaze gleamed, a knowing smile curving his upper lip. “I forgot a tiny detail, although it was the most important of all.”
He plucked a sheaf of papers from his coat pocket and slid them on to her desk. Every inch of her tensed. The words on those familiar papers blurred.
“I need your signature on the divorce papers.”
She struggled to get her synapses to fire again, to get her lungs to breathe again.
The innocuous-looking papers pierced through her defenses, inviting pain she had long ago learned not to feel. This was what she had wanted for six long years—to be able to correct the mistake she had made, to be able to forget the foolish dream that had never stood a chance.
Her palms were clammy as she picked up the papers.
“My staff at the villa were never able to locate the copies you brought.”
She shivered uncontrollably at the slight curiosity in his words. Because she had torn them up after that first night when Diego had made love to her.
No, not love. Sex. Revenge sex. The this-is-what-you-walked-away-from kind. For a woman with an above average IQ, she had repeated the same mistake when it came to Diego.
She turned the papers over and over in her hands. This was it.
Diego would walk out of her life. She would never again have to see the foolishness she had indulged in in the name of love. What she had wanted for so long was within her grasp. Yet she couldn’t perform the simple task of picking up the pen.
“You could have sent this through your lawyer,” she said softly, the shock and confusion she had held in check all evening by the skin of her teeth slithering their way into her. Her stomach heaved. “You didn’t have to come yourself.”
He leaned against the table, all cool arrogance and casual charm. But nothing could belie the cruel satisfaction in the curve of his mouth. He wanted blood and he was circling her like a hungry shark now that he could smell it.
“And miss the chance to say goodbye for the final time?”
“You mean you wanted to see the fallout from your twisted seduction?”
“Seduction?” he said, a dark shadow falling over his features. The force of his anger slammed into her like a gale. “Why don’t you own it, like you do everything else? There was no seduction.” He reached her before she could blink. “What does it say about us that even after six years it took us mere hours after laying eyes on each other to end up in bed? Or rather against the wall...”
Her stomach somersaulted. Her skin sizzled. He was right. Sex was all she could think of when he was close. Hot, sweltering, out-of-control, mind-blowing, biggest-mistake-of-your-life-that-you-made-twice sex.
She would die before she admitted how much truth there was in his words, how much more he didn’t know.
She grabbed her pen and signed the first paper, her fingers shaking.
She lifted her chin and looked up at him, gathering every ugly emotion simmering beneath the surface and pouring it into her words. “It’s nothing more than a stimulus and response—like Pavlov’s dog. No matter how many years pass, I see you and I think of sex. Maybe because you were my first. Maybe because you are so damn good at it.”
The papers slithered to the floor with a dangerous rustle. She felt his fury crackling around them. He tugged her hard against him, his body a smoldering furnace of desire.
She had angered him with her cold analogy. But it only made the void inside her deepen.
His mouth curled into a sneer. “Of course. I forgot that the cruise, those couple of months you spent with me, were nothing but a rich princess’s wild, dirty rebellion, weren’t they?”
She felt a strange constriction in her chest, a tightness she had nothing to fight against. A sob clawed its way up her throat.
She hated him for ruining the most precious moments of her life. For reducing them to nothing. She hated herself for thinking he had loved her six years ago, for losing her mind the moment she had seen him again four weeks ago.
For someone who had been emotionally stunted for so long, the upsurge of emotion was blinding—pulling her under, driving reason from her mind.
She bunched her fingers in his jacket, his heart thundering beneath her touch. “It’s good that you’re so greedy you came back for more. Because I have news for you.”
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU