Flight of Passion: True romance and the obsession for love Page 4

  And he couldn’t tell Jacqui that the woman who had mutilated his heart so mercilessly had reappeared—she’d only question her sworn bachelor-brother relentlessly.

  But he couldn’t leave Ruby in the hands of Carlos either.

  His greatest strength was also his greatest flaw. Loyalty. Whatever he did he knew he had to protect both women. The question was, how?

  PASSION

  There is only one passion, the passion for happiness

  ~ Denis Diderot ~

  SEVEN

  Heat flamed Ruby’s body as she tore her eyes away from Oliver spread-eagled across the bed. Was she mistaken or was he being deliberatively provocative?

  She tried to ignore the sensual turbulence threatening her equilibrium as Oliver’s eyes all but undressed her.

  It was a purely male assessment, appreciative and primally charged. To Ruby’s intense chagrin her body responded with wild urgency forcing her body to rigid attention.

  Ruby dragged her mind to Carlos; the man her family were determined she would spend the rest of her life with. Carlos was a skilled politician—diplomatic when he needed to be and not afraid to commit—the complete opposite of Oliver.

  But to her intense discomfort, she found herself wishing Carlos didn’t make her freeze every time he touched her.

  She jumped as something furry curled its way around her legs. “You have a cat?” she said with surprise, bending down and trailing her fingers along the velvety black fur.

  His voice was slightly mocking. “A pair.”

  “Two cats?”

  “People own cats you know.”

  “People, yes—but not you.”

  Only affectionate people have cats.

  Or damaged ones, she mused, noticing how her heart kicked at the unexpected realization that Oliver might understand, as she did, the power of an animal’s unconditional love to heal.

  “Renshaw and Edwards. A boy and a girl.”

  “What strange names? Are they famous?”

  “Yes—but not for the right things. They were a couple of high profile lawyers in New Zealand who fleeced their clients of millions. The cats remind me never to let down my guard. And I like that they don’t demand anything from me.”

  Oliver clicked his long manicured fingers and another black cat ran toward him and leapt onto the bed. It coiled around Oliver, purring loudly. He picked it up and ruffled his fingertips under its chin.

  For a shocking moment Ruby imagined herself coiled around his legs too, her face nuzzled against his chest, feeling protected and adored. Heat flamed her face.

  The devil danced in his eyes as he grinned. If she were a mind-reader she’d swear he’d mistaken her thoughts and was assessing whether she’d purr like a contended pussy or would she roar like an untamed lion as he claimed her and demonstrated his sexual virility.

  Her stomach cramped with nervous tension.

  “You’re still a beautiful woman, Ruby.”

  Ruby responded with a dismissively blank expression. Inwardly his compliment made her heart dance a happy jig. What was she thinking? He was seducing her and she needed to get out of his lair fast before he succeeded.

  Something mischievous and far too dangerous danced in Oliver's eyes as she turned to leave. He rose from the bed and strode toward her. She hesitated, suspended in one aching moment between desire and fear.

  “How long were you outside my door?”

  “Not long.” she told him. Her body jittered with the half-truth. ‘Why?’ She wanted to ask, ‘Why did you say I was nearly within reach? Who were you boasting to that this time you’d get me?’ But she said nothing.

  Something shuttered down over his eyes. He was silent for a moment. “I want to show you something.”

  “What?” she rasped.

  His lips curved into a sensuous smile. “My passion.”

  “I can’t. I won’t,” she whispered, her breath crawling the arch of her lungs. She dragged her gaze from him and scanned the room, her gaze locked on the sexually provocative portrait hanging over his bed. Why in God’s name was she standing there? It was lunacy. She tried to ignore the sensual turbulence threatening her equilibrium.

  “Butterflies.”

  “Butterflies?” Ruby’s heart ached inexplicably. She should have felt relieved. Confusion rose to meet intrigue. Why on earth would a testosterone-laiden, alpha male like Oliver be interested in something so fragile and beautiful?

  His breath fanned the top of her head as he towered over her. “I’d like to show you my private collection. Unless of course you’re afraid of being alone with me?” Oliver said, knowing full well the power of his challenge.

  Keeping the smile pinned on, Ruby looked directly at him. “Why would I be afraid of you?” her normally calm voice quivered.

  “Perhaps you have to ask Carlos’ permission?” Oliver said, his voice richly marinated in sarcasm.

  She threw him a mocking glance. “Jerk,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t know what riled her more, Oliver’s power to arouse her, or her inability to say no to his request.

  Being with him was dancing with danger. But there was something hypnotic about the way he looked at her, as though he was a bee, and she a flower, blossoming under the intensity of his dangerous unpredictability, feeling as though for the first time a light had been turned on.

  To her excruciating chagrin she desired the exciting, dangerous, extreme sexual chemistry that sizzled between them. Until this evening she had forgotten a man could affect her as Oliver always had.

  He was obviously toying with her. Well, he would find himself evenly matched, she vowed.

  A thrill of rebelliousness danced through her veins as an arrogant smile tilted his lips, giving his mouth a subtle sensuality that morphed into unashamed desire. She cautioned herself against playing with fire—afraid of what might happen next.

  A slight blush heated her cheeks as Oliver studied her with unswerving intensity. Ruby was physically conscious of herself more than she had ever been in her life: conscious of the silk of her dress caressing her thighs; conscious of the diamond necklace nestled between her quivering breasts; conscious of the dryness of her throat as she swallowed a melody of stirring emotions.

  And she knew her blue eyes were no longer clear ponds of still water. They were hot and bothered with the awakening of explosive passions. Passions he’d heartlessly said she didn’t possess when they were together years ago.

  His smouldering eyes tormented and enticed her as he paused at a door at the end of the hall and punched in a code. As the door sprung open, a wave of hot, dry air engulfed her.

  It was crazy. She should be getting the hell out of there. But she couldn’t help herself.

  Could he feel the butterflies that danced in her stomach as she entered his private sanctuary? His eyes were still on her face, reminding her of a wild panther, watching, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

  She wondered, too late, if playing with a renowned seducer like Oliver Hart wasn’t 50 shades too dangerous?

  EIGHT

  What made her do it, she didn’t know. Nor did she stop to assess the danger as she left the safety of the hallway and entered what was clearly a secret, highly revered room.

  Curiosity had claimed her. Not even an uneasy sense of disloyalty to Carlos acted as a deterrent. Oliver was drawing a heated reaction from her that set every nerve in her body vibrating with exultant, primitive life, and only once in her twenty-eight years had she felt anything like it before

  Her whole body tingled with an electric awareness as he stood beside her. She wanted to look at his face, wanted to see if the desire was still in Oliver’s eyes—but she no longer dared.

  He was too close, too dangerously close if she was to keep some semblance of control. She had been insanely mad to come to him. Sanity insisted that she give him no more encouragement.

  Far better, she thought, to fixate on the beauty of the butterflies in his collection than succumb to the passio
ns Oliver’s close presence incited.

  Her eyes flew to the handcrafted cabinets that lined the walls of the carefully air-conditioned room.

  His richly tanned hands gently slid back the doors of one of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets lining the room. Strong hands, with long, supple fingers curled around the edges of an ebony rimmed tray, topped with glass.

  With the care of a parent picking up his baby from its crib, Oliver lifted the tray and placed it on a highly polished antique Chinese desk. A heady scent of beeswax and Camphor crystals filled the room as he lifted the protective glass.

  Ruby stood absolutely still, her gaze determinedly fixed on the most dazzlingly beautiful kaleidoscope of butterflies she had ever seen.

  Color exploded around her, sending earthly thoughts scrambling. Shots of lipstick pink morphed into purples and trailed out to rich raw umber browns. Lustrous blues, tinged with effervescent orange-reds jostled for attention with dazzling emerald greens, splashed with electric violets, charming her eyes with their captivating colors.

  Whether it was Oliver’s presence and the sizzling chemistry that sparked between them, the sensual scent of beeswax, or the hypnotic effect of the dazzling butterflies Ruby didn’t know. But she felt short of breath, her heart rate quickening as her hungry eyes devoured the pulsating chocolate box of colors.

  Oliver’s powerful chest swelled as though clearly relishing in her visceral reaction. “Flying flowers,” he whispered in reverence to their beauty.

  “They’re exquisite,” Ruby murmured. She leaned closer until her face almost touched the glass.

  “You won’t find any rips or tears or smudges in my collection,” he said. “I source my butterflies like people buy diamonds. I demand perfection.”

  Insecurity snaked through Ruby’s mind. Thank God she’d worn her Spandex. She was not the unblemished young girl he once knew. Her body, with its little pockets of cellulite, would never live up to his exacting standards. She pushed the thought from her mind. Besides it wasn’t as if he’d never see her naked.

  Again.

  She ignored the worming feeling of regret that coiled through her gut and turned her attention back to the safety of his collection.

  Ruby watched mesmerized as the man with the athletic build of a gridiron player and the swagger of a rodeo cowboy lifted one of nature’s most delicate creations with the microskills of New York’s finest surgeons.

  “Human tissue mends but butterflies don’t,” he said.

  Ruby wanted to tell him he was wrong. Hearts don’t mend, but she thought better of sharing her feelings.

  “Their scales are as thin as tissue paper and as breakable as filo pastry left in the sun.”

  He held an iridescent beauty up to the light. Like patterns on a soap bubble, the colors shimmered and varied with the changing angle of view.

  “You’re looking at the startling and intense iridescent Blue Morphos from the Amazon.” His gaze shifted from the butterfly to Ruby. “Startling because its color is so incredibly rich and deep. Foil-like and utterly gorgeous,” he hesitated, then looked directly at her. “Just like your eyes.”

  Ruby blamed the confines of the room for the hot flush that rose to her cheeks. He was playing with her. She wrenched her eyes away from his cool, steady stare.

  “How many butterflies do you own?” she asked, flitting to a safer topic.

  “A few thousand. Give or take a hundred.”

  “Gosh, I never knew there were so many different kinds? Where on earth did you find them?”

  He paused, as though deciding how much he should confide. “I inherited the collection from my grandfather. He was a renowned researcher and collector—as was his father before him. They discovered species new to science and documented these in scientific papers. Grandad’s only regret,” he said, his gaze lingering on a butterfly set apart from the others, “was that he never discovered the female of this species—thus making it a pair. That would have been quite a feat—she is so very rare.”

  His voice dropped to a whisper as though he was confiding a secret. “Personally I love the butterflies freedom and seeing them in the wild makes my heart soar, but I also value the legacy that collections such as these leave. The only request my grandfather made was that I agree to be their guardians. When I pass—” his tone became sombre, unsettling her. “—when I die, should I have no heir, it is to be gifted to the Natural History museum. It’s a fitting way to preserve both the butterflies and my grandfather’s memory.”

  For a traitorous moment Ruby’s heart kicked. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, so all consuming. Her deepening admiration for the way he cared for his grandfather, the softness in his tone and touch as he appreciated the butterflies’ delicate beauty, the intimacy he was showing her now by allowing her into his inner sanctuary. Guilt twisted with longing in a sharp rivet of pain from her gut to her chest.

  She wished she would be the woman to bear him an heir.

  How could she feel this rush of longing? It had been eight years…she was with Carlos now. She had assured herself that after all this time she no longer had feelings for Oliver. Yet she felt herself hover on the edge of control. She pushed the reckless thought out of her mind, as far as she could while he produced another tray of butterflies. What she needed was distraction.

  They were so heavenly, so gorgeous, so pretty. It didn’t surprise her that he should fall under their spell. As she watched Oliver’s eyes glisten with joy, it fascinated and unnerved her that these delicate beauties could reduce this hard muscular man to near tears and induce such feverish delight. It was a contagious joy that was as exciting as it was unsettling.

  “You can never have enough passion,” she said. God only knew why she of all people should utter such dangerous, reckless words. The unspoken desire pulsated between them.

  Ruby’s heart thundered a warning as passion oozed through the confined space.

  Be careful.

  As Oliver withdrew more trays for her pleasure caution reminded her that a man who could be caught in such an obsession could not be taken lightly.

  His face was close enough for her to see the lines of ruthless purpose stamped on them. When she glanced into his eyes they were the eyes of a man who could take forceful possession of anything he wanted.

  He crossed the room too quickly for her to register his intent. His hand reached out and took her arm. Surprise rendered her immobile as he pinned her to the wall.

  She coolly met his eyes, suppressing a wild desire that he would seize a kiss. There was no mistaking the undiluted lust burning in those glistening, brilliant eyes.

  Oliver was amoral, selfish, a rogue who meant to take whatever he desired, and he meant to take it tonight.

  Loyalty slammed an invisible steel wall between them saving her from doing something she would live to regret.

  “I can’t,” Ruby said, turning her face away as Oliver attempted to steal a kiss.

  “Can’t or won’t?” his raspy voice penetrated every fiber of her being.

  “Both,” she said, biting back the urge for once in her life to forget being the good girl.

  “When are you going to stop fighting what you feel?”

  “Feel what?” Ruby closed her eyes, willing herself to stay strong.

  “How it is between us. How it’s always been. Is it a crime to still want you?”

  He curled long perfectly manicured fingers around the soft part of her forearm, gently holding her captive. “All I want to do is kiss you—nothing immoral.”

  He pressed her firmly against the wall. She felt pinned, captured, imprisoned for Oliver’s perverse pleasure—just like the butterflies she’d been admiring.

  She knew better than anyone it would not stop at a kiss. He would take her beyond her boundaries of control. She felt drunk with the depth of his desire. Giddy, light-headed, reckless.

  But Ruby wasn’t reckless. She was trustworthy, she was someone others relied on, someone who always put everyone’s needs befo
re her own. She was not someone who would act impulsively. And she wouldn’t, couldn’t, mustn’t let her family down.

  She twisted and pulled away—severing the invisible ties that bound them together.

  Oliver’s eyes darkened. “What are you afraid of Ruby? Me or the depths of your desire?”

  Ruby folded her arms and pressed them across her chest. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of anything,” she retorted angrily.

  “I know you. Perhaps better than you know yourself. You can’t live without passion.”

  “Carlos and I have passion,” she lied.

  “Okay then.” Oliver lifted his arms in surrender. “Fly away then Ruby, back to the one who fills your body, your soul, your heart with fire.”

  Ruby hesitated, frustratingly unable to get her legs to do her bidding. Oliver was right, there was no fire. There was no passion. There was no love. What Carlos and she had was pragmatism, understanding, convenience.

  But she would not be the one to reveal the truth. Passion, she’d been warned was a fatal, dangerous thing like a wild horse that could tear your heart and run away with your sanity.

  If passion was so wrong why did she feel drowned by an overwhelming wave of regret as she fought to distance herself from him?

  A defiant, knowing smirk consumed Oliver’s devilishly handsome face, igniting an inner determination to break free from the suffocating room, and the reach of his illicit magnetism.

  NINE

  Oliver wasn't sure what prompted him. He wasn't foolish enough to dance with danger. He hadn’t intended to take things this far. Normally his emotions were tightly controlled. But as he gazed into Ruby's face instinct took over. He touched his tongue to his lips, narrowed his eyes, moved toward her, one thing in mind.

  Her eyes widened and her soft, sensuous lips parted, staring at his mouth with uncertainty. A soft salmon blush settled upon her cheeks. Ruby’s body moved toward him involuntarily. Desirous, yearning, needy.