Imprisoned by a Vow. Annie West

to find her scurrying towards him.

      ‘What can I get you, Mr Carmody?’

      ‘Coffee and a sandwich. My wife will have chamomile tea and…?’ He raised an interrogative brow.

      ‘Nothing else, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

      Joss surveyed the demure beige silk dress hanging loose on her. She’d lost weight since they first met. Then she’d been slim but rounded in all the right places. Now even the line of her jaw was stark, too pronounced.

      His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t just the weight loss that disturbed him. She looked…drab. He was no fashion expert but even he could see that shade leached the colour from her face. The dress was completely wrong, suited to an older woman rather than a young and pretty one.

      At least her legs were as delectable as he recalled.

      At their first meeting he’d been distracted, enjoying the counterpoint of her sexy legs and lush mouth with her composed, almost prim demeanour. Plus there’d been those tiny flashes of spirit that had reassured him she had the capacity to hold her own as the society hostess he required.

      She was a fascinating combination of intellect, beauty and cool calm. Or she would be to a man who allowed himself to be fascinated.

      Joss wasn’t in that category. He had no intention of disrupting a sound business arrangement with anything like an intimate relationship.

      He strictly separated his business and private lives. Though physical intimacy probably rated in the business side of his life: sex for mutual pleasure plus the expensive gifts and five-star luxury he provided to whatever woman he chose to warm his bed.

      ‘Mr Carmody?’

      Joss found his housekeeper surveying him curiously.

      ‘I leave it to you, Mrs Draycott. Just bring a selection that will tempt my wife’s appetite.’

      Leila’s stare sharpened. That look provoked a tiny sizzle of pleasure in his gut, like anticipation at the beginning of a new venture.

      ‘Of course, sir.’

      ‘We’ll be in the small sitting room.’

      Leila held his gaze unblinkingly. Then without a word she crossed the room, her head regally high, her walk slow, drawing attention to the undulation of her hips.

      But Joss kept his gaze on her face, trying to read what lay behind her calm countenance. For there was something. The frisson of energy that charged down his spine when his gaze locked with hers proved it.

      He could almost hear the words she wasn’t saying.

      Almost, but infuriatingly not quite.

      He followed her, stopping abruptly as she halted in the doorway.

      Her scent invaded his nostrils, not the heavy attar of roses from the wedding, but something light and fresh, barely discernible as he tilted his head towards her neat chignon.

      This close he felt it again as he had on the runway yesterday: tension crackling in the air as if she generated some unseen power that magnetised his skin.

      What was it about Leila that drew him?

      ‘Which is the small sitting room? You have several.’

      ‘To the right,’ he said. ‘Third door along.’

      Following, Joss allowed his gaze free rein, cataloguing each dip and sway as she moved. His wife didn’t flaunt herself with an exaggerated strut. Yet with each slow step the slide of silk over her backside and flaring around her legs screamed ‘woman’ in a way that had all his attention.

      Was his wife sending him an invitation?

      The possibility intrigued him. Yet remembering her cool look in the kitchen it didn’t seem likely.

      Besides, this was a marriage of convenience. She’d be an excellent society hostess and her connections would be invaluable. For her part Leila would acquire prestige, an even more luxurious lifestyle and unprecedented spending power.

      A win-win deal. Only a fool would mess with that for the sake of sex. It would complicate everything.

      With a wife he couldn’t cancel all calls or silence protestations of devotion with an expensive farewell gift. Nor did he intend to face a moody spouse, smarting over some apparent slight, when they hosted an important dinner.

      Sex with his wife might raise her expectations of a family one day; though he’d made it clear children weren’t on his agenda.

      His flesh chilled. No, this arrangement would remain simple. Impersonal.

      Yet Joss’s gaze didn’t shift from Leila as she entered the sitting room and took a seat, the picture of feminine grace. He had the unsettling suspicion he’d got more than he’d bargained for in this marriage of mutual convenience.

      Leila chose a deep chair. The soft leather cocooned her and the frisson of disquiet she’d felt since Joss had arrived eased a fraction. She didn’t feel ready to deal with him when there was so much else on her mind.

      Waking disorientated in an apartment that was all minimalist luxury she’d felt a wave of relief, finding herself alone. No one else had shared the huge bed, and the wardrobe was devoid of Joss’s clothes. Yet she’d barely had time to register thankfulness that he’d kept his word and his distance.

      Too quickly her thoughts had turned to yesterday’s suffocating fear at the airstrip.

      It was something she’d never experienced before. When she’d stepped onto the airfield the vastness of the open air had pressed down as if squeezing the life out of her.

      Was it something to do with the sudden change after being forcibly kept indoors, confined for long periods?

      She could only hope yesterday had been a one-off. She had no intention of letting the past dictate her future.

      ‘Your room is comfortable?’ Joss sat, stretching his long legs with the assurance of a man supremely comfortable with their glamorous setting. The place screamed wealth from the stunning views down the Thames, to the original artworks and designer furniture that impressed rather than welcomed.

      With his back to the window it was hard to read his expression but she’d bet it was satisfied.

      ‘Very comfortable. Thank you.’ Leila had grown up with wealth, but nothing like this place. And the last few years she’d led a spartan existence, until her stepfather had pulled out all the stops to impress Joss Carmody.

      Even the feel of silk against her skin was an unfamiliar sensual delight. As for wearing heels…she’d chosen stilettos today, hoping to get used to the feel of walking on stilts. She intended to take every opportunity to break with the past.

      Silence descended. Did her husband have as little idea of what to say to his stranger-spouse as she did?

      ‘Have you lived here long?’

      Broad shoulders shrugged. ‘I bought the penthouse a couple of years ago but I haven’t been here much. I tend to move wherever business takes me.’

      She nodded. Mrs Draycott had intimated it was a pleasure having people to look after. Leila understood it was rare for Joss to be on the premises.

      That suited her. She’d rather be alone to take her time sorting out her new life.

      ‘How long will you be here?’

      His long fingers drummed on the armrest. ‘We’ll be here at least a month.’

      No mistaking the subtle emphasis on the pronoun. Leila’s heart skipped a beat. ‘We?’

      ‘Of course. We are just married, after all.’

      Leila pushed aside panic at the thought of sharing even such spacious premises with Joss Carmody. Despite their agreement to pursue separate lives, her hackles rose defensively at