The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

by Natalie Anderson

  He gritted his teeth as he fought back the wave of physical longing. God, he missed her.

  The only way of getting through tonight was with no looking. Tonight he was going to have to avoid her completely.

  * * *

  Bella applied a final dab of mascara. She’d barely been able to eat a thing all day, and now the moment had finally arrived she was tempted to strip out of her glamorous dress and hide at home in her pyjamas.

  She’d made a massive mistake in getting involved with Antonio. Why had she ever thought it would only be a simple, sinful moment of pleasure? It had become all-consuming and her heart ached. For him and for her. That he blamed himself so bitterly over Alessia’s illness? That he isolated himself so completely?

  And that he hadn’t made any kind of contact with her since they’d left the boat?

  Those last few moments together had been so intense, so profound but the memory of them was now so painful. Because despite his imperious argument at the time, it was over.

  And she was devastated.

  But she couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her. She had to move forward. She’d long known how it felt not to be wanted or needed or loved, but she’d never let that stop her from doing what she needed to before. She’d go to the ball, hold her head high and continue building that swelling interest in her business. She might not have succeeded in many things in her life, but she was not failing at that. She had her gilt-edged invitation card, she had her dress and she had her years of standing on stage and being stared at. This would be easy.

  As long as she kept her distance from the Crown Prince.

  But when the liveried guards waved her in to the grand ballroom of San Felipe palace an hour later, she stood a second in the doorway and took in the sight before her. There was grand, and there was opulent, and there was majestic. This was more than all those things, but it wasn’t the dazzling venue making her dizzy.

  It was anticipation and fear and deep-buried desire.

  She ached to see him.

  Her heart thundered as she greeted a few people. Several society faces were now familiar to her and they welcomed her. She knew it was only because of her club’s success and her social-media status, but she’d take it.

  The first time she saw him, he was only a few yards from her but a crowd separated them. His immaculately tailored tuxedo emphasised his height and proud stance, and she saw he was intently listening to a tall brunette in a form-flattering black gown. Bella froze as she recognised the woman. At that exact moment Francesca Accardi glanced over at her. Time halted as she looked right at Bella, her eyes widening slightly, only then she turned to smile coyly again at Antonio, her face animated.

  But she’d offered no nod or smile or any outward sign of recognition towards Bella.

  That old rejection stung, but most especially because Francesca was her own blood. Her half-sister was their father’s favourite and now she was with Antonio?

  Feeling cold, Bella stared at him. He’d turned to see what had caught Francesca’s attention. Now his eyes remained on Bella even as Francesca tried to talk with him. But only for a moment. Then he too glanced away as he muttered something in response to the brunette.

  There’d been no smile. No polite inclination of his head. No sign of recognition whatsoever. There was only a callous blanking. He’d seen her, but chosen to pretend he hadn’t.

  He hadn’t acknowledged her at all.

  Blinking, Bella turned, blindly moving towards the back of the ballroom. She would never, ever let him know just how much he’d hurt her in that moment.

  And she would never, ever forgive him.

  She spoke to more people. Made herself take a glass of champagne. She’d have a few sips and then she’d leave. But she wouldn’t run immediately. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. So she smiled. Talked. And the hurt morphed into an anger that grew bigger and hotter with every moment. She smiled more. Talked more. Laughed more.

  She wouldn’t show any of them any weakness.

  Ten minutes later she glanced from the group of young businessmen she was talking to to find his fiery gaze on her.

  Still no smile. No inclination of his head. But she read his anger this time. Adrenalin surged through her blood.

  This time she was the one to turn her back.

  She kept talking, but her awareness of him was more acute than ever. She sensed him near, looking icy, but she could feel the simmering fury coming towards her in waves.

  She sent her own angry vibes right back at him.

  As her smile brightened and her laughter rang her tension mounted. He stood nearer still, but still didn’t speak. There was only the look, only the sharpness in the atmosphere and only the two of them felt it.

  Finally he passed close enough to speak to her.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said in leashed, low tones.

  ‘You’re ordering me to leave?’

  ‘As if you would if I did.’ He kept walking past her but his quick glance back was rapier-sharp.

  She answered with a death look. But her body felt charged. It didn’t care whether it was anger or lust, her body just craved his attention. And she had it now—his gaze on her, his eyes watching as she talked with other guests.

  For the next half-hour she talked and laughed and acted like the social butterfly she was supposed to be and it came easy. Every few minutes she glanced at him, their gazes clashed, held, fought until she turned away.

  Still no smile. No nod.

  She turned back, registering how crowded the massive ballroom had become. It was filled with people—women—craving time with Crown Prince Antonio. That tipped her tension from anticipation to unbearable.

  She didn’t want all these others to be here. She wanted to be alone with him. Fiercely, privately, intimately alone. And that wasn’t going to happen. This was only a game, only for tonight. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Not ever.

  Her emotions crashed.

  She turned, finally ready to leave. She shouldn’t have come. She should have proudly kept her distance and encouraged her customers to come to her club earlier.

  She’d miscalculated completely. She took the first door out of the ballroom that she could find. So many people, beautifully dressed, lined the corridor, laughing and talking. She brushed past them, following her instinct to get away. She’d got along its length and had just turned right towards the heavy doors when she heard him.

  ‘Bella.’

  She paused, but she didn’t turn around.

  ‘Second door on the left.’

  It was a command. All her antagonism reared in a passion. But despite knowing better, she couldn’t resist. She opened the door he’d meant and stalked into the room. It was a comparatively small meeting room—decorated with more gilt-framed paintings and opulent over-stuffed furniture.

  He didn’t slam the door behind him. But though he closed it quietly, he locked it, then stood with his back to it. Blocking her exit.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here tonight.’ He glared at her, all icy-eyed handsome magnificence in that onyx-black suit.

  Despite the fact that she completely agreed with him, she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘You might be the Prince but this isn’t some feudal village in the Middle Ages. There’s such a thing as freedom of movement and freedom of speech and it’s important to me to be here for my business and you can’t stop me.’ She glared at him, unable to hide her hurt or anger. ‘You were so rude when I arrived. You didn’t even say hello or nod or anything.’ It had been the most pointed, painful dismissal of her life.

  ‘You were the one who said it would be best if we kept this discreet,’ he argued.

  ‘You were the one who then kidnapped me for a night on your boat.’

  ‘It was still discreet.’

  ‘And hauling me in here is discreet?’

  ‘I didn’t haul you in here.’

  No. He hadn’t. She hadn’t felt his hands on her at all.
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  ‘So because I didn’t speak to you soon enough, you retaliate by parading round the ballroom in that dress.’ He gestured wildly at her body.

  ‘What is wrong with this dress?’ She tossed her head and glared at him. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. And, not that it matters, it’s a hell of a lot less revealing than the red one I wore at the ballet.’ And she hadn’t been parading. ‘And what would be wrong with speaking to me?’

  ‘I’m trying to protect you.’ His teeth snapped. ‘Do you really want those headlines—all the “The scandalous dancer and the Prince” stuff? All that rubbish they’ll print on endless pages? Your life won’t be your own if they find out.’

  ‘I don’t need your protection,’ she argued. ‘You think I don’t know how to handle those headlines? You think I haven’t been handling them all my life?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to have to handle more.’

  ‘No. You just didn’t want to acknowledge me at all.’ Always she was denied. As if she were somehow shameful. Not good enough.

  ‘I couldn’t—’ He broke off with a frustrated growl and then stepped closer, his whisper hoarse with absolute exasperation. ‘I couldn’t bear to even look at you because I cannot concentrate on anything else when you are in the room.’

  ‘You’re more of a man than that.’ She shook her head, even more incensed by that lame excuse. ‘You’re the head of a country and have had to perform in way more difficult challenges than—’

  ‘All I wanted to do is sneak you somewhere private and—’

  ‘You’re not an animal.’ And he was hardly all over her now.

  Only then he was, standing so close and squeezing her shoulders so she looked up into his face. And what she saw there made her gasp.

  ‘All I wanted to do was sneak you in here so I could strip you bare,’ he finished furiously.

  The fire in his eyes made her so reckless. ‘Then why don’t you?’

  She bared herself in that one sentence—bringing that desire right into fore.

  He smiled. A small mocking smile. ‘Always the provocation.’ Swiftly he released her shoulders only to bend and pick her up. ‘How much proof do you need?’

  ‘All of it,’ she demanded roughly as she felt his arms tighten still. ‘I need all of it.’

  He took three steps to the plump sofa near the wall. She hooked her legs around his waist just before he sat, so she then straddled him. He released her only to grasp her hair and tug so she lifted her chin and met his kiss. Hard and passionate and endless.

  She writhed above him, aching to feel him there. Right there. Centring her, anchoring her. Completing her.

  Their hands tangled as they sought to touch more intimately. His hands pressed against her curves, teasing, frustrating. She hated her beautiful dress, she wanted to feel his skin on hers. She wanted them both to be naked.

  Neither were.

  But their passion was utterly bared.

  They moved quickly, angrily. He shoved her dress up to her waist with a jerky hand while unfastening his trousers with the other. She lifted herself off him only long enough for him to free his straining erection. And then she gave in again to the delight of rubbing against him. Of fighting to get closer, closer, closer still.

  Their eyes met in a moment of frustration and desperation. She felt him move, his hand fisted around the crotch of her panties and he tugged hard. The silk and lace ripped. A moment later she sank onto him—fast and hard and utterly complete.

  His hand squeezed her thigh almost painfully. His groan sent a shiver of raw delight down her spine. Now she was happy. Now she was with him. Now time could stop.

  But it didn’t. It couldn’t. Nor could they stop.

  He bucked beneath her, powerfully thrusting up, as if he could possibly get deeper within her. Desire for him burned—for more of how good he felt inside her. She pressed down to meet him, wanting more of him. Always more.

  They fought to get closer, wild and desperate and so quick yet not quickly enough. And it wasn’t slow enough either. She wanted him so much, all of him, but she didn’t want it to end.

  Except it was about to. She felt it coming—that unstoppable wave of pleasure that only he had ever brought forth from her. She arched back, whimpering as he bore it upon her. He thrust faster still until it was a frantic final coupling as frustrating as it was ecstatic.

  ‘One last time,’ he commanded. ‘I need to see you come one last time.’

  She stared at him in blissful agony, then closed her eyes against the despair in his. Bittersweet torture wracked her body as her orgasm hit. It was so good, but it tore her heart. Because this was the last time. Her mouth parted, but his hand pressed hard on her lips. In that final moment of release, he silenced her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he choked as he stiffened beneath her. ‘I am so sorry,’ he groaned in a harsh whisper as he too hit climax.

  * * *

  Bella dared not open her eyes. She didn’t want to face this end. Through the door and walls, she could hear the ball in full swing but the silence between them in the private room was horrendous. She slipped from his knee, turning her back as she adjusted her dress.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be rude when you first arrived,’ he said quietly, his voice still tinged with infinite regret. ‘But I am not able to hide how I feel about you.’

  ‘Is that so terrible?’ She braced herself and faced him to ask, ‘Would it really be so awful for people to know you’d finally moved on?’

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because for once his expression was so easy to read.

  To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. He didn’t want anyone to know how much he wanted her. Which basically meant he didn’t want to want her. He didn’t want to move on. He hadn’t moved on.

  She turned and ran, just getting to the door and turning the key in the lock. But he must have run too because he reached above her head and pushed hard, so she couldn’t open it.

  ‘You’re not leaving now,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not stopping me.’

  ‘I am. This time I am.’ He turned her to face him. ‘You can’t go out there looking like that.’

  ‘Looking like what? A slut?’ With no underwear and kiss-swollen lips and the blush of orgasm still on her skin?

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He apologised again as he retreated into that damn formal reserve. ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’

  She didn’t want him to turn all princely polite. She didn’t want him to regret what had happened. She just wanted him to want more the same way she did. But he didn’t. She cared more for him than he did her. And she was heartbroken. She looked at the floor, unable to bear looking into that emotionless face of his.

  ‘Forgive me.’

  Angered, she lifted her head. ‘I’m not the one who needs to forgive you. You need to forgive yourself. You’re a coward, Antonio De Santis.’

  He actually lost colour.

  ‘You think you’re so damn noble, burying yourself in duty. You think you’re protecting Alessia’s name? You’re only protecting yourself. You think you can keep yourself safe by not bothering to participate in life?’ She shook her head, so angry with him for shutting her out. ‘It doesn’t work that way. Who’s hurting now, Antonio? Who is hurting?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said tonelessly. ‘I cannot be the man you want me to be. I cannot be the man for you.’

  It was the most humiliating moment of her life.

  And he wouldn’t admit that he was hurting either. ‘I will control myself better in future. This won’t happen again.’

  ‘No.’ She nodded painfully. ‘It won’t. I don’t expect you to say hello or anything—you’re absolved from any duty to be polite to me.’ She half laughed bitterly at the heartbreaking mess she was in. He only wanted her for sex, whereas she? She’d gone fully in love. ‘This can only be all or nothing. You can’t give me all. So it has to be nothing.’ For her own sanity it had to be nothing. But she was so, so hurt.

 
; He didn’t argue with her. ‘I can have you escorted discreetly—’

  ‘I’ll go out the door I came in.’ She straightened and pulled together the last shred of pride that she could. ‘But I need five minutes alone first.’

  He stared down at her, as if he could somehow break her and make her change her mind. But he couldn’t. Her dignity was the one thing she’d leave this room with.

  He had the intelligence not to apologise again, though she knew he wanted to. She could see that in his eyes. But she didn’t want his pity. What she really wanted was the one thing he couldn’t give her. He didn’t want to give her.

  And that wasn’t his fault.

  ‘Leave, Antonio.’

  And then he did.

  She locked the door again right away and took deep breaths to recover her equilibrium. She was not crying here. She was holding her head high and walking out of there.

  No one would ever know how she’d been so crushed.

  It took ten minutes before she was ready. Then she unlocked the door, squared her shoulders and walked back down the corridor and around the corner to where the people were thronging and still laughing, oblivious to the cataclysmic encounter in that room so close by. She got into the ballroom and began her trek along the edge to the exit at the end. She was walking so quickly, and with such concentration, she almost crashed into the broad-shouldered man who suddenly stepped in front of her.

  ‘Do you really think you can ever belong here?’

  She stared blankly for a second before realising who it was.

  Salvatore Accardi. Her father. For the first time in her life he’d addressed her directly. And he wasn’t being conciliatory.

  Frantically she processed his words, wondering at what he’d meant.

  ‘Look at you,’ he snarled. ‘You think it isn’t obvious what you’ve been doing?’ Salvatore sent her a scathing look. ‘Like mother, like daughter. Giving it all to anyone who asks. No doubt you’re aiming to get pregnant as quickly as possible and you’ll blame it on the nearest wealthy man.’ He stepped closer. ‘You’re the daughter of a whore and you’re a whore.’

  Oh, God, did he know? Had he seen? She glanced to the side, wondering if everyone here knew. How was that possible?