The Argentinian's Virgin Conquest

by Bella Frances

  But he had never bitten yet. Never would. Lose his unlimited pass to oblivion? Get mired in a relationship? Smoke and mirrors—that was all happy relationships were. He didn’t begrudge anyone their ‘lifetime partner’, if that was what they wanted to call it, but he didn’t believe the hype.

  Seeing that Celine body double tonight had shaken him up—he had to admit it. But there had been a time when it would have taken him a lot longer to calm down. Back in his late teens, when it had still been a raw wound. Back then he would have been laid out for days on a self-destructive path. Now he was fine. He had more important things to worry about than something that had happened all those years ago. He’d learned to switch off, to deal with it.

  He just hoped tonight would be one of those nights where he found the switch easily.

  He looked along the front of the black glass building at the outdoor lounge area. Tall white tables and bar stools. Parasols and potted palms. Ice buckets and cocktails. Women wearing very little. Some of them beautiful, some of them hot. But as his gaze skimmed back and forth he found it hovering even longer on the jetty. He felt strangely underwhelmed by the whole thing. There really was nothing he was remotely interested in pursuing—nothing enticing him to step into that particular haven.

  He wanted fire. He wanted passion. He wanted beauty.

  Class.

  And he was beginning to think that there was only woman who was going to do it for him. If he got the chance a second time he doubted he would be able to say no.

  ‘Hello, there! I thought it was you.’

  Dante heard the perfectly pronounced vowels and knew his deal was sealed.

  He turned away from the crowd. ‘Party over?’

  She was truly lovely. He let his eyes slide and savour. Her hair fell in long waves, skimming over those shoulders, lying in inviting silken folds over her cleavage. He took his time. He had no wish to hurry as he relearned every soft curve, felt himself become aroused, welcomed it.

  ‘Only I thought it was good etiquette for the hostess to stay until the last guest had left?’

  She blushed in that haughty, how-dare-you? manner and he felt a grin spread out across his face. The corner of her mouth twitched up and her eyes danced in answer, but still she held herself aloft and aloof.

  She was here, she’d come after him, but she was going to make him work. He got that.

  Wind skimmed around them, causing the hem of her dress to rise. The fabric clung to her long legs, outlining slim calves and the flare of incredibly feminine hips. His eyes dropped to the soft V between her legs and his arousal kicked up another gear as the shimmery satin outlined her mound. A long slow breath of approval escaped through his lips and he raised his eyes to hers in approbation.

  She accepted it.

  ‘As far as I am concerned, you are the party.’

  She spoke quietly, but he didn’t miss the shiver of hesitation.

  ‘You’ve really thought this through?’

  He owed her one more lifeline. Because something told him that when she fell—as they all did—she was going to fall headfirst.

  ‘Because you don’t want to wake up with your head on the wrong pillow.’

  ‘I want to wake up with my head on your pillow,’ she said.

  ‘Is that so?’ he asked, stepping a little closer. He watched, becoming more and more aware that her regal act was just that—she was not quite so in command as she liked to portray. ‘That’s some honour you’re bestowing—and with that honour comes responsibility, should I accept it...’

  He took another step, and she leaned back ever so slightly before straightening herself up. He watched her perfect throat as she swallowed, the movement in her skin drawing his eye, inflaming his blood. Oh, yes.

  ‘Well...’ she breathed, and the sound disappeared into the slap of water on the sides of the jetty and the bustle and buzz of the night all around them. ‘Do you accept?’

  ‘What exactly are you offering, Princess?’

  ‘As soon as you drop that stupid moniker I might tell you.’

  Dante laughed as he closed the gap. They stood almost toe to toe. And this time she leaned back only to look up at him. She was getting into her stride now and he was loving it.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me anything. I can see it written all over you. In giant neon letters.’

  Her eyes flashed and darted over his face.

  ‘Is that so?’ she asked, repeating his words, mocking him. ‘We have our little spelling test after all.’

  And then he grinned, and she grinned, and he put his hands on her waist, exactly where he had wanted to rest them all evening. They fitted nicely in the soft curves. He tugged her to him. Her hands jerked up in a defensive movement but they landed gently on his chest. He looked down as she spread her fingers wide.

  ‘What exactly is it,’ she began, lifting her eyes in a coy little move as old as time, ‘that I’m spelling out for you?’

  Dante stepped a little closer. He took his hands from her waist and skimmed them up over her ribs with immense restraint, feather-light. He slowly brushed the sides of her breasts, her shoulders, and then gently cupped her jaw. He trailed his fingers over her cheeks and gently drew a circle round each eye.

  ‘With these bewitching eyes, you’re showing me every single thought that’s going on in here.’ He tapped her brow. ‘And those thoughts are...’ He leaned in, took a breath beside her ear, and whispered, ‘Dirty.’

  She shivered. He heard it and he saw it. Then she closed her eyes, and he knew that he was as hard as he’d ever been. She was going to be delicious.

  He moved to her other ear. She flinched but he held her steady.

  ‘You have a very filthy mind, Lucie,’ he whispered, and she shuddered right there in his arms.

  It was all he could do not to grind himself against her. One or two people had passed by and they were just in sight of the queue of partygoers. He was going to have to exercise huge restraint. Huge.

  ‘You’re bluffing,’ she breathed back. ‘You think everyone thinks like you.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  He kept his mouth right beside her ear, an inch above it. A warm, sweet smell—her warm, sweet smell—wound up and he breathed it in. She melted against him, stretched her neck out for him, and he let his lips graze the satiny skin all the way down to her collar.

  ‘Mmm, Lucie... What do you think I’m thinking right now?’

  Her hands were still lying across his chest, getting in the way of what he wanted. He lifted first one hand, then the other, and she wound them round the back of his neck. He looked down at her upturned face. She was undone, but she was pulling herself together. He had to hand it to her.

  ‘What you’re thinking?’ she said. ‘Oh, I don’t quite think we were finished with your amazing assessment of what I was offering. It was apparently “written all over me”—remember?’

  He smiled. ‘Good call. Now, where was I...? Ah, yes.’

  And he cupped her jaw again, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, tugging it.

  ‘This mouth... These lips... They are quite clearly promising what you plan to do with them.’

  ‘And that is...?’

  He could hardly hear her. Was it the blood rushing in his ears or her sexy breathlessness—he had no idea. But he held her right where he wanted her, slid his hands further into her hair and positioned her at the slight angle he preferred. And then he waited. This was too divine to rush. She was easily the most tempting morsel he’d ever had—the last thing he was going to do was gorge on her out here, in full view of everyone.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have just a little taste.

  He moved them together, so close only a sliver of air was between their mouths.

  ‘You were saying...?’ she whispered.

  And as she spoke her lips brushed his and his resolve evaporated. He covered her mouth with his own in a hungry, passionate kiss and it was all he had known it would be. Soft, sweet and pure
hot heaven.

  Her lips were the perfect fit, the perfect pout. He made her deliver up kiss after kiss as he bit down on his resolve to keep them both decent. But with her breasts pressed fully against his body and his erection straining against her stomach it took all of his will to stay in a low gear.

  ‘I was saying—before you interrupted—that these lips...’ He slid his tongue over them. She whimpered. ‘These lips have been telegraphing to me...’

  He used his tongue to flick from the centre of her open pout to the upper edge of her top lip. And back. All the way along.

  ‘That they’re going to kiss every last part of me. Every. Part. Isn’t that right, Princess?’

  He felt her tongue dart out to meet his and the need to grind into her almost felled him. This game was overplayed. The public version, anyway. He grabbed her hand, looked up and down the jetty.

  ‘We’ll finish this back on the Sea Devil. Come on.’

  He took her hand and almost marched her further along the runway to where a row of silently bobbing motorboats waited. He spotted his launch, stepped down and held out his hand, anxious to get this precious cargo aboard quickly.

  His heart was hammering as he reached for her, and in one movement he’d tucked her close and taken his place behind the wheel. She leaned right in tight as he nosed the boat carefully around and out past the other launches. They came alongside the Marengo, its huge gleaming sides bearing down on them as he passed it and moved out into the bay.

  In less than ten minutes he’d have her across the water, and five after that he’d have her across his bed.

  The throb of the motor and the crash of the waves joined a crescendo of sensations with more to come. Dante loved this part of the chase—the anticipation, the build-up. The arc of tension gathering height until he could let his mind empty and his body just feel. And this felt right. This felt as if the particular symphony they were co-composing was going to have all the depth and drama he needed.

  So she hated crowds...had social anxiety. So what? She was well in command of herself where her libido was concerned—that was for sure. And he could handle those emotions once they started to show.

  But wasn’t that the part that was dangerous? Wasn’t that why you gave her the big brush-off earlier?

  Like a mallet to a polo ball, he struck those thoughts out of his mind. He felt Lucie leaning against the crescent of his arm and shut out anything that was set to interrupt his mood. Wasn’t that what he was best at?

  No words passed between them as he cut the engine and tossed the speedboat’s rope onto the yacht. He stepped out deftly, tied her up, and then held out his hand and guided her aboard the Sea Devil.

  A third of the size of the Marengo, it was fast, sleek, and reflected the only aspect of his personality he was prepared to go public with—he gathered no moss. He was no apologist for liking things the way he liked them. Another benefit of the single life—no compromise in pretty much anything. Of course he’d had girlfriends who had tried to soften things up, the way women did, and that was fine. As far as it went. But it did no one any favours if you let them think they were going to gain permanency rights.

  Permanency was the last thing he wanted to think about as he led Her Ladyship by the hand up the three steps to the sundeck. Darkness swathed the night, backlit by the pinpricks of deck lights. There was nobody else on board, his staff having taken him at his word and gone off for the weekend. Good for them—they worked hard. And good for him too, as it now turned out.

  ‘I half expected there would be some party in full swing,’ she said aloud, her cut-glass tones slicing through the night.

  ‘I’m the party—remember?’ he said as he moved them further along and down into a sunken area.

  Plump banquettes skirted the space, and were scattered with an array of cushions—and that was as feminine as it got. A black glass table sat between three sides, and on the other side lay loungers in various positions. A small plunge pool to the left sank down even further, and more seats and beds were arranged there. It was comfortable. He liked it.

  He switched on the side lights and quickly selected a muted melody underscored with the low throb of African drums. He poured them both champagne and walked to where Lucie had stalled in the middle of the space and was gently swaying her hips. He paused. Watched her.

  She didn’t ooze sexuality, the way some women did but, regarding her now, he saw that what she lacked in overt, in-your-face eroticism she more than made up for in sensuality—it ran through her like the bass line in the tune that was pulsing around them right now.

  ‘Perfect...thank you,’ she said as she took the glass from him and took a sip. Nervously?

  ‘You know, I heard the staff call this boat “Dante’s Lair” earlier today?

  Had she, indeed? He shrugged it off.

  ‘People like to speculate, I suppose. They imagine they know all about me and my business.’

  And they knew nothing. Why should they? His own parents had no idea of half the things he’d done. He wasn’t the type to bleat about his woes. He and his brother, Rocco, had been brought up to be independent, to stand tall. The last thing he’d ever do was feel sorry for himself. Or, worse, let his guard down.

  He had a great life. Gloss and glamour and good times. He knew how lucky he was—how much of a good start he’d had compared to his adopted brother. He’d never had to run in the streets to survive. He’d had everything he’d ever wanted. His mother hadn’t been the most demonstrative with her affection, but he’d wanted for nothing. So when a bit of a trauma like Celine had come along he’d been able to deal with it. Of course he had. He hadn’t told a living soul—hadn’t needed to. He could handle life.

  The Hermidas were proud—every last one of them. Proud and silent. And that was what made them so interesting to the press.

  ‘“Lair” suggests something of a predator though.’

  ‘Do you think that about me, Princess? That I’m predating on you? Right now?’

  ‘Hardly,’ she answered wryly, touching her hair. ‘As far as I recall it was me that suggested this...this...’

  He walked to her. ‘This...private party?’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said, looking very much as if that was the only type of party she would consider attending. The long swish of her blonde hair obscured one eye, starlet style, and she completed the look with another coy smile.

  He almost shook his head at her. Who would believe this confident, in command woman was the same one who had literally begged him to help her out at the charity auction earlier.

  ‘Maybe, but you must know that despite what’s said about me I’m very choosy about who I allow into my...lair.’

  He lifted the glass from her hand and set them both down on the table.

  ‘I take it I am supposed to consider that a compliment?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that being a princess doesn’t give you any special rights.’

  She smiled through the eyes she narrowed at him.

  ‘You’re not going to give up with that, are you?’

  He winked slightly. ‘I might. Depends...’

  ‘On what, exactly?’

  ‘On whether you’re going to follow through with all those signals you’ve been telegraphing since the first moment I saw you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. Something about my filthy mind and my suggestive mouth. Was that it?’

  The bubbling of the hot tub suddenly seemed to fill the night air. Dante nodded to it. Lucie’s eyes drifted over, and then flipped right back to his.

  ‘Not forgetting your body—which I recall was a lot less covered up then. And. Completely. Soaking. Wet.’

  She seemed to take that like a sucker punch, and her hand slid to her chest. Her mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and for a second he thought he had genuinely shocked her. Then she slipped him another smile. Oh, yes, she was feeling it as much as he was.

  ‘What are you suggesting, Dante?’

  He started to unbutto
n his shirt. ‘Princess, I’m well past the point of suggestion.’

  The hand at her chest went to her mouth now. Oh, she was very, very good. Coy and cute and causing him all sorts of constriction issues. He tossed away his shirt and laid his hand on his belt, ran the leather through the loops and pulled it free. His erection strained uncomfortably as he tugged down the zip and yanked off his trousers.

  Still she stood there, in her Little Miss Innocent pose. He had to laugh.

  He gripped the sides of his boxers, raised his eyebrows and gave her a full-beam grin.

  ‘Seems like we’re right back where we started, Princess.’

  She was still standing as if she’d been struck by lightning. Just as she had when he’d scared her off the boat earlier. Only this time the last thing he wanted her to do was disappear overboard.

  But she didn’t move a muscle and the glimmer of a red flag suddenly waved in his mind. Surely this was an act? Surely she wasn’t really freaked out by his nudity?

  ‘I hope you’re not going to abandon ship this time?’

  There was nothing else for it—he tugged down his boxers, releasing himself. Then he stood up and faced her head-on—fully hard, fully erect and fully loaded.

  Lucie stood utterly still, but her eyes zoned straight in on him. Seconds ticked by as she gorged on the sight of him, and he felt so damn turned on that he put his hand around himself and stroked. This was getting out of hand before it had even begun.

  ‘You’d better make your mind up, because soon I might not be in any fit state to rescue you.’

  Another long beat as he continued to stroke, and she continued to stand, and then suddenly she began to walk towards him, her eyes trained directly on his. For some bizarre reason he felt as if he were guiding her across a rope bridge, willing her to take the next step. But that was just ridiculous.

  ‘Nice to see you,’ he said as she stepped into his space.

  He placed his hands on either side of her jaw and closed the last inches between them. And then he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her.

  Some kisses were sweet. Some kisses were hot.

  Dante felt as if sunspots were bursting in front of his eyes and all through his body as his tongue slid into Lucie’s warm, wet mouth and found hers. He thought he could hear moans and sighs escaping her, but that might just as easily be him. Her lips and his lips and her face and his face had become one.