The Argentinian's Virgin Conquest

by Bella Frances

  Holding hands, nestling under an arm, exchanging starry-eyed glances...? She might just be able to pull that off this weekend. But it wasn’t who she was, and she had no desire for it to be.

  Cold fish? Yes. She’d been bred that way.

  She walked into the cabin and settled herself into a cream leather bucket seat.

  ‘Would you like anything, Lucie?’ Dante asked, nodding to the crew, who waited at the side offering saccharine-sweet smiles as well as crystal glasses and ice and bottles galore.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said, noting the slight edge of tension that had crept between them—or rather crept over her since he’d picked her up.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

  Of course this would be home from home for him. Making small talk after a one-night stand must be as easy as pie. She eyed him surreptitiously from under the veil of hair that cloaked her face now that she wore it down, rather in the perpetual ponytails of her youth. He was easily, breezily moving about the cabin, magnetically drawing all eyes with his innately elegant gait. Even the cabin staff in their silk blouses and tailored skirts looked like some Hollywood chorus line, gazing adoringly at the lead actor before adding their four-part harmonies.

  Her mother would never have allowed that, she thought. All the staff at the castle were over the age of fifty and as broad as they were tall. And for the first time in her life Lucie really understood why. She was jealous—just like her mother.

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled sweetly.

  She’d be damned if she would let it show.

  Her coy look was rewarded by his taking her hand and leaning forward and whispering close to her ear.

  ‘I can’t wait to get you back into a bikini. Only this time there’ll be no escape. You follow?’

  She followed. Like a hot-heeled crab, lust scuttled over her skin as she imagined the moment when they would be alone again under a bright blue sky.

  ‘Why don’t we go and lie down right now? I’d be more than happy to get some rest if you would.’

  Lucie’s mind reacted with lightning speed—much more quickly than her libido.

  ‘Not yet!’ She laughed, her hand flying to her hair as she nervously checked and smoothed. ‘No,’ she said again, laughing as she clawed back her composure. ‘Let’s keep it...special.’

  Dante stayed, hands braced on the armrests either side of her, bent low, his warm breath skimming her ear. She could see the honey-skinned cleft at the base of his throat and the smooth expanse of muscle that ran all the way to his navel. The faint scent of lemon and sandalwood wound around her, and the whole experience tugged her under as sure as any riptide. Lord, but resisting him took all her effort. He was supreme.

  ‘Oh, it will be special, Princess. You can be sure of that.’

  Lucie squirmed.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful just to relax into this as if she were stepping into a warm bath? Suddenly the urge to scrub away all the hang-ups she had was overpowering. How many more times was she going to get a chance like this?

  She raised her eyes up to his steady, twinkling gaze.

  ‘I have absolutely no doubt.’

  He grinned. Wow.

  ‘Keep your hands where I can see them, mister!’ she said, in a fake American accent.

  ‘Won’t be a problem,’ he said.

  He dipped his head and kissed her very, very carefully. His lips were warm and firm and smooth and wonderful. He didn’t move a muscle—only his lips. She felt herself let go, just a tiny bit, slipping down a little in the seat, letting her head fall back and her lips rise up. He continued. His tongue slipped in on the soft sigh she breathed out and he lifted his hands from the chair to her jaw. Then slowly, never stopping his sensual oral caress, he lifted her up.

  They stood aligned. Bodies pressed against one another. His hands cupped her face and her mouth was supplicant under his. She didn’t want to stop this. She couldn’t stop this.

  His body and her body and her mouth and his mouth were all she knew. Her hands found his chest, the smooth cotton of his shirt over hard, strong muscle. She slid them round, feeling the layer of muscle beside his ribs, then on to his back. She felt the deep indentations of his backbone, the welt of muscle on either side, all the way down to the base of his spine and—oh, her hands fell even lower as she palmed his very fabulous buttocks.

  Suddenly her hands were stopped, grabbed by the wrists.

  ‘Keep your hands where I can see ’em, Princess.’ He smiled as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her ear. She squirmed out of reach and he moved back to her mouth.

  There was nothing she wanted to do more than continue to feel those kisses, to rub her aching nipples against his hard body. He held her wrists in a strong grip, bringing his body into even closer contact with hers, so the long, hard ridge of his erection was imprinted on her stomach.

  ‘Dante...’ she sighed.

  ‘I’ll keep it special—I promise. Let’s go.’

  In one swift move he spun her round so she was marching ahead of him towards a door at the back of the cabin. She was supremely aware of the swollen lips between her legs, rubbing and throbbing with every step, but she welcomed it. Welcomed it as much as the firm pressure round each wrist and the knowledge that he was right behind her, helping her, pushing her out of this repressed fortress she’d built.

  They got to the door and he reached past her to open it. Neat, elegant, compact—the room was exactly as it should be—but she had no time for detail. Behind her the strong, safe presence of Dante pushed on. The door closed.

  She faced the bed, heard the door click and felt his hands on her shoulders. She gave a tiny jump—she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Hey...’

  He stepped closer—she could feel his warmth, his strength. She could sink back and lose herself in it. Couldn’t she? It would be so lovely... But she’d stopped and thought for too long, let her brain take over, and all that mental chatter had started up again.

  He can’t really find you that attractive—you’re nothing special...nothing like those other girls.

  She felt his hands slide around her, skim her ribs, cup her breasts, flick over her nipples.

  She flinched. Her hands jumped to his arms as he stepped forward.

  ‘Sensitive? Perfect,’ he whispered, and he stepped right up and welded himself to her back.

  And then there was nowhere to go, nothing to think or do except just to be. His fingers trailed sinful little circles over her skin and the blaze of lust returned, burning up all the worries in her head. There was nothing but that feeling, those daring fingers circling and extending the pleasure, sensing her anticipation. It was going to hurt any second now. Building and aching and soothing and gorgeous. Relentless. And of course it wouldn’t hurt—it was too perfect.

  Her hands lay on his forearms, as limp as the folds of silk that skirted the bed. Her head flopped back and her breath was stolen away on a whisper of pleasure.

  He stepped in to extinguish the final layer of air between them and she felt him. Hard and pressing. She wanted that feeling all over again. She wanted that sense of oblivion that only he could deliver. She wanted to lie in his arms as a naked offering. She wanted to be worshipped and to worship. And she didn’t care that her thighs were pale and wobbly or that her tummy stuck out. She could let go—she could...she really could.

  ‘You’re amazing, Lucie,’ he said, sliding his hand—finally!—under the layer of waterfall cashmere, under the thick cotton shirt to the fine silk of her bra. His fingers tugged the cups down and rubbed mercilessly at nipples she was sure were going to combust with the unstinting pleasure.

  She had no will to argue. He could say what he wanted as long as he never stopped.

  ‘Amazing...but far too overdressed.’

  He spun her round, unhooked her bra, and groaned his own pleasure as her breasts fell heavily into his hands.

  ‘You kill me,’ he said, lifting her laye
rs and peeling them up over her head. ‘I try—I really try to take things easy. And slow. But one look at you and—see the state you’ve got me in again?’

  He glanced down, indicating the huge bulge in his jeans.

  The chill of the air-conditioned cabin prickled her bare skin. She stared at him and he laughed, lifting her hand and putting it right on him.

  ‘Wow!’ she said, laughing back and relishing the sensation of hot, hard flesh pushing against soft denim for release.

  ‘Yes, wow,’ he said, his tone changing. Becoming low, with an unmistakable curl of command. ‘But first I want to see you on that bed.’

  He reached his hands forward and followed them immediately with his mouth, latching on to a darkly pink distended nipple and tugging with his tongue.

  She called out her pleasure, so intense was the glorious feeling, and felt herself fall back onto the bed. His hands were at the waistband of her leggings. She kicked off her sneakers. He tugged. Pulled the dark jersey down and with them her panties, exposing the dark golden curls at her apex.

  His head bent and instantly she scissored away, her legs jerking as she rolled onto her side.

  ‘No, please don’t do that! I really wouldn’t like it, you know.’

  ‘Honey, there’s not a woman alive who doesn’t like it. And I want to do it for you.’

  He grabbed her hip with one hand and tugged her free of her garments.

  In a heartbeat she was naked on the bed and on her back. Her legs were still open as she scuttled to get some distance. How on earth could he want to put his mouth there? She wasn’t built for that kind of attention. It was horrifying—she would never subject anyone to that.

  But even as those chattering hateful voices loomed louder again in her mind he was tearing off his clothes and kicking off his shoes and lying beside her, his smooth golden skin so warm beside her own cloudy pale flesh. And that huge, thick thrust of his manhood—She reached out instinctively.

  ‘Not yet—not until you’ve let me do what I want to you.’

  ‘Dante, please—please don’t do that.’

  He slid over her, braced himself and looked down as she stared up anxiously into his face. She drew her knees up and knotted them under his body.

  But he merely laughed and lay down beside her, hooked his elbow and settled his head into his hand, all the while looking at her with a faint one-dimple smile.

  ‘You’re a puzzle...but a very beautiful one.’

  And he trailed a finger from her chin downwards, firm and fatally lighting up a path between her breasts and down further, slowing at her abdomen. She lay still as a corpse, loving the pleasure he gave her and hating her own stupid reactions. Here she was, about to join the mile-high club, and she was still trying to talk herself out of it.

  ‘Lucie?’

  She glanced up into that face. God, but he was outrageously handsome. He lifted his finger and hooked her chin, holding her face tilted while he flicked on another dimple.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  He tugged her chin, forcing her to nod. She giggled. He grinned.

  ‘Repeat after me: I am a beautiful woman and I will let my lover take pleasure in my beauty.’

  ‘I am a—Oh, heavens, Dante, don’t be so ridiculous. I’m not saying that.’

  ‘What part of it?’

  He leaned up over her now, looming like a Greek god gazing at his mortal plaything.

  ‘The stuff that’s full of BS, baby!’ she said, in her fake American accent, desperately trying to make light of this and squirming away even as he lowered himself onto her, pinning her to the bed.

  His erection jabbed at her and he laughed again, positioning himself between her legs. Instantly she relaxed, hooked her legs around his back and urged him in.

  ‘You’re such a little tease, Princess—but there’s no main course until we’ve had the starters.’

  He dipped and kissed her. Gentle, sensual and slow. She felt herself sink back further into the bed.

  ‘You’re so kissable. Beautiful,’ he said, sliding his tongue and tangling it with hers.

  She moaned, relishing the sensation of his lips moulding to hers. His hand skimmed her thigh, her waist, cupped her breast and stroked.

  ‘Your body is all-woman... Lucie, your curves—you should love these lush, lovely curves.’

  He kissed her nipple and began to move further down her body, but tension surged again.

  ‘No, please—’

  He returned to her mouth, but slid his hand down, gripped her hip and eased onto his side, lying alongside her, his lips and tongue licking and lapping and loving her mouth. This was perfect—this was what she wanted. If only he would stay like this.

  And then his expert fingers touched her throbbing little bud and she jumped.

  He smothered her moans with his mouth. ‘Relax, let me do this for you.’

  And even if she’d wanted to there was no way she could have stopped it. She needed it. Desperately.

  On and on he kissed her, and gently rubbed exactly where she needed to be rubbed. Moans filled the room. Her voice. Louder and louder. She wondered absently if anyone could hear her, and her mind flooded with images of the chorus line cabin girls.

  And then the incredible peak she was climbing vanished, and all there was was this room, this bed, this man. And then all her worries began to pop up again, choking her pleasure, allowing self-consciousness to seep back in.

  ‘Hey, Lucie...’

  As if he knew, he pulled her back, kissed her more deeply, filled her head with just one feeling—making love. And she was back on the track, on the peak, surmounting all the chatter and the faces and the anxiety.

  ‘Now, Lucie. Come for me. Now.’

  His voice was filled with authority, and his fingers crazily, expertly tuned her like an instrument. Her body was unable to resist and her mind cleared—she felt herself sail over the edge. And she screamed, released. His fingers still worked on her and she craved and yearned and flew with the joy of it.

  ‘Sweetheart, that was beautiful. You beautiful girl.’

  He hugged her close and rocked them together for moments long and lovely. Slowly she settled back into her body, easing into his gentle hold. She could easily be held like this. For ever.

  Her eyes flew open and she pushed him away, wondering if she’d said that out loud! Good grief, she was all over the place. For ever? There was no ‘for ever’ about this! This was most definitely ‘for now’. She was the newly sexually confident lover of a man with a reputation as long as her arm. She wasn’t going to fall for him, for heaven’s sake! She wasn’t that stupid.

  But she needn’t have worried. Even as she pushed out of his hold he was moving her round, and in one sure move he had eased himself right where he wanted to be. Lucie was bruised, she was tender, and she knew having his huge thrusting penis inside her was going to make her even more so, but all the voices were silenced. Her body was in control and it was clear and unequivocal. She would have him, and she would have him now.

  So much pleasure—so much! Her mind cleared. There was nothing she could possibly do other than make love to this man. Her body was just her body, and all it could do was receive him.

  ‘Oh, Dante,’ she heard herself say, and her arms threaded around his back, sealing him closer to her, absorbing the swell and roll of muscle as he pushed himself in and out. Suddenly he was building to his own climax and, just knowing that, she tumbled again too.

  He lay on her, panting, and she held him close, closed her eyes, squeezed every last moment, every gorgeous sensation. Her hand cupped the back of his head, felt sweat on his neck, and she smiled at that.

  ‘I think you’re getting the hang of things,’ he said, suddenly lifting himself off and away.

  He moved into the bathroom and closed the door without a backward glance.

  Lucie opened her eyes, stared at the shadows that danced on the cabin’s low ceiling. She heard the jet’s harsh thrum and felt the stead
ily slowing beat of her heart. Under her the world was falling away, the oceans and islands thousands of feet below vanishing into a blue haze. And before her the sky was cloudless and clear and vast.

  Dante had emboldened her. She’d lived more in the past two days than she’d done in the past two decades. But there were no illusions. None. The ink was barely dry on their contract and already she was seeing warning signs in the small print. Had she been more than a little naïve to think that she would be able to come out of it the same way she went in?

  Probably. But being a cold fish had never been this much fun.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NEWS TRAVELLED FAST. A quiet couple of days in his house in East Hampton? Well, that was never going to happen. There were a dozen messages on his private line when he got to the house, as well as the usual assault of unsolicited texts offering all sorts of business. And all sorts of fun. It was as if they could sniff him coming in on the air before the helicopter even landed.

  There was a time when he’d shied away from the tractor beam of adoration that followed him around the polo circuit—particularly since Rocco had taken himself off the field. But now he was cool with it. They were just looking for a leader—someone to follow, someone to idolise. All nonsense, but who was he to disabuse anyone of their dreams?

  So when the polo club’s land here had been parcelled up and sold off, and the diehards had wanted a replacement, he’d known he was in for another flood of offers he couldn’t refuse. They saw him as a polo blue-blood—which, despite Her Ladyship’s view, he was...like it or not. Yes, it seemed everyone saw him as some kind of elite.

  Except her.

  He chuckled to himself as he walked across the tennis court. It was too hot for tennis. Or rather she was too hot for tennis. His plans for Lady Lucie ran to something needing far fewer clothes.

  Normally he’d have called Marco as soon as he’d fixed his schedule. Marco had become even more of a brother than Rocco—he was a local Montauk boy, born and bred, and in the long hot summers of his late youth they’d roamed the coasts and forests together. It had always been a wrench, leaving here to go back to Argentina. And school. Even after school there had been times when he’d nearly packed it all in and come up here to live permanently—but he hadn’t wanted to involve anyone else in his mess. It had been his creation and his responsibility.