Eleanor had barely passed the time of day with him, but she was all over Lucie. And Lucie was being ‘such a darling’ back. They had ‘so much in common’ he’d heard—easily five times in five hours.
It was a car crash. A pile-up of all his worst dreams.
He’d never made the cut to be one of his mother’s ‘projects’ when he’d been growing up. And his younger, needier self had at times resented the fact that she’d been there for everyone else except him. But he’d grown up fast. Too fast. And the last thing he’d wanted since Celine was any kind of simpering interference in his life. Especially from his mother—and she had happily obliged by training her lasers elsewhere.
So what she thought she was doing by monopolising Lucie through lunch and during their stroll round Central Park was anybody’s guess. Except he’d guessed it in the first five minutes, and it wasn’t cool. If she didn’t let up he was going to have to take her to one side and talk to her. Firmly.
He badly wanted to have some one-on-one time with Lucie. Whenever she came out of that damn shower. They had two hours until showtime. Two hours that he’d made clear were off-limits to any member of the family who might drop by their suite and hope for a lovely cup of English tea and a chat about the Queen. Or whatever.
He emptied the pockets in his jeans of phone and wallet and put his shades down on the bedside table at his side of the bed. His side of the bed. What did that even mean? Every side of the bed was his side.
‘Hey, Princess,’ he said, going up to the en-suite bathroom door. He rapped and pushed the handle. Locked? What was going down with her, exactly?
He lifted his hand to knock more loudly on the door just as it swung open. A puff of steam and a freshly scrubbed beauty emerged. Scowling.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he said, walking towards her to grab a kiss.
‘Handsome,’ she said, giving him a smile and her cheek for his kiss as she passed on into the room.
‘I know you’re planning to get ready, but there’s something I need to discuss with you,’ he said, catching her by the waist and pulling her round to face him. ‘There’s a crisis in the hotel and they need our help.’
She was smiling at him. She loved these little games they played.
‘I didn’t hear about any crisis. Are you quite sure you’ve not got the wrong end of the stick?’
He winked. ‘It’s a laundry crisis. They need their towels back. Now.’
She squealed and tried to move out of his grasp, but he was fast and strong and totally determined.
‘I’m reporting you to the management!’ she cried, giggling and writhing and then sighing as she allowed herself to be held, allowed him to unknot her towel. Allowed him to unwrap her and slide his hands all over that warm, damp, glorious flesh.
‘You drive me crazy,’ he said, pulling her close against him, sliding her lush, beautiful body against his. He pulled the towel off her head, ran his hands through her hair and held her head, tugged her even closer. ‘God, you’re lovely. Lovely.’
He found her mouth, and just that meeting of her lips on his lips had him straining so hard again. It was like a frenzy. He couldn’t get enough of her. He still hadn’t had her in all the ways he wanted. He’d taken his time, gone at her pace, but now he was crazy with need. He wanted all of her.
‘Come on, baby,’ he said, filling his hands with her breasts, filling his mouth with her nipple, laving it over and over, tugging and sucking. Kneading and loving. Walking her back to the bed.
Her hands dropped to his head, holding him there at her breasts, and her moans filled the room. She was as crazy for him as he was for her.
She said his name, over and over. She moaned and cried out. And he knew she was ripe for him—ready for every last bit of pleasure he could give her. It was time. Her last taboo.
He laid her down on the bed, pink and damp, those rosy-tipped breasts so prominent, so erotic, so purely, perfectly lovely.
He stood over her.
‘Touch yourself, Lucie.’
She was flat on the bed. She was writhing, lost in her own pleasure. She was ready.
‘Now.’
Her eyes flew open but she did as he said. She lifted her hand and laid it between her legs. And he watched as she began to slide her fingers over her bud.
‘That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.’
He lay down beside her on the bed as she closed her eyes and turned her head away.
‘Baby...you beautiful girl.’
Gently he cupped her jaw and turned her to face him. Her eyes were glazed. He kissed her lips, kissed down between her breasts. He palmed her full, swollen flesh and pulled a nipple into his mouth. She moaned.
He shifted position and began to trail kisses down over her stomach. He waited—expecting to feel her jerk away, expecting the freeze. But still she touched and moaned, and he could not wait any more to know her in that most intimate way.
‘Sweetheart...’ he breathed as he slipped right down until his lips were level with her mound. ‘Let me kiss you.’
He paused, and she paused—just for that tiny moment.
‘All of you, Lucie. All of you is beautiful. Nothing should be hidden away. I love you—all of you.’
He screwed his eyes shut and bit down on a curse. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said. But he had. Just said it. Damn.
But he’d deal with the fallout later, if there was any, because there was no way back now. She was easily the most lovely girl he’d ever known. And she was going to let him do what he should have been able to do from that first night. It was crazy that she’d needed all that nurturing and cosseting and coaxing to get her to this point. But here she was, trusting him as no one had ever trusted him before. God, it was beautiful.
He dipped his head. He kissed her most private part. He licked. She was beautiful.
He growled his praise and settled himself between her legs, gripping her hips and holding her just where he wanted, where she needed him. She didn’t move, didn’t jerk, didn’t slide away or beg him to stop.
And then he found her and lapped her. Over and over. Revelling in the knowledge that he’d been the one to arouse her, to make her so wet, so swollen, so ready to burst into orgasm right there in his mouth.
* * *
She felt it coming, knew it was coming, and as the chatter in her head started up she would not have it. Would not let her silly head deny her this beautiful pleasure.
The warm, wet caress of his tongue, the sight of his head in that most erotic position, pouring his pleasure into her, the touch of his lips and the steadily building crescendo finally almost peaking—and then the break, the wonderful release.
She screamed. She heard his name rush from her lips. She gripped the sheets as his tongue pulsed again and again and again until the pleasure almost became pain and she finally begged him to stop.
He climbed up beside her and held her then in his arms. She was molten. She was replete. She was happier than she could ever have imagined. She had conquered one of her biggest hang-ups and stifled the voices that dominated her head and her life. Dante had done more for her than he would ever know.
As they lay back on the bed, he still fully dressed and she naked, wrapped in his arms, she listened to the far-off noise of the street. The bustle and buzz of New York—life in all its wonderful forms. The day was rolling on, just as it had when they had strolled around the park only an hour earlier, but it was changed for ever now.
He had given her that gift. But more than that—so much more than that—he had told her that he loved her. In his own way, not in a conventional way, but she knew. This wonderful man who played everything so cool, who’d never had a girlfriend for longer than five minutes, who spent his life travelling, avoiding commitment—he’d recognised that they had something special. And she had too—of course she had. She’d never had the courage to think it, never mind say it until now. But he was braver than she—he’d said it. And the only thing they could do now was
move forward. Together.
But first she had to show him what he’d done for her. She had to make love to him now. She felt as if her whole life had suddenly become clear as crystal. She slid round and raised herself up above him, straddled him and began to unfasten his buttons. He’d been looking away, but now turned to face her. And he looked strangely grave, like a fallen angel.
‘Dante...’ She cupped his face and kissed him. She poured all her love and thanks into her kiss. ‘That was so lovely. I’m sorry I was so silly, and I’m so grateful you cared enough not to give up on me. I love every part of you too.’
She bent forward to kiss him again, but he shifted, and instead of letting her lips land on his he tucked her under his arm.
‘Hey...glad you enjoyed it. Knew you would.’
She was sandwiched against his chest, with her head pinned down, listening to the slow beat of his heart. She pushed herself up.
‘So that’s one I owe you,’ she said, getting back to unbuttoning him.
‘You owe me nothing, Princess.’
He twisted out of her reach, swung his legs round and sat on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Lucie kneeled up, placed her hands on his shoulders and bent forward to kiss his cheek. She slid her hands down between the open panels of his shirt and over the fabulous muscles of his chest. She nuzzled against his neck, absorbing his scent, scenting herself.
‘Hey, look at the time!’ he said, grabbing her lightly, embracing her softly. Then he stood, set her back and ruffled her still-damp hair. ‘I’d better hit the shower.’
Lucie sank down on her heels and watched a flutter of tiny dust diamonds sparkle in the wake of his movement. A flood of warm afternoon sun bathed the whole room in golden honey tones that softened the heavy lacquered wood. She had stated when they’d checked in that she found the furniture dark and old-fashioned. Dante had smiled, in that way he did, and said that as long as the bed was firm he didn’t have a problem with any of it.
She couldn’t care less about any of that now. She barely noticed anything other than the space he’d left and the creeping chill that seeped across her bare skin.
What had just happened? Why had he turned away? Refused her? Rejected her. He had used the ‘L’ word—he had! She wasn’t hearing things. And then he had rejected her. After saying what he’d said. After making her body sing and her heart burst.
She felt hot, fat tears of self-pity spring into her eyes and wiped them furiously with her hand. This did not make sense!
She stepped onto the carpeted floor, dragging a sheet round her shoulders, and walked to the windows. To the right was the spread of another huge brownstone building, windows in a grim grid above dreary awnings and the spikes of bare flagpoles. Below a red carpet seeped like a pool of blood to the street. To the left a sliver of darkening sky showed above the jutting edifices of a thousand faceless blocks, and in between people were swarming like ants and cars and trucks were screaming their impatience.
How could the world have tilted so awfully in those moments?
The world? Her world—which had been on a head-on collision course with confidence and happiness—had now been sent flying off in another direction completely. Was she really going to let herself sink back into the miserable world she’d once inhabited? Was she going to stay in hiding for ever?
So he had rejected her? Well, maybe she had read it wrong. Or maybe she should care less about what other people thought and did and more about what she was going to do next. Because in her talk with Dante’s mother she had learned so much about how she could put something back into the world. She had made a start with the CCC, but there were a million charities she could patronise. And she didn’t need Lady Viv to come anywhere near any of them. She was more than capable of working behind the scenes herself. And, while she wasn’t exactly ready to jump up onto any podium, she did feel a lot more confident that one day she would. One day soon.
But first she had to tackle this. Head-on. She’d never had any problem confronting him before—why on earth would she start now? She paced to the door of the en-suite bathroom. She could hear the shower faintly. Before she rattled the door she should think this through. Perhaps. But her hand and her brain weren’t working in tandem and she shoved it open.
The pile of clothes on the floor, the steam on every flat surface, the scent of that lemon soap he used... Her heart swelled and her throat squeezed. Dante.
‘Hey,’ he said as he tilted his face up and let the running water clear it of foam. Then he wiped his cheeks and lifted more soap. He rubbed his big hand over his big chest and under his big arm. ‘Everything okay?’
As if she’d wakened from a coma, she suddenly came to.
‘No, it’s damned well not okay! And you know that perfectly well.’
He continued to soap his body—down his abdomen and further. Her eyes dropped to his penis. It was still semi-hard and stuck out. Totally uninhibited, he stroked it as he covered it in soap and let the water rush off. He turned to the side, replaced the soap in its dish, and continued to rinse his body clean.
‘Is that right?’ he said, shrugging slightly and putting his head back under the jet of water.
‘I thought you’d made me angry that first time, when you put your paws all over me on your boat. And then when you strolled onto my father’s yacht as if I should be grateful for you sharing your air with me. But to do what you just did to me is unforgivable!’
‘You orgasmed in my mouth. People in Queens heard you. And that’s unforgivable?’
Lucie stepped forward, sliding on the wet tiles and the sheet that was bunched about her feet. She stumbled and fell slightly towards him. In a flash he spun round and reached out to help her gain her balance, but all she wanted to do was drum her hands on his chest and his arms and make him feel some of the pain she was feeling.
He held her wrists. Looked right into her face. Droplets of water coursed down his brow, his nose and his chin. He blinked his eyes clear and stared and stared. His face was fixed with a look that said absolutely nothing. Nothing. His blue eyes might have been made from stone for all the life they contained. She stared from one to the other and back again. Nothing.
‘You know what I’m talking about,’ she said.
‘I know that you’re a mature woman who walked into this with her eyes open.’
She twisted her face away as the tears burned their way forward.
‘Walked into this? I still don’t even know what this is! You say one thing and then you say another. What am I supposed to think?’
She tugged her arms down, trying to get out of his grasp. ‘Let me go! I mean it—I don’t even want to look at you.’
‘Calm down, Lucie.’
His voice was dense, and as dark as the wooden furniture in the bedroom. There was no light, no life in his eyes. The more he shut down, the more she wanted to start a fire under him.
‘What’s wrong with you? Why on earth are you behaving like this?’
‘You need to calm down. Do your breathing. You’ll be fine.’
‘Stop patronising me! Who do you think you are? You caused this! I was breathing perfectly normally until you weirded out on me.’
She jerked her hands more purposefully this time and he let her go. He faced her—water still coursing down his right shoulder. Droplets had gathered in his eyelashes and fell from his nose and chin. He stood like a cliff behind a waterfall. Powerful, elusive, utterly inaccessible. And still she wanted him.
‘Dante...’ she said, stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him, the way she had a hundred times in the past few days.
He didn’t stop her, but he was rigid like rock. She pulled back from the warm, wet, firm body. From the care and caressing he had given her these past few days. She withdrew from the heat and the light, the joy. Her world tilted again and she reached out to grab the wall, to keep herself from falling through space.
‘You told me you loved me.’
He flinched—a tiny movem
ent but she saw it. His mouth opened and then he closed it again, dropped his head to one side. He reached behind him to turn off the shower. Grabbed a towel from the rail and passed one to her.
‘I’m sorry. Heat of the moment. Didn’t mean anything.’
He started to dry himself in that thoroughly male way that he had. Rubbing and patting and dragging the towel this way and that. She felt as if he was rubbing himself clear of every trace of her.
‘Come on, Lucie. We got carried away. We were having a great time. We’ve had a great time, you and me. We don’t need any drama. And we’ve only got hours left until we need to get on our planes. Why get heavy now? Hmm?’
He wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped forward, encircled her with his arms.
‘We’re going to a party! We’re gonna have a good time!’ he said, his grin sliding back into place.
He lifted the towel she held limply in her hand and patted her shoulders dry where they had been splashed. She stood for a moment, passive. Then she grabbed the towel and tied it around her body.
‘Princess? Hey, let’s finish up on a high. A few more hours and I promise you will have an amazing time. I’ll make sure of it.’
Her world was still at a tilt. She could let it slide even further on its back. Or she could spin it back on its axis, all by herself.
‘You don’t need to make sure of anything, Dante. I’m more than capable of sorting out my own “good time”.’
He nodded. Beamed a brittle bright smile. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said.
She stared at him, more and more incredulous with each passing second.
‘For the record, the only reason I’m hanging on is because I made a commitment. I said I would do this and I stand by my word. I’m not some fake commitment-phobe, scared to put my money where my mouth is. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not, stifling my feelings and then lying about it.’
She couldn’t quite believe that the words had been in her head, never mind that they had left her mouth. Her hand flew there, as if to slam the gate after the horse had bolted.
The Argentinian's Virgin Conquest Page 12
