Di Sione's Virgin Mistress

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Dance with me,’ he said.

  With a quick bite of her lip, she shook her head. ‘I’d better not. I have masses of things I need to do.’

  ‘It wasn’t a question, Willow,’ he said, pulling her into his arms. ‘It was a command and I won’t tolerate anyone who disobeys my commands.’

  ‘That’s an outrageous thing to say.’

  ‘So outrageous it’s made you shiver with desire?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Pulling her against his body, he breathed in the scent of flowers which made him long to remove that fussy dress and have her naked in his arms. He’d had enough of behaving like a teenager—only getting so far before another of her damned sisters interrupted them. He slid his hand over her ribcage, his heart thundering as his fingertips stroked the slippery satin. ‘So how long does this damned wedding go on for?’

  ‘Oh, ages,’ she said, but the sudden breathlessness in her voice coincided with his thumb casually beginning to circle the area beneath her breast. ‘We haven’t even had the speeches yet.’

  ‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ he said, swinging her round and thinking how slight she was. He remembered how feather-light she’d felt when he’d carried her over to that ridiculously tiny bed and he wished he was on that bed right now with his mouth on her breast and his fingers between her legs. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can wait,’ he said huskily.

  ‘Wait?’ She drew her head back and it was as if she had suddenly recognised her power over him, because her grey eyes were dancing with mischief. ‘Yes, I suppose you must be hungry. Well, don’t worry—supper won’t be long. Just as soon as my father and the best man have spoken.’

  In answer, he pressed his hardness against her with a sudden calculated stamp of sexual mastery and watched as her pupils dilated in response. ‘I want you,’ he said, very deliberately. ‘And I’m tempted to take you by the hand and get us lost in these enormous grounds. I’d like to find somewhere sheltered, like the shade of a big tree, so that I could explore what you’re wearing underneath that monstrosity of a dress. I’d like to make you come very quickly. In fact, I think I could make myself come right now, just by thinking about it.’

  ‘Dante!’

  ‘Yes, Willow?’

  She drew away from him, trembling slightly, and once again he was confused, because wasn’t she just a mass of contradictions? One minute she was so hot that he almost scorched his fingers when he touched her—and the next she was looking up at him with reproachful grey eyes, like some delicate flower he was in danger of crushing beneath the full force of his desire. And that was how her family treated her, wasn’t it? Like she couldn’t be trusted to make her own judgements and look after herself.

  ‘You’re very...’

  ‘Very what?’ He stalled her sentence with the brush of his lips against her cheek and felt her shiver again.

  ‘D-demanding,’ she managed.

  ‘Don’t you like me being demanding?’

  Willow closed her eyes as he tightened his arms around her, distracted by the heat of his body and acutely aware that they were being watched. Of course they were being watched. Dante Di Sione was easily the most watchable man here—and hadn’t that been one of the reasons she’d demanded his company? To show people that she was capable of attracting such a man? But suddenly it felt like much more than just pretending to be his lover; she wanted to be his lover. She wanted it to be real. She wanted to be like everyone else, but she couldn’t. So she was just going to have to make the best of what she was capable of, wasn’t she?

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I like it very much. It’s just not very appropriate right now. We’re in the middle of a crowd of people and there are things I’m supposed to be doing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Checking that everyone’s got a drink so they can make a toast once the speeches start. And introducing people who don’t know each other—that sort of thing.’

  ‘All this hanging around and waiting is very dull,’ he observed.

  ‘Then circulate,’ she said lightly. ‘That’s what people do.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing but circulate,’ he growled. ‘I think I’ll go crazy if I have to endure yet another society matron trying to calculate what my net worth is.’

  She tilted her head back and studied him. ‘So how do you usually cope with weddings?’

  ‘By avoiding them whenever possible.’

  ‘But you were unable to avoid this one?’

  ‘It seems I was.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘There must be something very valuable in that bag to make you want it so much.’

  ‘Right now, I want you far more than anything in that damned bag.’

  Willow giggled, feeling a sudden heady rush of excitement which had more to do with the way he was making her feel than the glass of punch she’d drunk. ‘Which was a very neat way of avoiding my question.’

  ‘I don’t remember you actually asking a question and it’s the only answer you’re going to get. So when can we leave?’

  ‘After the cake has been cut,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Look, there are the main players getting ready to speak and I’m supposed to be up at the top table. I’ll see you in a while.’

  She tore herself away from his arms, aware of his gaze burning into her as she walked across the garden, but at that moment she was on such a high that she felt as if she could have floated over the candlelit lawn.

  It didn’t take Flora long to bring her right back down to earth as she joined her in the throng of Hamiltons at the top table.

  ‘I’ve looked him up on the internet,’ she said as soon as Willow was in earshot.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who do you think? The man who drove you here today in his flashy red sports car,’ replied her sister. ‘Mr Macho.’

  Willow reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and took a sip as her gaze drifted over towards Dante’s statuesque form, which seemed to stand out from the milling crowd. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she said, without really thinking.

  ‘Nobody’s denying that,’ said Flora slowly. ‘And I’m guessing that if you’ve brought him here, it must be serious?’

  ‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Willow evasively.

  Flora lowered her voice. ‘So you’re aware that he’s an international playboy with lovers in every major city in the world who is also known as a complete maverick in the world of business?’

  Willow took a mouthful of fizz. ‘So what? I’m not planning some kind of corporate takeover with him.’

  ‘He’s way out of your league, love,’ said Flora gently. ‘He’s a wolf and you’re an innocent little lamb. You haven’t exactly had a lot of experience with the opposite sex, have you?’

  ‘Only because my family is too busy mounting an armed guard around me!’

  Flora frowned. ‘So what exactly is going on between you?’

  There was a pause. ‘I like him,’ said Willow truthfully. ‘I like him a lot.’

  It was perhaps unfortunate that Great-aunt Maud should have chosen just that moment to drift past in a cloud of magenta chiffon and gardenia perfume, blinking rapidly as she caught the tail end of their conversation. ‘So does that mean you’re going to be next up the aisle, Willow?’ She beamed, without waiting for an answer. ‘I must say I’m not surprised. He is quite something, that young man of yours. Quite something.’

  * * *

  Dante listened to the formal speeches which always bored the hell out of him and steadfastly ignored the redhead who was flashing him an eager smile. But for once the sentiments expressed went beyond the usual gags about mothers-in-law and shotguns. The groom thanked all the bridesmaids and told them how beautiful they looked, but he left Willow until last, and suddenly his voi
ce grew serious.

  ‘I’d just like to say how much it meant to Clover, having Willow’s support. But much more than that is having her here today, looking so lovely. It means...well, it means everything to us.’

  Dante frowned as people began to cheer, wondering why the atmosphere had grown distinctly poignant and why Willow’s mother was suddenly groping in her bag for a handkerchief.

  But then Willow’s father began speaking and after he had waxed long and lyrical about the bride, he paused before resuming—his eyes resting affectionately on the slender blonde in the bridesmaid dress who was twisting the peachy satin around her fingers and looking slightly awkward.

  ‘I just want to echo Dominic’s words and say how happy we are to see Willow here today looking, if I might add, positively radiant. We just want her to know how proud we are of her, and the way she handled her illness, when all her peers were running around without a care in the world. And how her recovery has made us all feel very, very grateful.’

  The applause which followed was deafening and Dante’s lips froze as suddenly it all made sense.

  Of course.

  That’s why she looked so fragile and that’s why her family fussed around her and were so protective of her.

  She’d been ill.

  How ill? It must have been bad for it to warrant a mention in not one but two of the wedding speeches.

  He felt momentarily winded. Like that time when a tennis ball hit by his twin had slammed straight into his solar plexus. He had been itching to take Willow away from here as soon as the speeches were over, but suddenly he needed time. And distance. Because how could he now take her to bed in the light of what he had learned?

  Did Willow sense where he was in the throng of people? Was that why her grey eyes suddenly turned to meet his? Only this time it was more than desire which pumped through his veins as his gaze connected with hers. It was a cocktail of emotions he was unfamiliar with. He felt sympathy and a flare of something which clenched his heart with a sensation close to pain. The sense that life was unfair. And yet why should that come as a surprise, when he’d learnt the lesson of life’s unfairness at the age of eight, when his entire world had changed for ever?

  Why the hell hadn’t she told him?

  He watched as the smile she was directing at him became slightly uncertain and she picked up her glass and took a mouthful of champagne. And part of him wanted to run. To get into his car and drive back to London. To fly on to Paris as soon as possible and put this whole incident behind him. Yet he couldn’t do that—and not just because she still had his grandfather’s precious tiara. He couldn’t just turn his back on her and walk away. If she’d known real suffering, then she deserved his compassion and his respect.

  He saw all the women lining up and giggling and wondered what was happening, when he realised that the bride was about to throw her bouquet. And he wondered why it came as no real sense of surprise when Willow caught it, to the accompaniment of more loud cheers.

  He couldn’t stay here. He could see some of her relatives smiling at him, almost—God forbid—as if they were preparing to welcome him into the fold and he knew that he had to act. Ignoring the redhead with the cleavage who had been edging closer and closer, he walked straight up to Willow and took the empty champagne glass from her hand.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  He couldn’t miss the look of relief on her face.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, sounding a little unsteady.

  On her high-heeled shoes she was tottering as they walked across the darkening grass as if she’d had a little too much to drink—but for once Dante wasn’t about to take the moral high ground.

  He waited for her to mention the speeches, but she didn’t. She was too busy weaving her fingers into his and squeezing them. He thought again about her father’s words and how her experience had affected her. It meant she’d probably learnt in the hardest way possible about the fragility of life and the random way that trouble could strike. He wondered if she’d plumped for recklessness as a result of that. Was that why she would have had sex with him before the wedding had even started, if her damned sister hadn’t interrupted them? He wondered if she was this free with everyone—an aristocratic wild child who’d learned to be liberal with her body. And he was unprepared for the sudden dark shaft of anger which slammed into him.

  They reached her room without meeting anyone and the sounds of celebration drifted up through the open windows as she shut the bedroom door behind them and switched on a small lamp. He could hear music and laughter and the rising lull of snatched conversation, but there was no joy in Dante’s heart right then.

  She leaned against the door, her shiny ruffled dress gleaming and her grey eyes looking very bright. ‘So,’ she said, darting a rather embarrassed glance at the bride’s bouquet she was still holding, before quickly putting it down on a nearby table. ‘Now what?’

  He wished he could wipe what he’d heard from his mind, leaving his conscience free to do what he really wanted—which was to walk over there and remove her dress. To take off her bra and her panties and strip himself bare, before entering that pale and slim body with one slow and exquisite thrust.

  He went to stand by the window, with his back to the strings of Chinese lanterns which gleamed in the trees.

  ‘Did you enjoy the wedding, Willow?’ he asked carefully.

  She walked across the room, pulling the wilting crown of flowers from her head and placing it on the dressing table, and a clip which clattered onto the wooden floor sounded unnaturally loud.

  ‘It was okay,’ she said, taking out another clip, and then another, before putting them down. She turned around then, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and there was a faint look of anxiety in her eyes, as if she had just picked up from his tone that something was different. She licked her lips. ‘Did you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, not really. But then, I’m not really a big fan of weddings.’

  Her smile became a little brittle. ‘Oh, well, at least it’s over now,’ she said. ‘So why don’t we just take our minds off it?’

  She began to walk unsteadily towards him and Dante knew he had to stop this before it went any further. Before he did something he might later regret. But it was hard to resist her when she looked so damned lovely. There was something so compelling about her. Something pure and untouched which contrasted with the hungry look in her eyes and the wanton spill of her half-pinned hair. She looked like a little girl playing the part of vamp.

  He shook his head. ‘No, Willow.’

  But she kept on walking towards him until she was standing in front of him in her long dress. And now she was winding her arms around his neck and clinging on to him like a tender vine and the desire to kiss her was like a fever raging in his blood.

  Briefly, he closed his eyes as if that would help him resist temptation, but it didn’t—because the feel of her was just as distracting as the sight of her. And maybe she took that as an invitation—because she brushed her mouth over his with a tentative exploration which made him shiver. With an angry little groan he succumbed to the spiralling of desire as he deepened the kiss. He felt the kick of his heart as her hands began to move rather frantically over him, and what could he do but respond?

  She was tugging at his tie as he started to caress the slender lines of her body, his fingers sliding helplessly over the slippery material. He felt her sway and picked her up, carrying her over to the bed, like a man acting on autopilot. She lay there, almost swamped by the silky folds of her bridesmaid dress, and as his hand reached out to stroke its way over her satin-covered breast, he felt a savage jerk of lust.

  ‘Oh, Dante,’ she breathed—and that heartfelt little note of wonder was almost his undoing.

  Would it be so wrong to take her? To have her gasp out her pleasure and him do
the same, especially when they both wanted it so badly? Surely it would be a good thing to end this rather bizarre day with some uncomplicated and mindless sex.

  Except that it wouldn’t be uncomplicated. Or mindless. Not in the light of what he’d learned. Because she was vulnerable. Of course she was. And he couldn’t treat her as he would treat any other woman. He couldn’t just strip her naked and pleasure her and take what he wanted for himself before walking away. She had gone through too much to be treated as something disposable.

  With an effort which tore at him like a physical pain, he moved away from the bed and went to stand by the window, where the darkness of the garden was broken by the flickering gleam of candlelight. Tiny pinpricks of light glittered on every surface, like fallen stars. Beneath the open window he could hear a couple talking in low voices which then abruptly stopped and something told him they were kissing. Was that envy he felt? Envy that he couldn’t just forget everything he knew and block out his reservations with a kiss?

  It took several moments for the hunger to leave him, and when he had composed himself sufficiently, he turned back to find her sitting up on the bed looking at him—confusion alternating with the desire which was skating across her fine-boned features.

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been so ill?’

  Willow’s first reaction was one of rage as his words fired into her skin like sharp little arrows. Rage that her father and Dominic should have seen fit to include the information in their speeches and rage that he should suddenly have started talking to her in that new and gentle voice. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her—she wanted him hot and hungry. She wanted him tugging impatiently at her clothes like he’d been before, as if he couldn’t wait to strip her bare.

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ she demanded. ‘I had leukaemia as a child. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘It’s a pretty big deal, Willow.’

  ‘Only if people choose to make it one,’ she gritted out. ‘Especially since I’ve had the all-clear, which makes me as disease-free as you or the rest of the general population. What did you want me to do, Dante? Tell you all about the drugs and the side effects and the way my hair fell out, or how difficult it was to actually keep food down? When it comes to interacting with men, it’s not exactly what they want to hear as a chat-up line. It doesn’t really make you attractive towards the opposite sex.’ She glared. ‘Why the hell did Dom and my father have to say anything?’