Di Sione's Virgin Mistress

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I think I might have worked it out for myself,’ he said slowly. ‘Because I’d had my suspicions ever since we arrived.’

  ‘You had your suspicions?’ she echoed angrily.

  ‘Sure. I wondered why your sisters were acting as if I was the big, bad ogre and I wondered why everyone was so protective of you. It took me a while to work out why that might be, but now I think I have.’

  ‘So once I was very sick and now I’m not,’ she said flippantly. ‘End of subject, surely?’

  ‘But it’s a little bit more complicated than that, Willow?’ he said slowly. ‘Isn’t it?’

  For a minute she stiffened as she thought he might have learned about her biggest fear and secret, before she told herself he couldn’t know. He wasn’t that perceptive and she’d certainly never discussed it with anyone else. ‘What are you talking about?’ she questioned.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Something tells me you’ve never brought a man back here before. Have you?’

  Willow felt humiliation wash over her and in that moment she hated Dante Di Sione’s perception and that concerned way he was looking at her. She didn’t want him looking at her with concern—she wanted him looking at her with lust. So brazen it out, she told herself. You’ve come this far. You’ve dismissed your illness, so deal with the rest. She had him here with her—a captive audience—and judging by his body language, he still wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

  ‘And how did you manage to work that out?’ she questioned.

  His eyes were boring into her, still with that horrible, unwanted perception.

  ‘Just that every time I was introduced as your partner, people expressed a kind of barely concealed astonishment. I mean, I know I have something of a reputation where women are concerned, but they were acting like I was the devil incarnate.’

  For a second Willow thought about lying to him. About telling him that his was just another anonymous face in a sea of men she’d brought here. But why tell him something she’d be unable to carry off? She didn’t think she was that good a liar. And all she wanted was for that warm feeling to come back. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wasn’t asking for commitment—she knew she could never be in a position to ask for that. All she wanted was to be in his arms again.

  She thought about the person she’d been when he’d met her at the airport—that bold and flirtatious Willow she’d never dared be before—and Dante had seemed to like that Willow, hadn’t he? She was certainly a more attractive proposition than the woman sitting huddled on the bed, meekly listening to him berate her.

  ‘I thought you would be the kind of man who wouldn’t particularly want a woman to burden you with every second of her past.’

  ‘That much is true,’ he conceded reluctantly.

  ‘So, what’s your beef?’

  Rather unsteadily, she got off the bed, and before he could stop her she’d reached behind her to slide down the zip of her bridesmaid dress, so that it pooled around her ankles in a shimmering circle.

  Willow had never stood in front of a man in her underwear before and she’d always wondered what it would feel like—whether she would feel shy or uninhibited or just plain self-conscious. But she could still feel the effect of the champagne she’d drunk and, more than that, the look on his face was powerful enough to drive every inhibition from her mind. Because Dante looked almost tortured as she stepped out from the circle of satin and stood before him wearing nothing but her underwear and a pair of high-heeled shoes.

  And although people often told her she looked as if she could do with a decent meal, Willow knew from her time working in the fashion industry that slenderness worked in your favour when you were wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of pants. She could see his gaze lingering on the swell of her breasts in the ivory-coloured lace bra which was embroidered with tiny roses. Reluctantly, it travelled down to her bare stomach before seeming to caress the matching thong, lingering longest on the flimsy triangle and making her ache there.

  Feeling as if she was playing out a part she’d seen in a film, she lifted her fingers to her breast and cupped the slight curve. As she ran her finger along a twist of leaves, she thought she saw him move, as if he was about to cross the room and take her in his arms after all, and she held her breath in anticipation.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead a little nerve began working furiously at his temple as he patted his pocket, until he’d found his car keys.

  ‘And I think that’s my cue to leave,’ he said harshly.

  ‘No!’ The word came out in a rush. ‘Please, Dante. I don’t want you to go.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m out of here.’

  ‘Dante...’

  ‘No. Listen to me, Willow.’ There was a pause while he seemed to be composing himself, and when he started speaking, his words sounded very controlled. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re lovely. Very lovely. A beautiful butterfly of a woman. But I’m not going to have sex with you.’

  She swallowed. ‘Because you don’t want me?’

  His voice grew rough. ‘You know damned well I want you.’

  She lifted her eyes to his. ‘Then why?’

  He seemed to hesitate and Willow got the distinct feeling that he was going to say something dismissive, or tell her that he didn’t owe her any kind of explanation. But to her surprise, he didn’t. His expression took on that almost gentle look again and she found herself wanting to hurl something at him...preferably herself. To tell him not to wrap her up in cotton wool the way everyone else did. To treat her like she was made of flesh and blood instead of something fragile and breakable. To make her feel like that passionate woman he’d brought to life in his arms.

  ‘Because I’m the kind of man who brings women pain, and you’ve probably had enough of that in your life. Don’t make yourself the willing recipient of any more.’ He met the question in her eyes. ‘I’m incapable of giving women what they want and I’m not talking about sex. I don’t do emotion, or love, or commitment, because I don’t really know how those things work. When people tell me that I’m cold and unfeeling, I don’t get offended—because I know it’s true. There’s nothing deep about me, Willow—and there never will be.’

  Willow drew in a breath. It was now or never. It was a huge risk—but so what? What did she have to lose when the alternative of not having him suddenly seemed unbearable? ‘But that’s all I want from you,’ she whispered. ‘Sex.’

  His face hardened as he shook his head.

  ‘And I certainly don’t have sex with virgins,’ he finished flatly.

  She stared at him in disbelief. ‘But...how on earth could you tell I was a virgin?’ she whispered, her voice quivering with disappointment, before realising from his brief, hard smile that she had just walked into some sort of trap.

  ‘Call it an informed guess,’ he said drily. ‘And it’s the reason why I have to leave.’

  The hurt and the rejection Willow was feeling was now replaced by a far more real concern as she realised he meant it. He was going to leave her there, aching and alone and having to face everyone in the morning.

  Reaching down to the bed, she grabbed at the duvet which was lying on the bed and wrapped it around herself, so that it covered her in an unflattering white cloud. And then she looked into the icy glitter of his eyes, willing him not to walk away. ‘If you go now, it will just cause a big scene. It will make people gossip and stir up all kinds of questions. And I don’t think I can face them. Or rather, I don’t want to face them. Please don’t make me. Don’t go,’ she said urgently. ‘At least, not tonight. Let’s pretend that you’re my lover, even if it’s not true. Let me show my sisters and my family that I’m a grown-up woman who doesn’t need their protection any more. I want to break free from their well-meaning intervention, and you’re the person who can help me. So help me, Dante.
Don’t make me face them alone in the morning.’

  Dante heard the raw appeal in her voice and realised how difficult that must have been for her to say. She seemed so vulnerable that part of him wanted to go over there and comfort her. To cradle her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t do that with any degree of certainty, could he? He didn’t even trust himself to touch her without going back on his word and it was vital he kept to his self-imposed promise.

  ‘This is a crazy situation,’ he growled. ‘Which is going to get even crazier if I stay. I’m sorry, Willow—but I can’t do it.’

  In the distance, the music suddenly came to a halt and the sound of clapping drifted in through the open windows.

  ‘But I still have your bag,’ she said quietly. ‘And I thought you badly wanted it back.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Are you...threatening me?’ he questioned.

  She shrugged. ‘I thought we had a deal.’

  He met her grey gaze and an unwilling feeling of admiration flooded through him as he realised that she meant it. And even though she wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on if he had decided to offer real resistance, he knew he couldn’t do it. Because there were only so many setbacks a person could take—and she’d had more than her fair share of them.

  ‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘The deal still stands, though the terms have changed. And this is what we’re going to do. You are going to get ready for bed in the bathroom and you’re going to wear something—anything—I don’t care what it is as long as it covers you up. You are then going to get into bed and I don’t want to hear another word from you until morning, when we will leave for London before anyone else is awake, because I have no intention of facing your family first thing and having to continue with this ridiculous farce.’

  ‘But...where will you sleep?’

  With a faint feeling of disbelief that he should be consigning himself to a celibate night, he pointed to a faded velvet chaise longue on the opposite side of the room. ‘Over there,’ he said.

  ‘Dante...’

  ‘No,’ he said, his patience dwindling as he moved away from her, because despite the fact that she was swaddled beneath that fat, white duvet, the image of her slender body wearing nothing but her bra and pants was seared into his memory. He swallowed. ‘I want you to do that right now, or the deal is off—and if I have to drive myself back to London and break into your apartment in order to retrieve what is rightfully mine, then I will do it. Do you understand, Willow?’

  She met his eyes and nodded with an obedience which somehow made his heart twist.

  ‘Yes, Dante,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE STRONG SMELL of coffee filtered into her senses, waking Willow from her restless night. Slowly, her eyelids flickered open to see Dante standing by her bed with a steaming mug in his hand. He was already dressed, though looked as if he could do with a shave, because his jaw was dark and shadowed.

  So were his eyes.

  ‘Where did you find the coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Where do you think I found it? In the kitchen. And before you ask, the answer is no. Everyone else in the house must be sleeping off their hangover because I didn’t bump into anyone else along the way.’

  Willow nodded. It was like a bad dream. Actually, it was more like a nightmare. She’d spent the night alone in her childhood bed, covered up in a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pants, while Dante slept on the chaise longue on the other side of the room.

  Pushing her hair away from her face, she sat up and stared out of the windows. Neither of them had drawn the drapes last night and the pale blue of the morning sky was edged with puffy little white clouds. The birds were singing fit to burst and the powerful scent of roses drifted in on the still-cool air. It was an English morning at its loveliest and yet its beauty seemed to mock her. It reminded her of all the things she didn’t have. All the things she probably never would have. It made her think about the disaster of the wedding the day before. She thought about her sister laughing up at her new husband with love shining from her eyes. About the youngest flower girl, clutching her posy with dimpled fists. About the tiny wail of a baby in the church, and the shushing noises of her mother as she’d carried the crying infant outside, to the understanding smiles of the other women present, like they were all members of that exclusive club called Mothers.

  A twist of pain like a knife in her heart momentarily caught Willow off-guard and it took a moment before she had composed herself enough to turn to look into Dante’s bright blue eyes.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Still early.’ His iced gaze swept over her. ‘How long will it take you to get ready?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, putting the coffee down on the bedside table and then walking over to the other side of the room to stare out of the window. ‘Then just do it, and let’s get going as soon as possible, shall we?’

  It was couched as a question but there was no disguising the fact that it was another command.

  ‘What about my parents?’

  ‘Leave them a note.’

  She wanted to tell him that her mother would hit the roof if she just slunk away without even having breakfast, but she guessed what his response would be. He would shrug and tell her she was welcome to stay. And she didn’t want to stay here, without him. She wanted to keep her pathetic fantasy alive for a while longer. She wanted people to see what wasn’t really true. Willow with her boyfriend. Willow who’d just spent the night with a devastatingly attractive man. Lucky Willow.

  Only she wasn’t lucky at all, was she?

  Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her clothes and took the quickest shower on record as she tried very hard not to think about the way she’d pleaded with Dante to have sex with her the night before. Or the way he’d turned her down. He’d told her it was because he was cold and sometimes cruel. He’d told her he didn’t want to hurt her and maybe that was thoughtfulness on his part—how ironic, then, that he had ended up by hurting her anyway.

  Dressing in jeans and a T-shirt and twisting her hair into a single plait, Willow returned to the bedroom, drank her cooled coffee and then walked with Dante through the blessedly quiet corridors towards the back of the house.

  She should have realised it was too good to be true, because there, standing by the kitchen door wearing a silky dressing gown and a pair of flip-flops, stood her mother. Willow stared at her in dismay. Had she heard her and Dante creeping through the house, or was this yet another example of the finely tuned antennae her mother always seemed able to call upon whenever she was around?

  ‘M-Mum,’ stumbled Willow awkwardly.

  A pair of eyebrows were arched in her direction. ‘Going somewhere?’

  Willow felt her cheeks grow pink and was racking her brains about what to say, when Dante intercepted.

  ‘You must forgive us for slipping away so early after such a fabulous day yesterday, Mrs Hamilton—but I have a pile of work I need to get through before I go back to Paris and Willow has promised to help me.’ He smiled. ‘Haven’t you?’

  Willow had never seen her mother look quite so flustered—but how could she possibly object in the face of all that undeniable charm and charisma Dante was directing at her? She saw the quick flare of hope in her mother’s eyes. Was she in danger of projecting into the future, just as Great-aunt Maud had done last night?

  Kissing her mother goodbye she and Dante went outside, but during the short time she’d spent getting ready, the puffy white clouds had accumulated and spread across the sky like foam on a cup of macchiato. Suddenly, the air had a distinct chill and Willow shivered as Dante put the car roof up and she slid onto the passenger seat.

  It wasn’t like the outward journey, when the
wind had rushed through their hair and the sun had shone and she had been filled with a distinct sensation of hope and excitement. Enclosed beneath the soft roof, the atmosphere felt claustrophobic and tense and the roar of his powerful car sounded loud as it broke the early-morning Sunday silence.

  They drove for a little way without saying anything, and once out on the narrow, leafy lanes, Willow risked a glance at him. His dark hair curled very slightly over the collar of his shirt and his olive skin glowed. Despite his obvious lack of sleep and being in need of a shave, he looked healthy and glowing—like a man at the very peak of his powers, but his profile was set and unmoving.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Are you angry with me?’

  Dante stared straight ahead as the hedgerows passed in a blur of green. He’d spent an unendurable night. Not just because his six-foot-plus frame had dwarfed the antique piece of furniture on which he’d been attempting to sleep, but because he’d felt bad. And it hadn’t got any better. He’d been forced to listen to Willow tossing and turning while she slept. To imagine that pale and slender body moving restlessly against the sheet. He’d remembered how she’d felt. How she’d tasted. How she’d begged him to make love to her. He had been filled with a heady sexual hunger which had made him want to explode. He’d wanted her, and yet rejecting her had been his only honourable choice. Because what he’d said had been true. He did hurt women. He’d never found one who was capable of chipping her way through the stony walls he’d erected around his heart, and sometimes he didn’t think he ever would. And in the meantime, Willow Hamilton needed protection from a man like him.