Di Sione's Virgin Mistress

by Sharon Kendrick

  Because none of this was turning out the way it was supposed to. He’d thought that maintaining a fake relationship with Willow would be easy. He just hadn’t anticipated the reality.

  He hadn’t thought through what it would be like, being with her day in and day out, because he had no experience of what it would be like. Because he didn’t do proximity. He slept with women, yes. He loved sleeping with women and occasionally taking them out to dinner or the theatre—but any time he spent with them was doled out in very manageable slots and always on his terms. Yet now he found himself stuck with her in a cottage which seemed way too small and claustrophobic, and with no means of escape. His throat dried. She was there, but not there. She was tantalisingly close, yet he had forbidden himself to touch her, for reasons which seemed less important as each day passed. And now a terrible sexual hunger raged somewhere deep inside him and it was driving him crazy.

  For the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about his twin. Was it being back here, and seeing the great sweep of lawns where they used to climb trees and throw balls, which had made the pain suddenly feel so raw again? He thought about what he’d done to Dario, and how he’d tried to make amends, and the taste in his mouth grew bitter. Because Dario hadn’t wanted amends, had he? There was no forgiveness in his brother’s heart.

  Deciding to have some coffee before he faced Willow, Dante walked into the house to hear laughter floating down the curving staircase from one of the upstairs bedrooms. His eyes narrowed—the carefree quality of the sound impacting powerfully on his troubled thoughts. Frowning a little, he followed the unfamiliar sound until he reached his sister’s bedroom, unprepared for the sight which awaited him.

  Talia was standing on a chair, and Willow was kneeling on the floor beside it, with pins in her mouth as she tugged at the hem of a beautiful floaty dress quite unlike anything he’d ever seen his sister wear before. And it wasn’t just the dress. He’d never seen Natalia with her hair like that either, or her eyes looking so big. He caught the milky lustre of pearls at her ears—they glowed gently against her skin—and suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness, because this was his baby sister, looking all grown up.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he said.

  Natalia looked up. ‘Hi, Dante.’ She smiled. ‘I’m deciding what to wear to the exhibition of my work.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘But you never go to the exhibition.’

  ‘Not in the past. But tomorrow night I do,’ she said softly. ‘And Willow has helped me choose what to wear. Isn’t she clever?’

  Willow.

  For the first time, Dante allowed his gaze to linger on the slim blonde scrambling to her feet, her cheeks slightly pink as she removed a pin from her mouth and dropped it into a little pewter box. Her dress was creased and her legs were bare and he was hit by a wave of lust so powerful that he could feel all the blood drain from his head, to go straight to where his body was demanding it.

  He’d left their suite early because he’d felt as if he would explode if he didn’t touch her, and suddenly he began to wonder just what he was doing to himself. Whether pain was such an integral part of his life that he felt duty-bound to inflict it on himself, even when it wasn’t necessary. Was he trying to punish himself by denying himself the pleasure which he knew could be his, if only he reached out and took it? Because Willow hungered for him, just as much as he did for her. He could read it in every movement of her body. The way her eyes darkened whenever she looked at him.

  Her carelessness had led to that crazy announcement about them being engaged, but hadn’t he committed far graver sins than that? Hadn’t he once told the biggest lie in the world to his twin brother—a lie by omission. He had stood silent when Dario had accused him of sleeping with his wife, and hadn’t their relationship been in tatters ever since?

  Pushing away the regret which he’d buried so deep, he thought instead about what his grandfather had said, soon after he’d given him the tiara. That Willow was caring and thoughtful, and that he liked her. And Giovanni wouldn’t say something like that unless he meant it. His sister seemed to like her too—and Talia could be notoriously prickly with new people, after all the bad stuff which had happened in her life.

  He realised that Natalia was waiting for an answer to a question he’d forgotten. Something about Willow, he thought—which was kind of appropriate because it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than a pair of grey eyes and a soft pair of lips he badly needed to kiss.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ he said slowly. ‘Very clever.’

  A funny kind of silence descended as Willow’s cheeks grew pink.

  ‘Well, I think that’s everything,’ she said, brushing her hand down over the creases in her dress. ‘You look gorgeous, Natalia.’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ Dante agreed steadily. ‘And now I’d like to talk to you, Willow. That is, if Natalia has finished with you.’

  ‘Sure.’ Natalia gave a quick smile. ‘We’re all done here.’

  In silence Dante followed Willow from Natalia’s room, and once he had closed the door, she turned to him, her eyes filled with question.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Has something happened?’

  But he shook his head. He didn’t want whispered explanations in the corridors of this great house, with Natalia suddenly emerging from the bedroom or Alma or another member of staff stumbling upon them. He badly wanted to kiss her, and once he’d started, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stop.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘In private.’

  The journey to their cottage seemed to take for ever, and Willow’s heart was pounding as she followed Dante through the grounds because she was aware that something about him was different. When he’d walked into the room and seen her and Natalia giggling together, there had been something in his eyes which had made her want to melt. He’d looked at her in a way which had made goose bumps whisper all over her skin and her heart start thumping with an urgent kind of hope. She’d seen a new tension in his body and hoped she hadn’t imagined the hunger she’d seen in his blue eyes, but even if it was true, she wasn’t sure she trusted it. Was he going to take her in his arms and run his hands over her body like he’d done before? Was he going to kiss her passionately—to the point where she was gasping with hunger and frustration—only to push her away again and add to that frustration?

  In tense silence they walked down an avenue of tall trees, whose leaves were brushed with the first hints of gold, and when finally they reached the cottage, she turned to face him as he closed the door.

  ‘What is it?’ she questioned again. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

  ‘I’m not acting,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Up until now, maybe—but not any more. I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve reached a point where I can’t go on like this any longer because it’s driving me insane. I’ve tried to resist you, but it seems I can’t resist any more. And now I’m through with trying. I want you, Willow. I want you so badly I can hardly breathe.’

  Her heart was performing somersaults as she looked at him, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing. ‘You make it sound as if you’re doing something you don’t want to do.’

  ‘Oh, I want to do it, all right,’ he said simply. ‘I can’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as I do right now. Maybe because you’ve been off-limits for so long that it’s stirred my appetite until I can think of little else but you. I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Dante...’ she said.

  ‘No. Hear me out, because it’s important that you do.’ His gaze was very intense—his eyes like blue flames which burned right through her. ‘I’m afraid your innocence will make you read too much into this and so I’m flagging it up before that happens. To make sure it doesn’t happen. Because the act of sex can be deceptive, Willow. The words spoken during
intimacy can often mimic the words of love and it’s important you recognise that.’

  She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. ‘And you’re afraid that if I have sex with you, I’ll fall hopelessly in love with you?’

  His face became shuttered. ‘Will you?’

  Willow wondered if it was arrogance which had made him ask that—or simply a remarkable honesty. She wondered if she should listen to the voice inside her head which was telling her to heed his warning. That maybe she was setting herself up for a hurt bigger than any she’d ever known.

  But it wasn’t as easy as that. She wanted Dante in a way she’d never wanted anyone—a way she suspected she never would again. Even if she met someone else like him—which was doubtful—her fate was always going to be different from other women her age.

  Because a normal life and marriage had never been on the cards for her and it never could.

  But none of that was relevant now.

  She wasn’t asking the impossible. She wasn’t demanding that he love her—all she needed to do was to keep her own emotions in check. She had to. Because anything else would frighten him away—instinct told her that. She gave a little shrug.

  ‘I’ll try my very hardest not to fall in love with you,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Good. Because there isn’t going to be some fairy-tale ending to this. This fake engagement of ours isn’t suddenly going to become real.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  And suddenly neither did he. He didn’t care about anything except touching her like he’d wanted to do for so long.

  Dante peeled the dress from her body and then couldn’t stop staring—as if it was the first time he’d ever undressed a woman. She was all sweetness and delicacy. All blond hair and floral scent and pure white lingerie. He wrapped his arms around her. He wanted to ravish her and protect her. He wanted to spill his seed inside her—and yet surely a virgin of her stature could not take him when he was already this big and this hard.

  He brushed a lock of hair away from the smoothness of her cheek. ‘I’m afraid I might break you.’

  ‘You won’t break me, Dante. I’m a woman, not a piece of glass.’ Her voice trembled a little as she lifted her chin and he saw the sudden light of determination in her eyes. ‘Don’t be different towards me just because I’ve never done this before, or because once I was sick. Be the same as you always are.’

  ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ With a little growl, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Carefully, he laid her down on the bed before moving away and beginning to unbutton his shirt, telling himself that if she looked in any way daunted as he stripped off, then he would stop.

  But she was watching him like a kid in a candy store and her widened eyes and parted lips were only adding to his desire—if such a thing was possible. He eased the zip down over his straining hardness and carefully watched her reaction as he stood before her naked—but her face was full of nothing but wonder, and hunger.

  ‘Oh, Dante,’ she said, very softly.

  It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. He went over to the bed and bent over her, tracing the pad of his thumb over her trembling lips and following it with the slowest, deepest kiss imaginable. It made his heart kick and his groin throb, and when he drew back he could see she looked dazed. You and me both, sweetheart, he thought, his fingertip stroking along the delicate lace of the bra which edged her creamy skin, and he felt her tremble.

  ‘Scared?’ he said.

  She gave a little shrug. ‘Scared I might not meet your expectations.’

  He unclipped the front clasp of her bra, so that her delicious little breasts sprang free and he smiled as he bent his head to trace each budding nipple with his tongue.

  ‘You already have,’ he murmured throatily. ‘You’re perfect.’

  Willow didn’t react to that because she knew she wasn’t. Nobody was and in her time she had felt more imperfect than most. But the look on his face was making her feel pretty close to perfect and she would be grateful to him for ever for that.

  And now his thumbs were hooking into the sides of her knickers and he was sliding them all the way down her legs.

  ‘Mmm...’ he said, his gaze pausing to linger on her groin. ‘A natural blonde.’

  And Willow did something she’d never imagined she’d do on her long-anticipated initiation into sex. She burst out laughing.

  ‘You are outrageous,’ she said as he dropped the discarded underwear over the edge of the bed.

  ‘But you like me being outrageous, don’t you, Willow?’

  And that was the thing. She did. Dante Di Sione was both arrogant and outrageous, yes. She could understand why they called him a maverick. But he was a lot of other things too. Most men in his position, she suspected, would have bedded her before now—but Dante had not. He had tried to do the right thing, even though it had gone against all his macho instincts. He had resisted and resisted until he could resist no more. He was strong and masterful, yet he had a conscience which made her feel safe. And safety had always been a big deal for her.

  ‘I think you know the answer to that question,’ she murmured as she tipped her head back so that he could kiss her neck.

  And Dante did know. He gave a groan of satisfaction as he explored her. He touched her wetness until she was trembling uncontrollably—until she had begun to make distracted little pleas beneath her breath. She was so ready, he thought, his heart giving a thunder of expectation as his hand groped blindly towards the bedside locker.

  Thank God for condoms, he thought—though as he rolled the contraceptive on, it was the only time she seemed uncertain. He saw her biting down on her lip and he raised his eyebrows, forcing himself to ask the question, even though he could barely get the words out.

  ‘It won’t be easy and I can’t promise that it won’t half kill me to do it, but if you want to change your mind...’

  ‘No,’ she said fiercely, her eager kisses raining over his eyelids, his jaw and his mouth. ‘Never! Never, never, never.’

  Her eagerness made him smile and when finally he entered her there was only the briefest moment of hesitation as he broke through her hymen, and he was filled with a powerful sense of possession.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ he said indistinctly, fighting against every instinct in his body as he forced himself to grow still inside her.

  But she shook her head. ‘It feels like heaven,’ she said simply.

  Dante closed his eyes and finally gave himself up to the rhythm which both their bodies seemed to be crying out for, though already he could sense she was very close to the edge.

  Gripping her narrow hips he brought himself deeper inside her, bending his head to let his tongue flicker over her peaking nipples while she twisted like some pale and beautiful flower beneath him.

  ‘Dante,’ she gasped, but she didn’t need to tell him what he already knew.

  He had watched with rapt fascination the build-up of tension in her slender frame. The darkening of those wintry eyes. The way her head moved distractedly from side to side so that her hair fanned the pillow like a silky blond cloud. Her back began to arch and her legs to stiffen, and just as her body began to convulse helplessly around him, he saw the rosy darkening of her skin above her tiny breasts.

  ‘Dante,’ she gasped again, and mumbled something else, but he didn’t know what it was, and frankly, he didn’t care. Because he’d been holding off for so long that he couldn’t endure it for a second longer, so that when eventually his orgasm came, he felt the rush of blood and pleasure as his senses began to dissolve—and he felt like he was floating.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TO WILLOW, IT felt like living in a dream.

  Dante Di Sione was her lover and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. And the feeling was mutual.

  But it
wasn’t a dream. It was real. She needed to remember that. To remind herself that this was temporary. That it meant nothing. It meant nothing but sex. He’d told her that himself.

  She pulled the rumpled sheet over her and listened to the sound of running water coming from the en-suite bathroom.

  The trouble was that when you really wanted something it was easy to start constructing fantasies—the kind of fantasies which had got her into trouble in the first place. She started thinking about Dante’s lifestyle. About his dislike of weddings and expressed distaste of settling down and doing the ‘normal’ stuff. What would he say if she told him she didn’t care about all that stuff either? And that they might actually be a lot more compatible than he thought.

  But thinking that way could lead to madness. It could make you start hoping for the impossible—and hope was such a random and unfair emotion. Hadn’t she watched her young friends die in hospital and vowed that she would never waste her time on useless hope?

  So just enjoy what you have, she told herself fiercely. Store it all up in your mind and your heart—so that you can pull it out and remember it when you’re back in England and Dante Di Sione is nothing but a fast-fading memory.

  It started to feel like a real holiday as he showed her around his home territory and introduced her to places he’d grown up with. He took her to tiny restaurants in New York’s Little Italy, where the maître d’ would enquire after his grandfather’s health and where Willow ate the best pasta of her life. They spent a day at a gorgeous place in Suffolk County called Water Mill, where a friend of Dante’s had the most beautiful house, surrounded by trees. They visited Sag Harbor and spent the night having sex in a stunning hotel overlooking the water, and the following day took a trip out on the Di Sione boat, which was anchored offshore. But when she told him she wanted to see the guidebook stuff as well, he took her to Manhattan and Staten Island, to Greenwich Village and Gramercy Park—where the beautiful gardens reminded her of England. And when he teased her about being such a tourist, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing her, even though the wind blowing off the Hudson River had felt icy cold that day.