All she had to do was agree with him and very soon it would be finished. Except that something in the way he was looking at her was making her throat grow dry. Because the softness had left his face and her breasts were beginning to prickle under that new, hard look in his eyes. Willow licked her lips. ‘That’s right.’
Dante stared at her, wondering how he could have got it so wrong. Had he been so bewitched by her proximity that he had started believing the fantasy which they’d both created? Had his reconciliation with his brother made him overly sentimental—making him want to grab at something which up until recently hadn’t even been on his agenda? Perhaps his grandfather’s illness had stirred up a primitive need inside him and he had made a bad judgement call. She didn’t want him, or his babies. She didn’t love him. She didn’t care.
A smile twisted his lips. Ironic, really. He could think of a hundred women who would fight to wear his ring for real. Just not Willow Hamilton. And just because she’d never had sex with anyone before him didn’t make her a saint, did it? He’d turned her on in a big way and it seemed he had liberated her enough to want to go out there and find her pleasure with other men. He felt a savage spear of something else which was new to him. Something he automatically despised because deep down he knew it would weaken him. Something he instinctively recognised as jealousy.
And suddenly he knew that in order to let her go, he had to have her one last time. To remind himself of how good she felt. To lick every inch of her soft, pale skin and touch every sinew of her slender body. To rid himself of this hateful need which was making his groin throb, even though he told himself he should be fighting it. But he couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t. His sexual self-control was legendary and he had walked away from women when they’d been begging him to take them. Willow was not begging—not any more. His bitter smile returned. But pretty soon she would be.
‘Well, if it’s only ever been about sex, then maybe we ought to go out with a bang.’ He smiled as her head jerked back, her shock palpable. ‘If you’ll pardon the pun.’
Willow’s heart pounded as she looked into his eyes and saw the smoulder of intent there. She told herself that this was dangerous. Very dangerous. That she needed to get out of here before anything happened.
‘Dante,’ she whispered. But the words she’d been about to say had died on her lips because he was walking towards her with an expression on his face which was making her blood alternatively grow hot and cold. She could see the tension hardening his powerful body as he reached her. She could smell the raw scent of his arousal in the air. As he stroked a finger down over her arm, she began to shiver uncontrollably. This was wrong. It was wrong and dangerous and would lead to nowhere but pain and she knew she had to stop it. She had to. ‘Dante,’ she whispered again.
‘One for the road,’ he said in a cruel voice.
And then he kissed her in a way which shocked her almost as much as it turned her on. It was hard and it was masterful—an unashamed assertion of sexual power. It was all about technique and dominance—but there was no affection there.
So why did she kiss him back with a hunger which was escalating by the second? Why didn’t she just press her hands against that broad chest and push him away, instead of clinging on to him like some sort of limpet? He was strong enough and proud enough to accept her refusal. To just turn and walk away. They could end this strange relationship without stoking up any more emotional turmoil and then try to put the whole affair behind them.
But she couldn’t. She wanted him too much. She always had and she always would. She wanted—how had he put it?—one for the road.
Did he see the sudden softening of her body, or did her face betray her change of feelings? Was that why he reached down to her delicate silk nightdress and ripped it open so that it flapped about her in tatters? His eyes were fixed on hers and she wanted to turn her head away, but she was like a starving dog sitting outside a butcher’s shop as he swiftly bared his magnificent body and carelessly dropped his clothes to the floor.
Naked now, he was pressing her down against the mattress as he moved over her, his fingertips whispering expertly over her skin, making her writhe with hungry impatience. His big body was fiercely aroused, and even though his face looked dark and forbidding, Willow didn’t care. Because how could she care about anything when he was making her feel like this?
She shuddered as he palmed her breasts and then bent his head to lick them in turn, his breath warm against her skin as she arched against his tongue. She could feel the rough rasp of his unshaved jaw rubbing against her skin and knew that it would be reddened by the time he had finished. And when he drew his head back she almost gasped when she saw the intense look of hunger on his face, his cheekbones flushed and his blue eyes smoky.
‘Ride me,’ he said deliberately.
She wanted to say no. She wanted him to kiss her deeply and passionately, the way he usually did—but she recognised that she had forfeited that luxury by telling him she didn’t love him. All she had left was sex—and this was the very last time she would have even that. So make it raunchy, she told herself fiercely. Make him believe that this was what the whole thing had been about.
She slid out from underneath him to position herself on top, taking his moist and swollen tip and groping on the nearby bedside table for the condoms he always kept there. He had taught her to do this as he had taught her so much else, and she had worked on her condom application skills as diligently as a novice pianist practising her scales. So now she teased him with her fingertips as she slid the rubber over his erect shaft, enjoying his moan of satisfaction—even though it was breaking her heart to realise she would never hear it again. And when she took him deep inside her and began to move slowly up and down, he felt so big that she was certain he would split her in two. But he didn’t. Her body quickly adapted to him, slickly tightening around him until she saw his fingers claw desperately at the rucked sheet on which they lay.
For a while she played the part expected of her and for a while it came so easily. Her fingers were tangled in her hair and her head was thrown back in mindless ecstasy as she rode him, glad she didn’t have to stare into his beautiful face, scared that she might falter and give away her true feelings. Blurt out something stupid, and very loving. But suddenly he caught hold of her hips and levered her off him. Ignoring her murmur of protest, he laid her down flat against the mattress and moved over her again.
‘No,’ he said, his voice very intent as he made that first renewed thrust deep inside her. ‘I want to dominate you, Willow. I want to remind myself that everything you know you have learned from me. I want to watch your face as you come, and I want you to realise that never again will you feel me doing this...and this...and this...’
She cried out then, because the pleasure was so intense it was close to pain. And if the first time they’d ever made love she had begged him not to be gentle with her—not to treat her as if she was made of glass—he certainly wasn’t gentle now. It was as if he was determined to show her everything he was capable of, as he drove into her with a power which had her nails digging helplessly into his shoulders.
She almost didn’t want to come—as if her orgasm would be a sign of weakness and by holding it back she could retain some control over what was happening—but already it was too late. Her back was beginning to arch, her body spasming around him as she opened her mouth to cry out her satisfaction.
But for once he didn’t kiss the sound away and blot it into silence with his lips. Instead he just watched her as she screamed, as cold-bloodedly as a scientist might observe an experiment which was taking place in the laboratory. Only then did he give in to his own orgasm and she thought it seemed brief and almost perfunctory. He didn’t collapse against her, whispering the soft words in French or Italian which turned her on so much. He simply pumped his seed efficiently into the condom before withd
rawing from her and rolling away to the other side of the bed.
Several agonisingly long minutes passed before he turned to look at her and something about the coldness of his blue gaze made her want to shiver again.
‘Time to get on that road,’ he said softly.
And he walked straight towards the bathroom without a backward glance.
Willow’s hands were trembling as she gathered up the tattered fragments of her torn nightdress and stuffed them into her suitcase, terrified that one of the staff would find them. She had composed herself a little by the time Dante emerged, freshly showered and shaved and wearing a dark and immaculate suit which made him seem even more distant than the look in his eyes suggested he was.
‘Are you...are you going somewhere?’ she said.
‘I am.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘I’m leaving. And obviously, you’ll be coming with me. We will drive to the airport—only we’ll be going our separate ways from now on. You’ll be heading for London, while my destination is Paris. But first, I need to speak to my grandfather.’
‘Dante...’
‘Save your breath, Willow,’ he said coolly. ‘I think we’ve said everything which needs to be said. I guess I should thank you for playing such a convincing fiancée. But I’m going to sit down with Giovanni and tell him that our relationship is over, and to remind him that he knows better than anyone that marriages simply don’t work if there is no love involved.’ His eyes glittered. ‘If you’re willing to sign a confidentiality clause, you can keep the ring. You should be able to get a decent amount of money for it.’
‘I don’t need to sign a confidentiality clause. And I won’t talk about this to anyone. Why would I? It’s not exactly something I’m very proud of.’ Her voice was trembling as she stared at the huge diamond and thought about how much it must be worth. Shouldn’t she keep it and sell it, and use the money to do some real good—for people who badly needed it? And wouldn’t it help if he thought of her as greedy and grasping? If she could give him yet another reason to hate her? She curved her mouth into a speculative smile. ‘But yes, I will keep the ring.’
The look of contempt on his lips was unmistakable as he turned away. ‘Be my guest. And now pack your case and get dressed,’ he said harshly. ‘And let’s get out of here.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BEHIND THE FLASHING blue and gold illuminations of the Eiffel Tower, the Parisian sky was dark and starless and the streets were quiet. Far below the windows of his offices, the river Seine looked cold and uninviting and Dante was lost in thought when he heard the door open behind him and someone walk in. He swivelled round in his chair to see his assistant standing there, a pointed expression on his face.
‘Yes, what is it, René?’ he questioned impatiently.
‘You are due at a drinks party at the Ritz...’ René looked down at his watch. ‘Ten minutes ago actually.’
Dante scowled. ‘Ring them. Tell them that I’ve been held up and unlikely to make it in time.’
‘I could do that, of course,’ said René carefully. ‘But it is the birthday party of the countess—and you know how much she wants you there.’
Dante leaned back. Yes, he knew. The whole world always wanted him, women especially. Except for one woman. His mouth hardened as he stared into space.
One woman. One infernal, infuriating woman who had made it clear that wanting him was the last thing on her particular wish list.
‘Is there...is there something wrong, boss?’
Dante glanced across the room, tempted to confide in his loyal assistant—not something he ever did usually. But then, he didn’t usually feel as if a heavy weight was pressing down hard on his heart, did he? Or his life seem as if there was something fundamental missing which made him feel only half complete. He shut his eyes. Had he imagined that the heartless way that the beautiful blonde had rejected him would have been enough to make him see sense? And that it would somehow be easy to forget her? Because if that was the case then it seemed that yet again he had been wrong, and he didn’t like being wrong.
He thought about the contradiction she’d been. The tender and passionate woman in his arms who had rapturously embraced the joys of sex. He remembered her childlike delight when he’d taken her to Shelter Island for breakfast. The way she’d charmed his grandfather and made his tomboy sister look like a million dollars. He thought about the crazy hope she’d awoken in his heart, along with the realisation that, suddenly, all the things he’d never dared dream of felt as if they could be possible with her. He remembered the trembling expression on her face when he’d asked her to marry him. The way she’d tried to blink back the sudden tears of joy as she looked at him.
And then?
Then...nothing. In a voice which was deathly quiet and a face devoid of emotion, she had told him she couldn’t marry him. She’d told him she didn’t love him when those words belied her every action. It didn’t make sense. He shook his head. None of it made sense. If she hadn’t been so innocent, he might have suspected the presence of another man. Though maybe that wasn’t such a crazy idea? She’d grabbed at the diamond ring quickly enough, hadn’t she? So maybe she wasn’t quite as naive as she seemed.
He watched as the lights on the tower turned to red, and then to gold. Perhaps he had been nothing but her stud—an alpha male chosen as the ideal candidate for her sexual initiation. Maybe the fact that he was a foreigner had allowed her to shed all her inhibitions—he knew some women were like that—when all along she’d intended to marry an English aristocrat of the same class as herself.
Once again, an unwanted streak of jealousy flooded through his veins like dark poison and he opened his eyes to find René looking at him with that same expression of concern. He thought about his assistant’s question and he realised that yes, something was very wrong and it was more to do with his own behaviour. Because since when had he taken to asking himself questions, without bothering to seek out the answers?
‘I need some information about a woman.’
‘Same woman as before?’ asked René innocently. ‘It wouldn’t happen to be a Miss Willow Hamilton, would it?’
‘As quickly as possible,’ said Dante impatiently.
‘Bien sûr.’ René’s lips twitched. ‘This is getting to be a bit of a habit if you don’t mind my saying so, boss.’
‘Well, I do mind.’ Dante glowered as he stood up and pulled off his tie. ‘I don’t pay you to give your opinion when it isn’t wanted. Have the car brought round and I will call at the countess’s party for a while. And will you please wipe that smug expression from your face, because it is starting to infuriate me.’
Dante was driven to the first arrondissement, to the glittering cocktail party being held in one of the famous hotel’s penthouse suites, but his heart wasn’t in it—nor in any of the stellar guests who were present. The countess was delectable, but she left him cold—as did the other women who smiled at him with open invitation in their eyes. He endured it for a while, then slipped away—and when he arrived at work early the following morning, it was to find René already in the office, with a look of triumph on his face.
‘I have the information you require,’ he said.
‘Go on.’
‘She is living in London...’
‘I already know that,’ interrupted Dante impatiently.
‘And she will be attending a fundraiser for the Leukaemia Society being held at the Granchester Hotel in London this Saturday.’ René paused, his dark eyes hooded. ‘You might also be interested to know that she has put her diamond engagement ring up for the charity auction.’
And for the first time in his life, Dante was speechless.
* * *
Willow looked up from behind the podium and for a moment there was complete silence in the large ballroom, before she spoke again. ‘And that is why I conside
r it such an honour to be your new patron.’
An expectant hush fell over the assembled throng and she drew in a deep breath, knowing that she had to get this right. ‘I wanted to give fellow sufferers hope, as well as supporting the fantastic new research which is taking place all over the world. I’m prepared to step out of the shadows and talk openly about what happened to me, instead of hiding it away. Because I’m better. And because, every day, there are more and more people like me, getting better. And I...’
Her words tailed off because, for a moment there, a trick of the light made her think she saw Dante standing at the back of the ballroom. She blinked, slightly impatient with herself. Was she now beginning to conjure him up from nowhere, so that he was about to become a constant presence in her daytime as well as her night-time thoughts?
‘I...’ She couldn’t remember what she had been saying and someone held a glass of water towards her, but she shook her head. She stared to where the man stood, her eyes drinking him in—registering every pore of his sensual face. It was him. Very definitely him. Because nobody in the world looked quite like Dante Di Sione. Tall and broad and strong and magnificent and somehow managing to dominate the entire room.
And she couldn’t allow herself to go to pieces at this point. Too many people were relying on her.
She fumbled around for the words which had been on the tip of her tongue and somehow managed to produce them. ‘I just want to say that I think you are all wonderful, and I’m delighted to be able to tell you that the silent auction has raised almost half a million pounds.’ She swallowed, and then smiled—a big smile which just grew and grew. ‘So thank you again from the bottom of my heart—for allowing me to give something back.’
The sound of clapping began and swelled, echoing loudly throughout the vast room as Willow stepped carefully down from the stage, her narrow silver dress not the easiest of garments to move around in. Now what did she do? She risked a glance to where Dante had stood, but he was no longer there and she felt her heart plummet. Of course he wasn’t there! She had dreamt him up. It had been a fantasy—nothing more. Why would he be here when he’d flown straight back to Paris and they hadn’t spoken since he had boarded his jet in New York, all those weeks ago?
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