‘I might.’
‘In which case, this could be the last time we see one another.’
She shrugged. ‘I guess it could.’
‘Just like that?’
‘What were you expecting? It had to end sometime.’
Renzo’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Up until a couple of hours ago it wouldn’t really have bothered him if he’d been told he would never see her again. Oh, he might have experienced a faint pang of regret and he certainly would have missed her in a physical sense, because he found her enthusiastic lovemaking irresistible. In fact, he would go so far as to say that she was the best lover he’d ever had, probably because he had taught her to be perfectly attuned to the needs of his body. But nothing was for ever. He knew that. In a month—maybe less—he would have replaced her with someone else. Someone cool and presentable, who would blend more easily into his life than Darcy Denton had ever done.
But she was the one who was doing the withdrawing and Renzo didn’t like that. He was a natural predator—proud and fiercely competitive. Perhaps even prouder than Darcy. Women didn’t leave him... He was the one who did the walking away—and at a time of his choosing. And he still wanted her. He had not yet reached the crucial boredom state which would make him direct her calls straight to voicemail or leave a disproportionately long time before replying to texts. Lazily, he flicked through the options available to him.
‘What about if you took a holiday with me, instead of going to Norfolk on your own?’
He could tell from the sudden dilatation of her eyes that the suggestion had surprised her. And the hardening of her nipples above the rumpled bedsheet suggested it had excited her. He felt the sudden beat of blood to his groin and realised it had excited him, too.
Her emerald eyes were wary. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not?’
He got up from the chair, perfectly aware of the powerful effect his proximity would have on her as he sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Is that such an abhorrent suggestion—to take my lover on holiday?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s not the type of thing we usually do. We usually stay in and don’t go out.’
‘But life would be very dull if only the expected happened. Are you telling me that the idea of a few days away with me doesn’t appeal to you?’ He splayed his palm possessively over the warm weight of her breast and watched as her swanlike neck constricted in a swallow.
She chewed on her lip. ‘Renzo—’
‘Mmm...?’
‘It’s...it’s quite difficult to think straight when you’re touching my nipple like that.’
‘Thinking in the bedroom can be a very overrated pastime,’ he drawled, subtly increasing the pressure of his fingers. ‘What’s to think about? My proposition is perfectly simple. You could come out to Tuscany with me. I need to make a trip there this weekend. We could spend a few days together and you would still have time to go to Norfolk.’
She leaned back against the pillows and her eyes closed as he continued to massage her breast. ‘You have a house there, don’t you?’ she breathed. ‘In Tuscany.’
‘Not for much longer. That’s why I’m going. I’m selling it.’ The pressure on her breast increased as his voice hardened. ‘And you can keep me company. I have to take an earlier flight via Paris to do some business but you could always fly out separately.’ He paused. ‘Doesn’t the idea tempt you, Darcy?’
His words filtered into her distracted mind as he continued to tease her exquisitely aroused nipple and her lashes fluttered open. His black eyes were as hard as shards of jet but that didn’t affect the magic he was creating with the slow movement of his fingers as she tried to concentrate on his question.
Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. Of course a few days away with him tempted her—but it wasn’t the thought of flying to Tuscany which was making her heart race like a champion stallion. He tempted her. Would it be so wrong to grab a last session of loving with him—but in a very different environment? Because although his apartment was unimaginably big, it had its limitations. Despite the pool in the basement, the heated roof terrace and huge screening room, she was starting to feel like part of the fixtures and fittings. Couldn’t she go out to Italy and, in the anonymous setting of a foreign country, pretend to be his real girlfriend for a change? Someone he really cared about—rather than just someone whose panties he wanted to rip off every time he saw her.
‘I guess it does tempt me,’ she said. ‘A little.’
‘Not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever had,’ he commented. ‘But I take it that’s a yes?’
‘It’s a yes,’ she agreed, relaxing back into the feathery bank of pillows as he turned his attention to her other aching breast.
‘Good.’ There was a pause and the circular movement of his fingers halted. ‘But first you’re going to have to let me buy you some new clothes.’
Her eyes snapped open and she froze—automatically pushing his hand away. ‘When will you get it into your thick skull that I’m not interested in your money, Renzo?’
‘I think I’m getting the general idea,’ he said drily. ‘And although your independence is admirable, I find it a little misguided. Why not just accept gracefully? I like giving presents and most women like receiving them.’
‘It’s a very kind thought and thank you all the same,’ she said stiffly, ‘but I don’t want them.’
‘This isn’t a question of want, more a case of need and I’m afraid that this time I’m going to have to insist,’ he said smoothly. ‘I have a certain...position to maintain in Italy and, as the woman accompanying me, you’ll naturally be the focus of attention. I’d hate you to feel you were being judged negatively because you don’t have the right clothes.’
‘Just as you’re judging me right now, you mean?’ she snapped.
He shook his head, his lips curving into a slow smile and his deep voice dipping. ‘You must have realised by now that I prefer you wearing nothing at all, since nothing looks better than your pale and perfect skin. But although it’s one of my biggest fantasies, I really don’t think we can have you walking around the Tuscan hills stark naked, do you? I’m just looking out for you, Darcy. Buy yourself a few pretty things. Some dresses you can wear in the evenings. It isn’t a big deal.’
She opened her mouth to say that it was a big deal to her but he had risen to his feet and his shadow was falling over her so that she was bathed in darkness as she lay there. She looked up into lash-shuttered eyes which gleamed like ebony and her heart gave a funny twist as she thought about how much she was going to miss him. How was she going to return to a life which was empty of her powerful Italian lover? ‘What are you doing?’ she croaked as he began to unzip his jeans.
‘Oh, come on. Use your imagination,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going to persuade you to take my money.’
CHAPTER TWO
RENZO LOOKED AT his watch and gave a click of impatience. Where the hell was she? She knew he detested lateness, just as she knew he ran his diary like clockwork. In the exclusive lounge at Florence airport he crossed one long leg over the other, aware that the movement had caused the heads of several women instinctively to turn, but he paid them no attention for there was only one woman currently on his mind—and not in a good way.
The flight he had instructed Darcy to catch—in fact, to purchase a first-class ticket for—had discharged its passengers twenty minutes earlier and she had not been among their number. His eyes had narrowed as he’d stared at the hordes of people streaming through the arrivals section, fully expecting to see her eagerly pushing her way through to see him, her pale face alight with excitement and her curvy body resplendent in fine new clothes—but there had been no sight of her. A member of staff had dealt with his irritation and was currently checking the flight list while he was forced to consider the unbelievable...that she might have changed her mind about joining him in Italy.
He frowned. Had her reluctance to take the cash he had insisted she ac
cept gone deeper than he’d imagined? He’d thought she was simply making a gesture—hiding the natural greed which ran through the veins of pretty much every woman—but perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps she really was deeply offended by his suggestion that she buy herself some decent clothes.
Or maybe she’d just taken the money and done a runner, not intending to come here and meet him at all.
Renzo’s mouth hardened, because wasn’t there a rogue thought flickering inside his head which almost wished that to be the case? Wouldn’t he have welcomed a sound reason to despise her, instead of this simmering resentment that she was preparing to take her leave of him? That she had been the one to make a decision which was usually his province. He glanced again at his wristwatch. And how ironic that the woman to call time on a relationship should be a busty little red-headed waitress he’d picked up in a cocktail bar rather than one of the many more eligible women he’d dated.
He hadn’t even been intending to go out the night he’d met her. He’d just planned to have a quick drink with a group of bankers he’d known from way back who had been visiting from Argentina and wanted to see some London nightlife. Renzo didn’t particularly like nightclubs and remembered the stir the six men had made as they’d walked into the crowded Starlight Room at the Granchester Hotel, where they’d ordered champagne and decided which of the women sipping cocktails they should ask to dance. But Renzo hadn’t been interested in the svelte women who had been smiling invitingly in his direction. His attention had been caught by the curviest little firecracker he’d ever seen. She’d looked as if she had been poured into the black satin dress which had skimmed her rounded hips, but it had been her breasts which had caused the breath to dry in his throat. Madonna, che bella! What breasts! Luscious and quivering, they had a deep cleavage he wanted to run his tongue over and that first sight of them was something he would remember for as long as he lived.
He had ended up dancing with no one, mainly because he’d been too busy watching her and his erection had been too painful for him to move without embarrassment. He’d ordered drinks only from her, and wondered afterwards if she noticed he left them all. Each time he’d summoned her over to his table he could sense the almost palpable electricity which sizzled in the air—he’d certainly never felt such a powerful attraction towards a total stranger before. He’d expected her to make some acknowledgement of the silent chemistry which pulsed between them, but she hadn’t. In fact the way her eyelids had half shielded her huge green eyes and the cautious looks she’d been directing at him had made him think she must either be the world’s greatest innocent, or its most consummate actress. If he had known it was the former, would he still have pursued her?
Of course he would. Deep down he recognised he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself because hadn’t he been gripped by a powerful hunger which insisted he would never know peace until he had possessed her?
He’d been waiting outside when eventually she had emerged from the club and had thanked the heavens for the heavy downpour of rain which had been showering down on her. She hadn’t looked a bit surprised to see him as she’d opened up her umbrella and for a moment it had crossed his mind that she might take a different man home with her every night, though even that had not been enough to make him order his driver to move on. But when he’d offered her a lift she’d refused, in an emphatic manner which had startled him.
‘No, thanks.’
‘No?’
‘I know what you want,’ she’d said, in a low voice. ‘And you won’t get it from me.’
And with that she’d disappeared into the rain-wet night and Renzo had sat in the back seat of the limousine, watching her retreating form beneath her little black umbrella, his mouth open and his body aching with frustration and unwilling admiration.
He’d gone to the club the next night and the weekend when he’d returned from a work trip to New York. Some nights she’d been there and some she hadn’t. He’d discovered she only worked there at weekends and it had only been later he’d found out she had a daytime job as a waitress somewhere else. Extracting information from her had been like trying to get blood from a stone. She was the most private woman he’d ever met as well as the most resistant and perhaps it was those things which made Renzo persist in a way he’d never had to persist before. And just when he’d been wondering if he was wasting his time, she had agreed to let him drive her home.
His voice had been wry as he’d looked at her. ‘Madonna mia! You mean you’ve decided you trust me enough to accept the lift?’
Her narrow shoulders had shrugged, causing her large breasts to jiggle beneath the shiny black satin of her dress and sending a shaft of lust arrowing straight to his groin. ‘I guess so. All the other staff have seen you by now and you’ve been captured on CCTV for all eternity, so if you’re a murderer then you’ll be apprehended soon enough.’
‘Do I look like a murderer?’
She had smiled then, and it had been like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
‘No. Although you look just a little bit dangerous.’
‘Women always tell me that’s a plus.’
‘I’m sure they do, though I’m not sure I agree. Anyway, it’s a filthy night, so I might as well get a lift with you. But I haven’t changed my mind,’ she’d added fiercely. ‘And if you think I’m going to sleep with you, then you’re wrong.’
As it happened, she was the one who’d been wrong. They’d driven through the dark wet streets of London and he’d asked her to come in for coffee, not thinking for a moment she’d accept. But maybe the chemistry had been just as powerful for her. Maybe her throat had also been tight with tension and longing and she’d been finding it as difficult to speak as he had, as she’d sat beside him in the leather-scented car. He’d driven her to his apartment and she’d told him primly that she didn’t really like coffee. So he’d made her tea flavoured with peppermint and rose petals, and for the first time in his life he’d realised he might lose her if he rushed it. He’d wondered afterwards if it was his unfamiliar restraint which had made her relax and sink into one of his huge sofas—so that when at last he’d leaned over to kiss her she’d been all quivering acquiescence. He’d done it to her right there—pulling her panties down and plunging right into her—terrified she might change her mind during the long walk from the sitting room to the bedroom.
And that had been when he’d discovered she was a virgin—and in that moment something had changed. The world had tipped on its axis because he’d never had sex with a virgin before and had been unprepared for the rush of primitive satisfaction which had flooded through him. As they’d lain there afterwards, gasping for breath among all the cushions, he’d pushed a damp curl away from her dewy cheek, demanding to know why she hadn’t told him.
‘Why would I? Would you have stopped?’
‘No, but I could have laid you at the centre of my big bed instead of the sofa if I’d known this was your first sexual adventure.’
‘What, you mean like some sort of medieval sacrifice?’ she’d murmured and that had confused him, too, because he would have expected high emotion at such a moment, not such a cool response.
Had it been her coolness which had made him desire her even more? Possibly. He’d thought it would be one night, but he’d been mistaken. He’d never dated a waitress before and he acknowledged the cold streak of snobbery in his nature which told him it would be unwise to buck that trend. But Darcy had confounded him. She read just as many books as an academic he’d once dated—although admittedly, she preferred novels to molecular biology. And she didn’t follow the predictable path of most women in a sexual relationship. She didn’t bore him with stories of her past, nor weigh him down with questions about his own. Their infrequent yet highly satisfying meetings, which involved a series of mind-blowing orgasms, seemed to meet both their needs. She seemed instinctively to understand that he wasn’t seeking a close or lasting connection with a woman. Not now and not ever.
&nbs
p; But sometimes an uncomfortable question strayed into his mind to ask why such a beauty would have so willingly submitted her virginity to a total stranger. And didn’t he keep coming up with the troublesome answer that maybe she had been holding out for the highest bidder—in this case, an Italian billionaire...?
‘Renzo?’
The sound of her voice dragged him away back into the present and Renzo looked up to see a woman walking through the airport lounge towards him, pulling behind her a battered suitcase on wheels. His eyes narrowed. It was Darcy, yes—but not Darcy as he knew her, in her drab waitress uniform or pale and naked against his pristine white sheets. Renzo blinked. This was Darcy in a dress the colour of sunshine, dotted with tiny blue flowers. It was a simple cotton dress but the way she wore it was remarkable. It wasn’t the cut or the label which was making every man in the place stare at her—it was her youthful body and natural beauty. Fresh and glowing, her bare arms and legs were honed by honest hard work rather than mindless sessions in the gym. She looked radiant and the natural bounce of her breasts meant that no man could look at her without thinking about procreation. Renzo’s mouth dried. Procreation had never been on his agenda, but sex most definitely was. He wanted to pull her hungrily into his arms and to kiss her hard on the mouth and feel those soft breasts crushing against him. But Renzo Sabatini would never be seen in any airport—let alone one in his homeland—making such a public demonstration of affection.
And wasn’t it time he reinforced the fact that nobody—nobody—ever kept him waiting?
‘You’re late,’ he said repressively, throwing aside his newspaper and rising to his feet.
Darcy nodded. She could sense his irritation but that didn’t affect her enjoyment of the way he was looking at her—if only to reassure her she hadn’t made a terrible mistake in choosing a cheap cotton dress instead of the clothes he must have been expecting her to wear. Still, since this was going to be the holiday of a lifetime it was important she got it off to a good start and the truth of it was that she was late. In fact, she’d started to worry if she would get here at all because that horrible vomiting bug she’d had at the beginning of the week had really laid her low.
Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress (Mills & Boon Modern) (One Night With Consequences, Book 29) Page 3
