Loving the Enemy

by Connelly, Clare

  She bit down on her lip, shaking her head. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?” He moved his hand higher, his eyes daring her to stop him as his fingers found the waistband of her underpants and pulled at it, snapping it against her skin so she jumped a little.

  “Five years ago we got divorced,” she said simply, trying to remember the speech she’d prepared. “You thought I cheated on you, but I didn’t. The truth is –,”

  He moved his other hand to her lips, pressing a finger there to silence her. “You don’t need to lie to me now. Whatever I used to feel for you has long since died.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What did you used to feel for me?”

  “You were my wife,” he reminded her.

  She shook her head. “We were married. That’s not the same thing.”

  “No?”

  The finger near her underpants began to move again, pushing them lower, so she tilted her head back a little, her eyes lifting to the ceiling.

  “I cared for you, Alessia. If I hadn’t, I would have slept with you, believe me.”

  “How do you think denying me what I so clearly wanted was a sign of care?”

  “Because you were too young to know what you were asking. I could see that you thought yourself in love with me. Sleeping with me would have compounded that.”

  So pragmatic and cool. It was clear his feelings had never come into the equation. He believed she’d slept around? Well, soon he’d know the truth. He’d feel it for himself.

  Her eyes sparked with a silent challenge of their own and a heady rush of power filled her veins.

  “I’m not in love with you now. In fact, I probably hate you.”

  His smile was cool. “And yet you’re here.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like loose ends.”

  “Is that what I am to you?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you say we had unfinished business?”

  He made a noise that was animalistic and guttural, as though his rational side was trying to control his sensual instincts.

  “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “I do. But let me be clear so you don’t misunderstand.” She jabbed her finger to his chest, her expression intent. “I want you to make love to me. Just once. Just tonight. Then, I’m going to leave here and we’ll never speak of it again. Not to a single soul, not even each other. This will be like a do-over. We’ll pretend it’s our wedding night. Okay?”

  His features showed sardonic amusement. “Except there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then.”

  “More for you than me, I suspect.”

  He laughed, shaking his head, but even as he did so he was lifting her up, his eyes holding all the signs of what he intended. “Says the woman who was rumoured to have cheated on me with three different football players during our very short marriage.”

  “Ah, yes, tabloid rumours,” she responded with a saccharine smile. “Such a fount of reliable information.”

  “So it’s all lies?” He scoffed, pressing her back against the wall, his eyes showing his obvious disbelief, and something else too. Something darker, angrier.

  “What do you think?”

  And even though she knew what he thought, she held her breath, waiting and hoping, ridiculously hoping, that he would admit he wasn’t sure, that maybe it had been lies.

  “I think you played the part of an innocent bride to perfection, but that you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into. I think you and I are more alike than I realised – that we both see sex as a transaction, something that leads to physical satisfaction and little else. I think I made a mistake in not taking advantage of what you so generously kept offering me all those years ago.” He dropped his head and she was glad, because she knew hurt must have been written across her face. “I think I’m going to make up for lost time tonight, Alessia. Is that what you want?”

  Her throat felt thick, her breath impossible to catch.

  “Tell me what you want,” he demanded.

  She made a growling noise, pushing up onto the tips of her toes. “I thought I already had.” And she curled her fingers around his neck, drawing his head the final distance to hers. “Now stop talking and give me what I came here for.”

  Chapter Two

  CHRISTO. HE NEEDED TO get a grip, but Alessia was kissing him as though she had caught fire and he was her only chance for survival. This had never been his plan. True, he’d got rid of her jerk of a fiancé – an act he deemed necessary given the man’s obviously mercenary intentions – but that was the end of it. He hadn’t planned to see Alessia again.

  Their marriage had been a disaster, their divorce even more so. Whatever relief he thought he’d bring to Carlo by marrying his only daughter, divorcing her had hurt Carlo way worse.

  So what they hell were they doing?

  As if he needed to answer that. There was no answer, only instinct.

  Just like she said, this was one night out of time. They could sleep together and have that be the end of it.

  Besides, what was the harm? He’d done everything he could to respect Alessia’s innocence during their marriage because he’d grossly misunderstood what she was like. But once the photos hit the world papers, he’d felt like a world-class fool. His wife wasn’t some sweet little virgin that needed protecting. She was a sophisticated, sensual woman and he’d ignored her completely. He could never forgive her infidelity but she wasn’t the only one who carried blame there.

  “I pushed you into their beds,” he groaned into her mouth, wondering at the salty taste of tears. He lifted his head but she wouldn’t let him; she followed him, kissing him even as he wanted to see her face.

  Damn it, there was no sense here, nothing that rational thought could accomplish. One time, one night.

  He pushed at her dress, lifting it over her head and dropping it to the floor, his lips chasing the bare flesh on her shoulders, his teeth nipping her there, his tongue teasing her until she was whimpering, caught between him and the wall. He crouched down, peeling her underpants from her body, his hands worshipping her legs, the gentle curves, before coming to cup her womanhood. She made a noise of surprise, a sweet sound that brought a smile to his lips, and then he was standing.

  “Are you on the pill?” He asked as he stepped out of his jeans.

  She shook her head, her eyes not meeting his.

  It jarred. He stilled, his eyes locking to hers. “No?”

  “I – no.” Her cheeks grew pink. “I was supposed to be getting married, remember?”

  He swallowed a curse. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that but it was impossible not to. They were going to try for a child right away? That bastard had obviously wanted to do whatever he could to stitch up a slice of Alessia’s fortune – marriage was good, a child was better.

  It was further vindication for what he’d done; not that he needed any. Massimo never questioned his instincts and they’d been one hundred per cent from the minute he’d met her fiancé. Nonetheless, the idea of Alessia’s belly growing round with that good-for-nothing’s baby turned Massimo’s blood to ice.

  “Fine,” he nodded, pushing the unpalatable thoughts aside, discarding his shirt as he reached for his wallet and removed a condom. He always used protection anyway, he wasn’t even sure why he’d asked her about the pill. He sheathed himself, something inside of him locking into place. She was right – this wasn’t the time to think about their past. Too much had happened. This was just a righting of a wrong – a mistake he’d made back then that he was getting a chance to rectify now, and in the best possible way.

  “I was so angry with you,” he muttered, grabbing her hips and lifting her, pinning her to the wall, his arousal pressing at her core.

  “No, you weren’t. That was the worst thing. You thought I’d slept with him and you didn’t even care.”

  “I divorced you,” he reminded her, pushing his tip a little way inside of her, u
sing all his willpower not to drive into her in one long thrust.

  “I hurt your pride,” she insisted.

  Yes, there’d been that, too. The whole world had known. His brothers, his cousins, his grandfather, her father. It had hurt, but that was nothing compared to his own mind, which had been furnished with enough photographs of her being felt up in a bar to be able to provide the rest of the details. It was not hard to imagine her being made love to by him, and then all the men the tabloids suggested came after.

  “I didn’t cheat on you,” she said, and he shook his head harshly. Why was she lying? What was the point?

  “Little liar,” he chided, his voice thick and dismissive. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

  Her eyes narrowed and he stared at her for a moment, the past right there, sharply barbed, refusing to be caught by him.

  “No,” she agreed, but there was a hitch in her voice. He didn’t understand, couldn’t, but he was done talking. He shifted his hips, in the back of his mind thinking that he probably should have taken her to bed, rather than making this their first time together. And yet it felt so appropriate – having held himself back for the year of their marriage he was done waiting.

  He thrust into her once, quickly, but the resistance he met was impossible not to feel. He froze, disbelief stilling him. His head jerked back, his eyes locked to hers. It couldn’t be… nothing made sense.

  “Alessia?” His voice was stern, angry. He shook his head, trying to quell that note from his voice. But she didn’t seem to care.

  Defiance lit her eyes. “I told you I never cheated on you.”

  He swore under his breath, shaking his head. She began to move, rolling her hips, her ankles digging into his back as she tried to use him to pleasure herself. But he stood stock-still, all the pieces of what he knew about her ricocheting in his brain like little bullets.

  “You were a virgin?” he demanded, staring at her with utter disbelief.

  “Yes.” She rolled her hips. “And don’t you dare stop what you’re doing.”

  He made a guttural noise. She was right. This wasn’t the time to talk. “You are going to explain this to me afterwards,” he muttered, but he began to move, far more slowly, each movement just a gentle motion designed to bring her to the edge of pleasure without causing her pain.

  “More, please,” she cried out, her fingernails digging into his back, her body melding to his, so despite his best intentions he found himself driving into her in a way that was designed to splinter both of their self control.

  He watched her first orgasm, catching every detail of how she reacted, committing it to memory without meaning to, then he pushed away from the wall, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist as he moved towards the generous sofa in the lounge. He lay her down, his body on top of hers, his weight pressing her back, his kiss punishing and demanding, his emotions rioting – anger, frustration, regret. He kissed her hard and she made sweet little pleas into the kiss, begging him all the time for more, so that he did as she was asking, his body rocking hers, the rhythm dictated by the force of their longing, their need for each other something neither could control.

  He kissed her with all of himself, and this time, when the world fell away for Alessia, Max let himself explode alongside her, releasing himself with a harsh cry, his body wracked with pleasure, his mind already turning to the hundreds of questions that were buzzing through him.

  * * *

  It went way beyond anything she’d known to expect. As a medical professional, she understood the biology of sex. She got the theory of it, but the reality of what they’d just done defied every fact she knew about physics, biology, time and place. His body on top of hers was both a delight and a torment, because it was everything she’d fantasised about during their marriage and he’d withheld it from her, that simple affection not to be hers.

  She had loved him on their wedding day and she’d hated him by the time they got divorced. He’d hurt her so badly it had been impossible to feel anything but hatred for him. Especially when she’d learned the reason he’d suggested their marriage.

  To save her father’s business.

  So noble.

  So damned wrong.

  At twenty Alessia had been bartered into a loveless, sexless marriage. But tonight, she’d got some of her own back. This had been her night, all on her terms, for her pleasure. And now she’d leave.

  Her heart gave a funny little squish at the thought of that but Alessia ignored it. She’d known what she was getting into by coming here. The last part of her plan was to leave with the same emotional detachment he’d demonstrated five years earlier.

  “Thank you for that,” she said with as much ice in her voice as she could muster.

  Massimo pushed up onto his palms, looking down at her as though he’d never seen her before in his life.

  “What the actual hell, Alessia?”

  She winced, his anger something she hadn’t been prepared for.

  She arched a brow, intent on playing it cool.

  “A problem, caro?”

  “You were a virgin?”

  “Haven’t we already established that?”

  He swore under his breath. She didn’t flinch, but her stomach was in knots.

  “How is that possible?”

  Her nerves were firing but she was determined to seem unfazed by his response. She shrugged her shoulders, but her range of motion was hampered by his position above her.

  “I just never had sex.”

  “You – were – the photos –,”

  For once, the great Massimo Montebello was speechless. Good. Power throbbed inside her but it was a hollow victory. The remnants of all her hopes lay tattered around her.

  “I told you, they were just stupid pictures. And it was just one kiss.”

  A muscle jerked low in his jaw. He pushed away from her, his removal a pain she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “Damn it, Alessia, you should have –,”

  “I tried to tell you,” she insisted, pulling up to a seated position, watching as he strode across the room and pulled his boxer briefs from the floor, putting them on in rough movements.

  “Not hard enough.”

  “You were determined.”

  He was very still. Only his back moved as he drew each breath in. The hollow feeling of her victory continued to grow. She’d been so sure this was a good idea but now she just felt…exhausted.

  “You were engaged –,” his disbelief was palpable.

  “So?”

  “So? This is the twenty first century. How is it possible your fiancé and you were not in a physical relationship.”

  She stood on legs that weren’t steady, an unfamiliar ache throbbing between her legs, reminding her of the newness of what they’d just shared. She winced, moving towards him purely so she could retrieve her own clothes. As she approached, he crouched down, holding them out to her.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

  He looked as though he wanted to say something but then he simply shook his head. “Of course not.”

  Alessia kept her head high as she moved through his luxurious apartment, trying not to remember what it had felt like to be here as his wife. That was ancient history.

  She was sorely tempted by the enormous shower but she ignored it, dressing quickly, allowing herself only the indulgence of running water into her palms and splashing it on her face. She closed her eyes, the reality of what she’d done just started to expand through her. A few moments later, she patted her face dry and straightened. It was time to face the music, then get the hell out of here.

  Glancing in the mirror, she barely recognised the woman who stared back at her. Hair was in disarray, eyes were shining, cheeks were flushed with passion, stubble rash had left her décolletage with a rawness.

  Massimo was waiting for her in the kitchen when she emerged. He’d made her a cup of tea. For himself, she noticed, he’d poured a scotch.

  She ignored the tea.


  “Don’t walk me to the door.”

  He didn’t say anything. She stood there for a few seconds and then took a step away from him. His voice halted her before she’d got close to the door.

  “You’re not leaving yet.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You don’t think I deserve some answers?”

  “Don’t you think I deserved answers, back when we got married? Don’t you think I deserved to know that I was just a pawn in a dynastic marriage agreement between you and my father? Don’t you think I deserved to know from the outset that you had no intention of treating me as anything other than a flatmate for the duration of our marriage?”

  He pressed his palms to the kitchen counter. “Our marriage had many faults,” he conceded. “But your virginity five years later is what I would like to discuss.”

  “Tough. I’m not interested in having that conversation with you.”

  He stared at her, obviously not used to having his wishes ignored.

  “Is he gay?”

  Her lips dropped open. “No! He’s not gay.”

  “Then –,”

  “Couldn’t the same question be asked of you?” She prompted.

  His jaw stiffened. “It took every ounce of my willpower not to sleep with you, believe me.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said with a simple lift of her shoulders.

  “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

  She shook her head. “This is ridiculous. I told you, I didn’t come here to talk.”

  “No, you came here to sleep with me. Mission accomplished.”

  “Exactly.” She thrust her hands on her hips. It was a mistake. It drew his gaze to the swell of her cleavage and out of nowhere a wave of desire washed over her anew.

  She dropped her hands to her sides.

  “Why me?”

  Her throat felt thick with the sudden onset of unshed tears.

  Because you broke my heart. Because you made me feel undesirable, and like no man would ever want me. Because I wanted to sleep with you and walk away.

  She straightened her spine, trying to assume an expression of icy disinterest. “Because I was in London,” she said simply. “And so were you.”