Читать книгу Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4 - Линн Грэхем, Cathy Williams - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

HE SHOULD HAVE told her no. Should have told her that he hated weddings. Because marriage stood for everything he despised and distrusted. Lies and deception and manipulation.

Dante straightened the silver-grey tie which complemented his formal charcoal suit and stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror.

So why hadn’t he said no? Why had he agreed to accompany Willow Hamilton to her sister’s wedding, where she was being a bridesmaid? It was true that she had his grandfather’s tiara in her possession and she had been demonstrating a not-very-subtle form of blackmail to get him to be her plus one. But Dante was not a man who could be manipulated—and certainly not by a woman. If he’d really wanted that tiara back he would have gone straight round to her apartment and taken it—either by reason or seduction or quiet threat—because he nearly always got what he wanted.

So why hadn’t he?

He gave his tie one final tug and watched as his reflected face gave a grim kind of smile.

Because he wanted her? Because she’d interested and intrigued him and awoken in him a sexual hunger he’d been neglecting these past weeks?

The reflected smile intensified.

Well, why not?

He picked up his car keys and went outside to the front of the hotel, where the valet was opening the door of the car he’d hired for the weekend. It was an outrageously fast car—a completely over-the-top machine which would inevitably attract the attention of both men and women. And while it wouldn’t have been Dante’s first choice, if Willow wanted him to play the part of a very rich and super-keen lover, then it followed that he ought to drive something which looked like everyone’s idea of a phallic substitute.

He drove through the streets of central London and tooted the horn as he drew up outside Willow’s basement apartment. She appeared almost immediately and he watched her walk towards him, narrowing his eyes with instinctive appraisal—because she looked... He swallowed. She looked incredible. Gone was the big pashmina which had shielded her from the airport’s overzealous air conditioning and hidden most of her body. In its place was a pale dress which skimmed the tiniest waist he’d ever seen, its flouncy skirt swirling provocatively around her narrow knees. Her blond hair was plaited and Dante felt his mouth dry. As she grew closer he could see that the collar of her dress was embroidered with tiny daisies, and it made her look as if she’d been picked fresh from a meadow that morning. She looked ethereal and fragile and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.

He shook his head slightly as once again he acknowledged her fey beauty and the realisation that she didn’t seem quite part of this world. Certainly not his world. And then he noticed that she was carrying nothing but a small suitcase.

‘Where’s my carry-on?’ he demanded as he got out of the car to take the case from her.

There was a pause as she met his gaze. ‘It will be returned to you after the deal is done.’

‘After the deal is done?’ he echoed softly.

‘When the wedding is over.’

He raised his eyebrows at her mockingly, but made no attempt to conceal the sudden flicker of irritation in his voice. ‘And if I insist on taking it now? What then?’

He saw a momentary hesitation cross her fragile features, as if she had suddenly realised just who it was she was dealing with. But bravado won the day and she shot him an almost defiant look which made him want to pin her over the bonnet of the car and kiss her senseless.

‘You’re not in a position to insist, Dante,’ she said, sliding inside with a graceful movement which made him wish she could do it again, in slow motion. ‘I have something you want and you have to pay for it.’

He switched on the engine and wondered if she was aware that she had something else he wanted, and that by the end of the day he would have taken it... ‘So where are we going?’ he said.

‘My family home. It’s in Sussex. I’ll direct you.’

‘Women are notoriously bad at directions, Willow—we both know that. So why don’t you just give me the postcode and I can program it into the satnav?’

She turned to look at him, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Are you for real, or did you just complete a crash course in being patronising? I think I can just about find my way to my family home without needing a robot to guide me.’

‘Just don’t fall asleep,’ he warned.

‘I’ll do my best. But you’re not exactly an aid to relaxation, are you?’ Settling back in her seat, she gave him a clear list of instructions, then waited until he had negotiated his way out of London towards the south, before she asked, ‘So what’s in the bag which makes you want it so much?’

‘Boxer shorts.’ He shot her a look. ‘But you already know that.’

Willow didn’t react, even though the mention of his boxer shorts was threatening her with embarrassment, which she suspected was his intention. Because this was the new Willow, wasn’t it? The woman who had decided to take control of her own destiny instead of having it decided by other people. The woman who was going to live dangerously. She studied his rugged profile as he stared at the road ahead. ‘A few items of underwear wouldn’t usually be enough to get a man like you to take a complete stranger to a family wedding and pretend to be her boyfriend.’

‘Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we, Willow? Firstly, I have no intention of discussing the contents of that bag with you,’ he said as he powered the car into the fast lane. ‘And secondly, I intend to play your lover—not your damned boyfriend—unless your looks are deceiving and you happen to be fifteen.’

‘I’m twenty-six,’ she said stiffly.

‘You look much younger.’

‘That’s what everyone says.’

There was a pause. ‘Is that a roundabout way of telling me I’m unoriginal?’

She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what they say...if the cap fits...’

A reluctant smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘You need to tell me something about yourself before we get there,’ he said. ‘If you’re hoping to convince people we’re an item.’

Willow stared out of the car window as they drove through the sun-dappled lanes, and as more and more trees appeared, she thought about how much she loved the English countryside. The hedgerows were thick with greenery and in the fields she could see yellow and white ox-eye daisies and the purple of snake’s head fritillary. And suddenly she found herself wishing that this was all for real and that Dante Di Sione was here because he wanted to be, not because she was holding him to ransom over some mystery package.

She wondered how much to tell him. She didn’t want him getting scared. She didn’t want him to start treating her as if she was made of glass. She was worried he’d suddenly start being kind to her if he learned the truth, and she couldn’t stand that. He was rude and arrogant and judgemental, but she rather liked that. He wasn’t bending over backwards to please her—or running as fast as he could in the opposite direction, which was the usual effect she had on people once they knew her history.

His words interrupted her silent reverie.

‘We could start with you explaining why you need an escort like me in the first place,’ he said. ‘You’re a pretty woman. Surely there must be other men who could have been your date? Men who know you better than I do and could have carried off a far more convincing performance.’

She shrugged, staring at the toenails which were peeping through her open-toed sandals—toenails which had been painted a hideous shade of peach to match the equally hideous bridesmaid dresses, because Clover had said that she wanted her sisters to look like ‘a team.’

‘Maybe I wanted to take someone who nobody else knew,’ she said.

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Or you could—and I know this is controversial—you could always have chosen to attend the wedding on your own. Don’t they say that weddings are notoriously fertile places for meeting someone new? You might have got lucky. Or are you one of those women who believes she isn’t a complete person unless she has a man in tow?’

Willow couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Had she really thought his rudeness was charming? Well, scrub that. She found herself wishing she’d asked around at the magazine to see if anyone there could have been her guest. But most of the men she worked with were gay—and the place was a hotbed of gossip. It wouldn’t have done her image much good if she’d had to trawl around for a suitable escort, because the biggest sin you could commit in the fashion industry was to admit to being lonely.

She sneaked a glance at Dante. Whatever his shortcomings in the charm department he was certainly a very suitable escort—in every sense of the word. The formality of his pristine two-piece looked just as good against his glowing olive skin as the faded denim jeans had done. Perhaps even more so. The made-to-measure suit hugged his powerful body and emphasised its muscularity to perfection—making her shockingly aware of his broad shoulders and powerful thighs. The slightly too long black hair appeared more tamed than it had done the other day and suddenly she found herself longing to run her fingers through it and to muss it up.

She felt a rush of something molten tugging at the pit of her belly—something which was making her wriggle her bottom restlessly against the seat. Did she imagine the quick sideways glance he gave her, or the infuriatingly smug smile which followed—as if he was perfectly aware of the sudden aching deep inside her which was making it difficult for her to think straight.

She licked her lips. ‘I’m not really like my sisters,’ she began. ‘You remember I’m one of four?’

‘I remember.’

‘They’ve always had millions of boyfriends, and I haven’t.’

‘Why not?’

He shot the question at her and Willow wondered if now was the time for the big reveal. To tell him how ill she’d been as a child. To tell him that there had been times when nobody had been sure if she would make it. Or to mention that there were residual aspects of that illness which made her a bad long-term choice as a girlfriend.

But suddenly her attention was distracted by the powerful interplay of muscles as he tensed one taut thigh in order to change gear and her mouth dried with longing. No, she was not going to tell him. Why peddle stories of her various woes and make herself look like an inevitable victim in his eyes? Today she was going to be a different Willow. The kind of Willow she’d always wanted to be. She was going to embrace the way he was making her feel, and the way he was making her feel was...sexy.

Carelessly, she wriggled her shoulders. ‘I’ve been too wrapped up in my career. The fashion world can be very demanding—and competitive. I’ve been working at the magazine since I left uni, and they work you very hard. The swimwear shoot I was doing in the Caribbean was my first big break and everyone is very pleased with it. I guess that means I’ll have more time to spend on my social life from now on. Take the next turning on the right. We’re nearly there. Look. Only seven more miles.’ She pointed at a signpost. ‘So you’d better tell me a bit about you.’

Dante slowed the car down as he turned into a narrow lane and thought how differently he might have answered this question a few years back. The first thing he would have said was that he was a twin, because being a twin had felt like a fundamental part of his existence—like they were two parts of the same person. But not any more. He and Dario hadn’t spoken in years. Six years, to be precise—after an episode when anger and resentment had exploded into misunderstanding and turned into a cold and unforgiving rift. He’d discovered that it was easier to act like his brother no longer existed, rather than acknowledge the fact that they no longer communicated. And that it hurt. It hurt like hell.

‘But surely you must have looked me up on the internet,’ he murmured.

She quickly turned her head to look at him, and for the first time, she seemed uncertain. ‘Well, yes. I did.’

‘And didn’t that tell you everything you wanted to know?’

‘Not really. Bits of it were very vague.’

‘I pay people a lot of money to keep my profile vague.’

‘Why?’

‘To avoid the kind of questions you seem intent on asking.’

‘It’s just down that long drive. The entrance is just past that big tree on the right.’ She leaned forward to point her finger, before settling back against the leather car seat. ‘It said you had lots of siblings, and there was something about you having a twin brother and I was wondering what it was like to have a twin. If the two of you are psychic, like people say twins can be. And...’

‘And what?’ he shot out as her words trailed off.

She shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much information about your parents,’ she said quietly.

Dante’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he drew up outside a huge old house, whose beauty was slightly diminished by shabby paintwork and a general sense of tiredness. Bad enough that Willow Hamilton should have made breezy assumptions about his estranged twin, but worse that she had touched on the one fact which had ruthlessly been eliminated from his history. Didn’t she realise that there was a good reason why there was scant mention of his parents in his personal profile?

He felt a slow anger begin to build inside him, and if it hadn’t been for the damned tiara, he would have dropped her off there and then, and driven away so fast that you wouldn’t have seen him for smoke. Because personal questions about his family were forbidden; it was one of the ground rules he laid down at the beginning of any date.

But this wasn’t a normal date, was it? It was a means to an end. He stared down at her bare knees and felt a whisper of desire. And perhaps it was time he started taking advantage of some of the very obvious compensations available to drive these unwanted irritations from his head.

‘I doubt whether knowing about my parentage or siblings is going to be particularly relevant in the circumstances,’ he said coolly. ‘Of far greater importance is finding out what turns each other on. Because, as lovers, we need to send out the vibe that we’ve had more than a little...intimacy. And in order to convey that to some degree of satisfaction, then I really need to explore you a little more, Willow.’

And before Willow could properly appreciate what was happening, he had undone their seat belts and was pulling her into his arms, as if it was something he had done countless times before. His cold blue eyes swept over her like a searchlight but there was something in their depths which disturbed her. Something which sent foreboding whispering over her spine. Was it the realisation that this man was way too complicated for her to handle and she shouldn’t even try? Instinctively, she tried to pull away but he was having none of it, because he gave a silky laugh as he lowered his head to kiss her.

Willow sucked in a disbelieving breath as their lips met, because this wasn’t like that lazy kiss at the airport. This was a completely different animal—an unashamed display of potent sensuality. This was Dante Di Sione being outrageously macho and showing her exactly who was in charge. It was a stamp and an unmistakable sexual boast and something told Willow that this emotionless kiss meant nothing to him.

But that didn’t stop from her reacting, did it?

It didn’t stop her from feeling as if she’d just stepped from the darkest shadows into the brightest sunlight.

His seeking lips coaxed her own apart and she felt the tips of her breasts harden as he deepened the kiss with his tongue. Did he know she was helpless to resist from the moment he’d first touched her? Was that why he splayed his fingers over her dress and began to caress her aching breast? She gave a whimper of pleasure as she lifted her arms to curl them around his neck and felt a rush of heat between her legs—a honeyed throb of need which drove every other thought and feeling straight from her body. It felt so good. Unimaginably good. She felt exultant. Hungry for more. Hungry for him.

Softly, Willow moaned with pleasure and he drew his head away, his blue eyes smoky with desire and an unmistakeable trace of mockery glinting in their lapis lazuli depths.

‘Do you want me to stop, Willow?’ he taunted softly, his words a delicious caress which whispered over her skin, making her want him to talk to her that way all day long. ‘Or do you want me to touch you a little more?’

His hand was now moving beneath the hem of her dress and she held her breath. She could feel the tiptoeing of his fingertips against the bare skin and the heat between her legs was increasing as he started to kiss her again. His words were muffled against her mouth as he repeated that same sensual, taunting question—and all the while he was inching his fingers further and further up her thigh.

‘Do you?’

Her heart pounded as she opened her mouth to reply when the sound of footsteps crunching over gravel broke into the kiss like a rock smashing through a thin sheet of ice. Reluctantly Willow opened her eyes and pulled away from him, in time to see her sister’s astonished face looking at them through the car window.