Читать книгу Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4 - Линн Грэхем, Cathy Williams - Страница 14

CHAPTER FOUR

‘FLORA!’ SOMEHOW WILLOW managed to stumble her sister’s name out through lips which were swollen by the pressure of Dante’s kiss. She tried to pull away from him but he wasn’t having any of it—keeping his arm anchored tightly around her shoulders. Her voice trembled a little as his fingertips started stroking at the base of her neck, as if he couldn’t bear not to be touching her. ‘What...what are you doing here?’

But Flora wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at Dante as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. Willow watched as her sister surreptitiously touched her blond hair as if to check that it was pristine—which naturally, it was—and then spread her fingers out over her breastbone, as if to emphasise that at least one of the Hamilton sisters had breasts.

‘And just who is this, Willow?’ she said in a voice which didn’t quite manage to hide her disbelief. ‘You really must introduce me.’

‘He’s...’ Willow’s voice faltered. He’s the man I’ve bribed to be here. The man who made me feel I was almost going to explode with pleasure, and that was only from a single kiss.

‘My name is Dante Di Sione and I’m Willow’s guest for the wedding,’ interjected Dante, and Willow saw Flora almost melt as his sensual lips curved into a lazy smile. ‘Didn’t she tell you I was coming?’

‘No,’ said Flora crisply. ‘No, she did not. We weren’t...well, we weren’t expecting her to bring anyone—and as a consequence we’ve made no special allowances. Which means you’ll be in Willow’s old bedroom, I’m afraid.’

‘And is there a problem with Willow’s old bedroom?’ he questioned.

‘I would say there is, especially for a man of your dimensions.’ Flora looked Dante up and down, as if shamelessly assessing his height. ‘There’s only a single bed.’

Willow wanted to curl up and die, and that was before Dante moved his hand from her neck to place it proprietarily over her thigh. He smiled up at her sister as he pressed his fingers into her flesh. ‘Great,’ he murmured. ‘I do love a good squeeze.’

This clearly wasn’t the reaction Flora had expected and the sight of Dante with his hand on her sister’s leg must have confused the life out of her. But a lifetime of social training meant that her irritation didn’t last long and she made an instant recovery. ‘If you’d like to park over by the stables, Dante.’ She flashed him a glossy smile. ‘Once you’ve settled in we’ll be serving coffee in the drawing room and you’ll be able to meet my mother. Oh, and you’ll have to try on your bridesmaid dress again, Willow—though I warn you that Clover is going to go ballistic if you’ve lost any more weight! And don’t you think you ought to put a cardigan on? Your arms are covered in goose bumps.’

Dante started up the engine as they watched Flora walk into the main entrance of the grand house. Her blond hair swung down her back in a glossy curtain and she walked with the confident wiggle of a beautiful woman who knew she was being watched.

‘So that’s one of your sisters,’ he said slowly as she disappeared through the open front door.

‘Yes.’ Willow nodded her head. So get in first, she thought. Say all the stuff he must be thinking and that way you won’t come over as vulnerable. ‘I told you my siblings were gorgeous, didn’t I? And Flora especially so. Every man she meets falls in love with her. I...I think maybe she’s single at the moment, though you can never be...’

‘Willow.’ He halted her flow of words by placing his finger firmly over her lips. ‘Will you please shut up? I may have something of a reputation where women are concerned but even I would draw the line at going to a wedding with one sister, and then making out with another.’

‘Not taking into account the fact that she might not be interested in you,’ she said indignantly.

‘No, of course not,’ he murmured as he started up the engine. ‘She was looking at me with nothing but cool indifference in her eyes.’

Willow couldn’t decide whether to pull him up for his arrogance or simply acknowledge that he was telling the truth, because Flora had been looking at him as if she’d like to eat him up for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then maybe go back for a midnight snack. And yet he had been kissing her, hadn’t he? Kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed before. She could still recall the fizzing excitement in her blood and the way she’d wanted to dissolve beneath his seeking fingers. She’d wanted him to carry on burrowing his fingers beneath her dress and to touch her where she was all hot and aching. Would he laugh or be horrified if he knew she’d never felt like that before? Would he be horrified to discover that she’d never actually had sex before?

They parked the car and she led Dante through the house by one of the back doors, beginning to realise what a big gamble she’d taken by bringing him here. Was he really a good enough actor to pretend to be interested in her when there was going to be so much Grade One crumpet sashaying around the place in their killer heels?

She pushed open the door of her old bedroom, the room where she had spent so much of her childhood—and immediately it felt like stepping back in time. It always did. It made her feel weird and it made her feel small. Little had changed since she’d left home, and whenever she came here, it felt as if her past had been preserved in aspic—and for the first time, she began to question why. Had her parents’ refusal to redecorate been based on a longstanding wish not to tempt fate by changing things around?

Willow looked around. There was the portrait done of her when she was six—years before the illness had taken hold—with a blue sparkly clip in her blond hair. How innocent she looked. How totally oblivious to what lay ahead. Next to it was the first embroidery she’d ever done—a sweet, framed cross-stitch saying Home Sweet Home. And there were her books—row upon row of them—her beloved connection to the outside world and her only real escape from the sickroom, apart from her sewing. Later on, she’d discovered films—and the more slushy and happy-ever-after, the better. Because fantasy had been a whole lot better than reality.

Sometimes it had felt as if she’d been living in a gilded cage, even though she knew there had been good reasons for that—mainly to keep her away from any rogue infections. But her inevitable isolation and the corresponding protectiveness of her family had left her ill-equipped to deal with certain situations. Like now. She’d missed out on so much. Even at college she’d been watched over and protected by Flora and Clover, who had both been studying at the same university. For a long time she’d only had the energy to deal with maintaining her health and completing her studies and getting a decent degree—she hadn’t had the confidence to add men into the mix, even if she’d found anyone attractive enough.

And she had never found anyone as attractive as Dante Di Sione.

She watched him put their bags down and walk over to the window to stare out at the wide green-grey sweep of the Sussex Downs, before turning to face her—his incredible lapis lazuli eyes narrowed. She waited for him to make some comment about the view, or to remark on the massive dimensions of her rather crumbling but beautiful old home, but to her surprise he did neither.

‘So,’ he said, beginning to walk towards her with stealthy grace. ‘How long have we got?’

‘Got?’ she repeated blankly, not quite sure of his meaning even when he pulled her into his arms and started trailing his fingertips over her body so that she began to shiver beneath the filmy fabric of her delicate dress. ‘For...for what?’

Dante smiled, but it was a smile edged with impatience and a danger that even Willow could recognise was sexual.

‘That depends on you, and what you want.’

‘What I want?’ she said faintly.

‘Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I thought that you were as frustrated by your sister’s interruption as I was. I was under the distinct impression that our fake relationship was about to get real, and in a very satisfying way. It would certainly be more convincing if we were properly intimate instead of just pretending to be. So are we going to play games with each other or are we going to give in to what we both clearly want?’ he murmured as he began to stroke her breasts. ‘And have sex?’

Willow quivered as her nipples tightened beneath his expert touch and even though his words were completely unromantic...even though they were the direct opposite of all those mushy rom-coms she used to watch—they were still making her feel something, weren’t they? They were making her feel like a woman. A real woman—not some pale and bloodless creature who’d spent so much time being hooked up to an intravenous drip, while cocktails of drugs were pumped into her system.

Yet this hadn’t been what she’d planned when she’d rashly demanded he accompany her here. She’d thought they were engaging in nothing more than an indifferent barter of things they both wanted. Unless she wasn’t being honest with herself. Face the truth, Willow. And wasn’t the truth that from the moment she’d seen him walk into the Caribbean airport terminal, her body had sprung into life with a feeling of lust like she’d never felt before? In which case—why was she hesitating? Wasn’t this whole trip supposed to be about changing her life around? To start living like other women her age did.

She tipped up her face so that he could kiss her again. ‘Have sex,’ she said boldly, meeting the flicker of humour in his smoky blue gaze.

He smiled and then suddenly what was happening did feel like a fantasy. Like every one of those mushy films she’d watched. He picked her up and carried her across the room, placing her down on the bed and pausing only to remove the battered old teddy bear that used to accompany her everywhere. She felt a wave of embarrassment as he pushed the bear onto the floor, but then he was bending his lips to hers and suddenly he was kissing her.

It was everything a kiss ought to be. Passionate. Searching. Deep. It made Willow squirm restlessly beneath him, her fingers beginning to scrabble at his shirt as she felt the rush of molten heat between her legs. And maybe he had guessed what was happening—or maybe this was just the way he operated—but he slid his hand beneath her skirt and all the way up her leg, pushing aside the damp panel of her knickers and beginning to tease her there with his finger. Her eyes fluttered to a close and it felt so perfect that Willow wanted to cry out her pleasure—but maybe he anticipated that too, because he deepened the kiss. And suddenly it became different. It became hard and hungry and demanding and she was matching it with her own demands—arching her body up towards his, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

She could feel the hardness at his groin—the unfamiliar rocky ridge nudging insistently against her—and to her surprise she wasn’t daunted, or scared. Maybe it was just her poor starved body demanding what nature had intended it for, because suddenly she was writhing against him—moaning her eagerness and her impatience into his open mouth.

He reached for his belt and Willow heard the rasp of his zip as he began to lower it, when suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.

They both froze and Willow shrank back against the pillows, trying to get her ragged breath back, though it took several seconds before she could speak.

‘Who is it?’ she demanded in a strangled voice.

‘Willow?’

Willow’s heart sank. It was Clover’s voice. Clover, the bride-to-be. Well-meaning and bossy Clover, the older sister who had protected her as fiercely as a lioness would protect one of her cubs. Just like the rest of her family.

‘H-hi, Clover,’ she said shakily.

‘Can I come in?

Before Willow could answer, Dante shook his head and mouthed, No, but she knew what would happen if she didn’t comply. There would be an outraged family discussion downstairs. There would be talk of rudeness. They would view Dante with even more suspicion than she suspected he was already going to encounter. The atmosphere would be spoiled before the wedding celebrations had even begun.

She shook her head as she tugged her dress back down, her cheeks flaming bright red as she readjusted her knickers. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she called, wriggling out of Dante’s arms and off the bed, mouthing, Don’t say a word.

His responding look indicated that he didn’t really have much choice but there was no disguising the flicker of fury sparking in his blue eyes.

Willow scuttled over to the door and pulled it open by a crack to see Clover outside, her hair in rollers and an expression on her face which couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether to be cross or curious.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Clover asked sharply.

For a minute Willow was tempted to tell her to mind her own business, or at least to use her imagination. To snap back that she had just been enjoying a glorious initiation to the mysteries of sex when she had been so rudely interrupted. What was it with her sisters that they kept bursting in on her at the most inopportune moments? But then she reminded herself of everything that Clover had done for her. All those nights she’d sat beside her, holding her hand and helping her keep the nightmares at bay.

Telling herself that her sister was only acting with the best intentions, Willow gave a helpless kind of smile. ‘I was just showing Dante the amazing view of the Sussex Downs.’

Clover slanted her a who-do-you-think-you’re-kidding? look. ‘Ah, yes,’ she said, loud enough for the entire first floor corridor to hear. ‘Dante. The mystery man who drove you here.’

‘My guest,’ said Willow indignantly.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing him?’ said Clover.

‘Maybe she wanted it to be a surprise,’ came a drawling voice, and Willow didn’t need to turn round to know that Dante had walked up behind her. She could tell from her sister’s goggle-eyed expression even before he placed his hand on her shoulder and started massaging it, the way she’d seen people do in films when they were trying to help their partner relax. So why did the tight tension inside her body suddenly feel as if it was spiralling out of control?

‘This is...this is Dante,’ she said, hearing the hesitance of her words. ‘Dante Di Sione.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Dante.’ Clover’s face took on the judgemental expression for which she was famous within the family. ‘Perhaps Willow could bear to share you enough to bring you downstairs for coffee, so that everyone can meet you. My mother is particularly keen to make your acquaintance.’

‘I can hardly wait,’ murmured Dante, increasing the pressure of his impromptu massage by a fraction.

Willow had barely shut the door on her sister before Dante turned her round to face him, his hands on her upper arms, his lapis lazuli gaze boring into her.

‘Why do you let her speak to you like that?’ he demanded. ‘Why didn’t you just ignore her, or tell her you were busy? Surely she has enough imagination to realise we were making out?’

Willow gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘She’s very persistent. They all are.’

He frowned. ‘What usually happens when you bring a man home with you?’

Willow licked her lips. Now they were on dangerous territory, and if she told him the truth, she suspected he’d run a mile. Instead, she shot him a challenging look. ‘Why, are you afraid of my sisters, Dante?’

‘I don’t give a damn about your sisters.’ He pulled her close against him. ‘I’d just like to continue what we were doing a few minutes ago. Now...’ His hand cupped her aching breast once more. ‘Where were we, can you remember?’

For a minute Willow let him caress her nipple and her eyes fluttered to a close as he began to nuzzle at her neck. She could feel the renewed rush of heat to her body and she wondered how long it would take. Whether they would have time to do it properly. But what if it hurt? What if she bled? Pulling away from him, she met the frustration in his eyes.

Was she about to lose her mind? Of course they wouldn’t have time. She’d waited a long time to have sex—years and years, to be precise—so why rush it and then have to go downstairs in an embarrassing walk of shame, to face her judgemental family who would be assembled in the drawing room like a circle of vultures?

‘We’ve got to go downstairs,’ she said. ‘For...for coffee.’

‘I don’t want coffee,’ he growled. ‘I want you.’

There was a pause before she could summon up the courage to say it and when she did it came out in a breathless rush. ‘And I want you.’

‘So?’

‘So I’m going to be a bridesmaid and I have to get my hair and make-up done before the ceremony.’ She swallowed. ‘And there’ll be plenty of time for that...later.’

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle—something he always went out of his way to avoid—Dante walked over to the window, trying to calm his acutely aroused body before having to go downstairs to face her frightful family.

He wondered what had made her so surprisingly compliant when her sister had come up here snooping around. He wondered what had happened to the woman who had flirted so boldly with him at the airport. The one who had demanded he be her escort as the price for returning his bag. He’d had her down as one of those independent free spirits who would give great sex—and her going-up-in-flames reaction every time he laid a finger on her had only reinforced that theory.

Yet from the moment he’d driven up the long drive to her impressive but rather faded country house, she had become ridiculously docile. He stared out at the breathtaking view. The magnificence of the distant landscape reminded him of his own family home, back in the States. Somewhere he’d left when he’d gone away to boarding school at the age of eight, and to which he had never really returned. Certainly not for any great length of time. His mouth twisted. Because wasn’t it something of a travesty to call the Long Island place a family home? It was nothing but a grand house built on some very expensive real estate—with a magnificent facade which concealed all kinds of dirty secrets.

He turned back to find Willow watching him, her grey gaze wary and her manner slightly hesitant—as if she expected him to say that he had changed his mind and was about to leave. He suddenly found himself thinking that she reminded him of a delicate gazelle.

‘Why are you suddenly so uptight?’ he questioned. ‘Is something wrong?’

Willow stilled and if she hadn’t fancied him so much she might have told him the whole story. But it was precisely because she fancied him so much that she couldn’t. He’d start treating her differently. He’d be overcautious when he touched her. He might not even want to touch her. Because that was the thing with illness—it did more than affect the person it struck; it affected everyone around you. People who were mature and sensible might try to deny it, but didn’t they sometimes behave as if the illness she’d once had was in some way contagious?

And why shouldn’t she forget about that period in her life? She’d been given the all-clear ages ago and now was her chance to get something she’d wanted for a very long time. Something as powerful and as uncomplicated as sexual fulfilment, with a man she suspected would be perfect for the purpose, as long as she reminded herself not to read too much into it. For the first time in her life, she had to reach out for what she wanted. Not the things that other women wanted—because she wasn’t asking for the impossible. She wasn’t clamouring for marriage and babies—just a brief and heady sexual relationship with Dante Di Sione. But she had to be proactive.

She smiled into his hard blue eyes. ‘I think it’s because I’m the youngest, and they’ve always been a little protective of me. You know how it is.’ She began to walk across the room towards him, plucking up the courage to put her arms around his neck. This close she could see into his eyes perfectly. And although she was short on experience, she recognised the desire which was making them grow so smoky.

And if she detected a flicker of suspicion lurking in their depths, then surely it was up to her to keep those suspicions at bay.

‘I don’t want to do it in a rush. I want to savour every single moment,’ she whispered, trying to sound as if she made sexual assignations with men every day of the week. ‘And don’t they say that the best things in life are worth waiting for?’

He framed her face in his hands and there was a split second when she thought he was about to bend his head and kiss her, but he didn’t. He just stared at her for a very long time, with the kind of look in his eyes which made a shiver trickle down her spine.

‘I hear what you’re saying and I am prepared to take it on board. But be very clear that I am not a patient man, Willow—and I have a very low boredom threshold. Better not keep me waiting too long,’ he said roughly as he levered her away from him, in the direction of the door.