Читать книгу Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4 - Линн Грэхем, Cathy Williams - Страница 15

CHAPTER FIVE

DANTE GLANCED AROUND at the guests who were standing on the newly mown lawn drinking champagne. He risked another glance at his watch and wondered how soon this would be over and he could get Willow into bed—but like all weddings, this one seemed never-ending.

The place had been a hive of activity all afternoon. The faded grandeur of Willow’s vast home had been transformed by legions of adoring locals, who had carried armfuls of flowers from the nearby village to decorate the house and gardens. Hedges had been trimmed and Chinese lanterns strung high in the trees. Rough wooden trestle tables had been covered with white cloths before being decked with grapes and roses and tiny flickering tealights.

It quickly dawned on him that the Hamiltons were the kind of aristocratic family with plenty of cachet but very little cash. The ceremony had taken place in their own church—he found that quite hard to believe—a small but freezing building situated within the extensive grounds. The bride looked okay—but then, all brides looked the same, in Dante’s opinion. She wore a white dress and a veil and the service had been interminable. No change there. But he’d found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Willow as she’d made her way up the aisle. He thought how beautiful she looked, despite a deeply unflattering dress and a smile which suggested that, like him, she’d rather be somewhere else.

Before the ceremony he had endured a meet-and-greet with her family over some unspeakable coffee, drunk in a room hung with dusty old paintings. Flora and Clover he’d already met and the remaining sibling was called Poppy—a startlingly pretty girl with grey eyes like Willow’s, who seemed as keen to question him as her sisters had been. Their attitude towards him had been one of unrestrained suspicion. They were curious about where he and Willow had met and how long they’d been an item. They seemed surprised to hear he lived in Paris and they wondered how often he was seeing their sister. And because Dante didn’t like being interrogated and because he wasn’t sure what Willow had told them, he was deliberately vague.

Her parents had appeared at one point. Her mother was tall and still beautiful, with cheekbones as high as Willow’s own. She was wearing what looked like her husband’s old smoking jacket over a dress and a pair of wellington boots and smiled rather distractedly when Dante shook her hand.

But her attitude changed the instant she caught sight of Willow, who had been over on the other side of the room, finding him a cup of coffee. ‘Are you okay, darling? You’re not tiring yourself out?’

Just what was it with these people? Dante wondered. Was that a warning look from Sister Number Three being slanted in his direction? He got that Willow probably didn’t bring a lot of men home and he got that as the youngest daughter she would be a little overprotected. But they seemed to be fussing around her as if she was some kind of teenager, rather than a woman in her mid-twenties. And she seemed to be letting them.

But now the wedding was over, the photo session was finished and he was standing on a warm summer’s evening with a growing sense of sexual anticipation. He felt his mouth dry as he glanced across the lawn, to where Willow was listening to something her mother was saying, obediently nodding her blond head, which was woven with blooms and making her look even more ethereal than before. Her dress emphasised the razor-sharp slant of her collarbones and the slenderness of her bare arms.

Maybe her intrinsic delicacy was the reason why everyone seemed to treat her with kid gloves. And why her gaggle of interfering sisters seemed to boss her around so much.

Her mother walked off and Dante put his untouched drink onto a table, walking through the growing dusk until he was standing in front of her. He watched as her expression underwent a series of changes. He saw shyness as well as that now-familiar wariness in her eyes, but he saw desire too—and that desire lit something inside him and made him want to touch her again.

‘Dance with me,’ he said.

With a quick bite of her lip, she shook her head. ‘I’d better not. I have masses of things I need to do.’

‘It wasn’t a question, Willow,’ he said, pulling her into his arms. ‘It was a command and I won’t tolerate anyone who disobeys my commands.’

‘That’s an outrageous thing to say.’

‘So outrageous it’s made you shiver with desire?’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are.’ Pulling her against his body, he breathed in the scent of flowers which made him long to remove that fussy dress and have her naked in his arms. He’d had enough of behaving like a teenager—only getting so far before another of her damned sisters interrupted them. He slid his hand over her ribcage, his heart thundering as his fingertips stroked the slippery satin. ‘So how long does this damned wedding go on for?’

‘Oh, ages,’ she said, but the sudden breathlessness in her voice coincided with his thumb casually beginning to circle the area beneath her breast. ‘We haven’t even had the speeches yet.’

‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ he said, swinging her round and thinking how slight she was. He remembered how feather-light she’d felt when he’d carried her over to that ridiculously tiny bed and he wished he was on that bed right now with his mouth on her breast and his fingers between her legs. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can wait,’ he said huskily.

‘Wait?’ She drew her head back and it was as if she had suddenly recognised her power over him, because her grey eyes were dancing with mischief. ‘Yes, I suppose you must be hungry. Well, don’t worry—supper won’t be long. Just as soon as my father and the best man have spoken.’

In answer, he pressed his hardness against her with a sudden calculated stamp of sexual mastery and watched as her pupils dilated in response. ‘I want you,’ he said, very deliberately. ‘And I’m tempted to take you by the hand and get us lost in these enormous grounds. I’d like to find somewhere sheltered, like the shade of a big tree, so that I could explore what you’re wearing underneath that monstrosity of a dress. I’d like to make you come very quickly. In fact, I think I could make myself come right now, just by thinking about it.’

‘Dante!’

‘Yes, Willow?’

She drew away from him, trembling slightly, and once again he was confused, because wasn’t she just a mass of contradictions? One minute she was so hot that he almost scorched his fingers when he touched her—and the next she was looking up at him with reproachful grey eyes, like some delicate flower he was in danger of crushing beneath the full force of his desire. And that was how her family treated her, wasn’t it? Like she couldn’t be trusted to make her own judgements and look after herself.

‘You’re very...’

‘Very what?’ He stalled her sentence with the brush of his lips against her cheek and felt her shiver again.

‘D-demanding,’ she managed.

‘Don’t you like me being demanding?’

Willow closed her eyes as he tightened his arms around her, distracted by the heat of his body and acutely aware that they were being watched. Of course they were being watched. Dante Di Sione was easily the most watchable man here—and hadn’t that been one of the reasons she’d demanded his company? To show people that she was capable of attracting such a man? But suddenly it felt like much more than just pretending to be his lover; she wanted to be his lover. She wanted it to be real. She wanted to be like everyone else, but she couldn’t. So she was just going to have to make the best of what she was capable of, wasn’t she?

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I like it very much. It’s just not very appropriate right now. We’re in the middle of a crowd of people and there are things I’m supposed to be doing.’

‘Like what?’

‘Checking that everyone’s got a drink so they can make a toast once the speeches start. And introducing people who don’t know each other—that sort of thing.’

‘All this hanging around and waiting is very dull,’ he observed.

‘Then circulate,’ she said lightly. ‘That’s what people do.’

‘I’ve done nothing but circulate,’ he growled. ‘I think I’ll go crazy if I have to endure yet another society matron trying to calculate what my net worth is.’

She tilted her head back and studied him. ‘So how do you usually cope with weddings?’

‘By avoiding them whenever possible.’

‘But you were unable to avoid this one?’

‘It seems I was.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘There must be something very valuable in that bag to make you want it so much.’

‘Right now, I want you far more than anything in that damned bag.’

Willow giggled, feeling a sudden heady rush of excitement which had more to do with the way he was making her feel than the glass of punch she’d drunk. ‘Which was a very neat way of avoiding my question.’

‘I don’t remember you actually asking a question and it’s the only answer you’re going to get. So when can we leave?’

‘After the cake has been cut,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Look, there are the main players getting ready to speak and I’m supposed to be up at the top table. I’ll see you in a while.’

She tore herself away from his arms, aware of his gaze burning into her as she walked across the garden, but at that moment she was on such a high that she felt as if she could have floated over the candlelit lawn.

It didn’t take Flora long to bring her right back down to earth as she joined her in the throng of Hamiltons at the top table.

‘I’ve looked him up on the internet,’ she said as soon as Willow was in earshot.

‘Who?’

‘Who do you think? The man who drove you here today in his flashy red sports car,’ replied her sister. ‘Mr Macho.’

Willow reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and took a sip as her gaze drifted over towards Dante’s statuesque form, which seemed to stand out from the milling crowd. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she said, without really thinking.

‘Nobody’s denying that,’ said Flora slowly. ‘And I’m guessing that if you’ve brought him here, it must be serious?’

‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Willow evasively.

Flora lowered her voice. ‘So you’re aware that he’s an international playboy with lovers in every major city in the world who is also known as a complete maverick in the world of business?’

Willow took a mouthful of fizz. ‘So what? I’m not planning some kind of corporate takeover with him.’

‘He’s way out of your league, love,’ said Flora gently. ‘He’s a wolf and you’re an innocent little lamb. You haven’t exactly had a lot of experience with the opposite sex, have you?’

‘Only because my family is too busy mounting an armed guard around me!’

Flora frowned. ‘So what exactly is going on between you?’

There was a pause. ‘I like him,’ said Willow truthfully. ‘I like him a lot.’

It was perhaps unfortunate that Great-aunt Maud should have chosen just that moment to drift past in a cloud of magenta chiffon and gardenia perfume, blinking rapidly as she caught the tail end of their conversation. ‘So does that mean you’re going to be next up the aisle, Willow?’ She beamed, without waiting for an answer. ‘I must say I’m not surprised. He is quite something, that young man of yours. Quite something.’

* * *

Dante listened to the formal speeches which always bored the hell out of him and steadfastly ignored the redhead who was flashing him an eager smile. But for once the sentiments expressed went beyond the usual gags about mothers-in-law and shotguns. The groom thanked all the bridesmaids and told them how beautiful they looked, but he left Willow until last, and suddenly his voice grew serious.

‘I’d just like to say how much it meant to Clover, having Willow’s support. But much more than that is having her here today, looking so lovely. It means...well, it means everything to us.’

Dante frowned as people began to cheer, wondering why the atmosphere had grown distinctly poignant and why Willow’s mother was suddenly groping in her bag for a handkerchief.

But then Willow’s father began speaking and after he had waxed long and lyrical about the bride, he paused before resuming—his eyes resting affectionately on the slender blonde in the bridesmaid dress who was twisting the peachy satin around her fingers and looking slightly awkward.

‘I just want to echo Dominic’s words and say how happy we are to see Willow here today looking, if I might add, positively radiant. We just want her to know how proud we are of her, and the way she handled her illness, when all her peers were running around without a care in the world. And how her recovery has made us all feel very, very grateful.’

The applause which followed was deafening and Dante’s lips froze as suddenly it all made sense.

Of course.

That’s why she looked so fragile and that’s why her family fussed around her and were so protective of her.

She’d been ill.

How ill? It must have been bad for it to warrant a mention in not one but two of the wedding speeches.

He felt momentarily winded. Like that time when a tennis ball hit by his twin had slammed straight into his solar plexus. He had been itching to take Willow away from here as soon as the speeches were over, but suddenly he needed time. And distance. Because how could he now take her to bed in the light of what he had learned?

Did Willow sense where he was in the throng of people? Was that why her grey eyes suddenly turned to meet his? Only this time it was more than desire which pumped through his veins as his gaze connected with hers. It was a cocktail of emotions he was unfamiliar with. He felt sympathy and a flare of something which clenched his heart with a sensation close to pain. The sense that life was unfair. And yet why should that come as a surprise, when he’d learnt the lesson of life’s unfairness at the age of eight, when his entire world had changed for ever?

Why the hell hadn’t she told him?

He watched as the smile she was directing at him became slightly uncertain and she picked up her glass and took a mouthful of champagne. And part of him wanted to run. To get into his car and drive back to London. To fly on to Paris as soon as possible and put this whole incident behind him. Yet he couldn’t do that—and not just because she still had his grandfather’s precious tiara. He couldn’t just turn his back on her and walk away. If she’d known real suffering, then she deserved his compassion and his respect.

He saw all the women lining up and giggling and wondered what was happening, when he realised that the bride was about to throw her bouquet. And he wondered why it came as no real sense of surprise when Willow caught it, to the accompaniment of more loud cheers.

He couldn’t stay here. He could see some of her relatives smiling at him, almost—God forbid—as if they were preparing to welcome him into the fold and he knew that he had to act. Ignoring the redhead with the cleavage who had been edging closer and closer, he walked straight up to Willow and took the empty champagne glass from her hand.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

He couldn’t miss the look of relief on her face.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, sounding a little unsteady.

On her high-heeled shoes she was tottering as they walked across the darkening grass as if she’d had a little too much to drink—but for once Dante wasn’t about to take the moral high ground.

He waited for her to mention the speeches, but she didn’t. She was too busy weaving her fingers into his and squeezing them. He thought again about her father’s words and how her experience had affected her. It meant she’d probably learnt in the hardest way possible about the fragility of life and the random way that trouble could strike. He wondered if she’d plumped for recklessness as a result of that. Was that why she would have had sex with him before the wedding had even started, if her damned sister hadn’t interrupted them? He wondered if she was this free with everyone—an aristocratic wild child who’d learned to be liberal with her body. And he was unprepared for the sudden dark shaft of anger which slammed into him.

They reached her room without meeting anyone and the sounds of celebration drifted up through the open windows as she shut the bedroom door behind them and switched on a small lamp. He could hear music and laughter and the rising lull of snatched conversation, but there was no joy in Dante’s heart right then.

She leaned against the door, her shiny ruffled dress gleaming and her grey eyes looking very bright. ‘So,’ she said, darting a rather embarrassed glance at the bride’s bouquet she was still holding, before quickly putting it down on a nearby table. ‘Now what?’

He wished he could wipe what he’d heard from his mind, leaving his conscience free to do what he really wanted—which was to walk over there and remove her dress. To take off her bra and her panties and strip himself bare, before entering that pale and slim body with one slow and exquisite thrust.

He went to stand by the window, with his back to the strings of Chinese lanterns which gleamed in the trees.

‘Did you enjoy the wedding, Willow?’ he asked carefully.

She walked across the room, pulling the wilting crown of flowers from her head and placing it on the dressing table, and a clip which clattered onto the wooden floor sounded unnaturally loud.

‘It was okay,’ she said, taking out another clip, and then another, before putting them down. She turned around then, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and there was a faint look of anxiety in her eyes, as if she had just picked up from his tone that something was different. She licked her lips. ‘Did you?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not really. But then, I’m not really a big fan of weddings.’

Her smile became a little brittle. ‘Oh, well, at least it’s over now,’ she said. ‘So why don’t we just take our minds off it?’

She began to walk unsteadily towards him and Dante knew he had to stop this before it went any further. Before he did something he might later regret. But it was hard to resist her when she looked so damned lovely. There was something so compelling about her. Something pure and untouched which contrasted with the hungry look in her eyes and the wanton spill of her half-pinned hair. She looked like a little girl playing the part of vamp.

He shook his head. ‘No, Willow.’

But she kept on walking towards him until she was standing in front of him in her long dress. And now she was winding her arms around his neck and clinging on to him like a tender vine and the desire to kiss her was like a fever raging in his blood.

Briefly, he closed his eyes as if that would help him resist temptation, but it didn’t—because the feel of her was just as distracting as the sight of her. And maybe she took that as an invitation—because she brushed her mouth over his with a tentative exploration which made him shiver. With an angry little groan he succumbed to the spiralling of desire as he deepened the kiss. He felt the kick of his heart as her hands began to move rather frantically over him, and what could he do but respond?

She was tugging at his tie as he started to caress the slender lines of her body, his fingers sliding helplessly over the slippery material. He felt her sway and picked her up, carrying her over to the bed, like a man acting on autopilot. She lay there, almost swamped by the silky folds of her bridesmaid dress, and as his hand reached out to stroke its way over her satin-covered breast, he felt a savage jerk of lust.

‘Oh, Dante,’ she breathed—and that heartfelt little note of wonder was almost his undoing.

Would it be so wrong to take her? To have her gasp out her pleasure and him do the same, especially when they both wanted it so badly? Surely it would be a good thing to end this rather bizarre day with some uncomplicated and mindless sex.

Except that it wouldn’t be uncomplicated. Or mindless. Not in the light of what he’d learned. Because she was vulnerable. Of course she was. And he couldn’t treat her as he would treat any other woman. He couldn’t just strip her naked and pleasure her and take what he wanted for himself before walking away. She had gone through too much to be treated as something disposable.

With an effort which tore at him like a physical pain, he moved away from the bed and went to stand by the window, where the darkness of the garden was broken by the flickering gleam of candlelight. Tiny pinpricks of light glittered on every surface, like fallen stars. Beneath the open window he could hear a couple talking in low voices which then abruptly stopped and something told him they were kissing. Was that envy he felt? Envy that he couldn’t just forget everything he knew and block out his reservations with a kiss?

It took several moments for the hunger to leave him, and when he had composed himself sufficiently, he turned back to find her sitting up on the bed looking at him—confusion alternating with the desire which was skating across her fine-boned features.

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been so ill?’

Willow’s first reaction was one of rage as his words fired into her skin like sharp little arrows. Rage that her father and Dominic should have seen fit to include the information in their speeches and rage that he should suddenly have started talking to her in that new and gentle voice. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her—she wanted him hot and hungry. She wanted him tugging impatiently at her clothes like he’d been before, as if he couldn’t wait to strip her bare.

‘What does that have to do with anything?’ she demanded. ‘I had leukaemia as a child. What’s the big deal?’

‘It’s a pretty big deal, Willow.’

‘Only if people choose to make it one,’ she gritted out. ‘Especially since I’ve had the all-clear, which makes me as disease-free as you or the rest of the general population. What did you want me to do, Dante? Tell you all about the drugs and the side effects and the way my hair fell out, or how difficult it was to actually keep food down? When it comes to interacting with men, it’s not exactly what they want to hear as a chat-up line. It doesn’t really make you attractive towards the opposite sex.’ She glared. ‘Why the hell did Dom and my father have to say anything?’

‘I think I might have worked it out for myself,’ he said slowly. ‘Because I’d had my suspicions ever since we arrived.’

‘You had your suspicions?’ she echoed angrily.

‘Sure. I wondered why your sisters were acting as if I was the big, bad ogre and I wondered why everyone was so protective of you. It took me a while to work out why that might be, but now I think I have.’

‘So once I was very sick and now I’m not,’ she said flippantly. ‘End of subject, surely?’

‘But it’s a little bit more complicated than that, Willow?’ he said slowly. ‘Isn’t it?’

For a minute she stiffened as she thought he might have learned about her biggest fear and secret, before she told herself he couldn’t know. He wasn’t that perceptive and she’d certainly never discussed it with anyone else. ‘What are you talking about?’ she questioned.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Something tells me you’ve never brought a man back here before. Have you?’

Willow felt humiliation wash over her and in that moment she hated Dante Di Sione’s perception and that concerned way he was looking at her. She didn’t want him looking at her with concern—she wanted him looking at her with lust. So brazen it out, she told herself. You’ve come this far. You’ve dismissed your illness, so deal with the rest. She had him here with her—a captive audience—and judging by his body language, he still wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

‘And how did you manage to work that out?’ she questioned.

His eyes were boring into her, still with that horrible, unwanted perception.

‘Just that every time I was introduced as your partner, people expressed a kind of barely concealed astonishment. I mean, I know I have something of a reputation where women are concerned, but they were acting like I was the devil incarnate.’

For a second Willow thought about lying to him. About telling him that his was just another anonymous face in a sea of men she’d brought here. But why tell him something she’d be unable to carry off? She didn’t think she was that good a liar. And all she wanted was for that warm feeling to come back. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wasn’t asking for commitment—she knew she could never be in a position to ask for that. All she wanted was to be in his arms again.

She thought about the person she’d been when he’d met her at the airport—that bold and flirtatious Willow she’d never dared be before—and Dante had seemed to like that Willow, hadn’t he? She was certainly a more attractive proposition than the woman sitting huddled on the bed, meekly listening to him berate her.

‘I thought you would be the kind of man who wouldn’t particularly want a woman to burden you with every second of her past.’

‘That much is true,’ he conceded reluctantly.

‘So, what’s your beef?’

Rather unsteadily, she got off the bed, and before he could stop her she’d reached behind her to slide down the zip of her bridesmaid dress, so that it pooled around her ankles in a shimmering circle.

Willow had never stood in front of a man in her underwear before and she’d always wondered what it would feel like—whether she would feel shy or uninhibited or just plain self-conscious. But she could still feel the effect of the champagne she’d drunk and, more than that, the look on his face was powerful enough to drive every inhibition from her mind. Because Dante looked almost tortured as she stepped out from the circle of satin and stood before him wearing nothing but her underwear and a pair of high-heeled shoes.

And although people often told her she looked as if she could do with a decent meal, Willow knew from her time working in the fashion industry that slenderness worked in your favour when you were wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of pants. She could see his gaze lingering on the swell of her breasts in the ivory-coloured lace bra which was embroidered with tiny roses. Reluctantly, it travelled down to her bare stomach before seeming to caress the matching thong, lingering longest on the flimsy triangle and making her ache there.

Feeling as if she was playing out a part she’d seen in a film, she lifted her fingers to her breast and cupped the slight curve. As she ran her finger along a twist of leaves, she thought she saw him move, as if he was about to cross the room and take her in his arms after all, and she held her breath in anticipation.

But he didn’t.

Instead a little nerve began working furiously at his temple as he patted his pocket, until he’d found his car keys.

‘And I think that’s my cue to leave,’ he said harshly.

‘No!’ The word came out in a rush. ‘Please, Dante. I don’t want you to go.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m out of here.’

‘Dante...’

‘No. Listen to me, Willow.’ There was a pause while he seemed to be composing himself, and when he started speaking, his words sounded very controlled. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re lovely. Very lovely. A beautiful butterfly of a woman. But I’m not going to have sex with you.’

She swallowed. ‘Because you don’t want me?’

His voice grew rough. ‘You know damned well I want you.’

She lifted her eyes to his. ‘Then why?’

He seemed to hesitate and Willow got the distinct feeling that he was going to say something dismissive, or tell her that he didn’t owe her any kind of explanation. But to her surprise, he didn’t. His expression took on that almost gentle look again and she found herself wanting to hurl something at him...preferably herself. To tell him not to wrap her up in cotton wool the way everyone else did. To treat her like she was made of flesh and blood instead of something fragile and breakable. To make her feel like that passionate woman he’d brought to life in his arms.

‘Because I’m the kind of man who brings women pain, and you’ve probably had enough of that in your life. Don’t make yourself the willing recipient of any more.’ He met the question in her eyes. ‘I’m incapable of giving women what they want and I’m not talking about sex. I don’t do emotion, or love, or commitment, because I don’t really know how those things work. When people tell me that I’m cold and unfeeling, I don’t get offended—because I know it’s true. There’s nothing deep about me, Willow—and there never will be.’

Willow drew in a breath. It was now or never. It was a huge risk—but so what? What did she have to lose when the alternative of not having him suddenly seemed unbearable? ‘But that’s all I want from you,’ she whispered. ‘Sex.’

His face hardened as he shook his head.

‘And I certainly don’t have sex with virgins,’ he finished flatly.

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘But...how on earth could you tell I was a virgin?’ she whispered, her voice quivering with disappointment, before realising from his brief, hard smile that she had just walked into some sort of trap.

‘Call it an informed guess,’ he said drily. ‘And it’s the reason why I have to leave.’

The hurt and the rejection Willow was feeling was now replaced by a far more real concern as she realised he meant it. He was going to leave her there, aching and alone and having to face everyone in the morning.

Reaching down to the bed, she grabbed at the duvet which was lying on the bed and wrapped it around herself, so that it covered her in an unflattering white cloud. And then she looked into the icy glitter of his eyes, willing him not to walk away. ‘If you go now, it will just cause a big scene. It will make people gossip and stir up all kinds of questions. And I don’t think I can face them. Or rather, I don’t want to face them. Please don’t make me. Don’t go,’ she said urgently. ‘At least, not tonight. Let’s pretend that you’re my lover, even if it’s not true. Let me show my sisters and my family that I’m a grown-up woman who doesn’t need their protection any more. I want to break free from their well-meaning intervention, and you’re the person who can help me. So help me, Dante. Don’t make me face them alone in the morning.’

Dante heard the raw appeal in her voice and realised how difficult that must have been for her to say. She seemed so vulnerable that part of him wanted to go over there and comfort her. To cradle her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t do that with any degree of certainty, could he? He didn’t even trust himself to touch her without going back on his word and it was vital he kept to his self-imposed promise.

‘This is a crazy situation,’ he growled. ‘Which is going to get even crazier if I stay. I’m sorry, Willow—but I can’t do it.’

In the distance, the music suddenly came to a halt and the sound of clapping drifted in through the open windows.

‘But I still have your bag,’ she said quietly. ‘And I thought you badly wanted it back.’

There was a pause.

‘Are you...threatening me?’ he questioned.

She shrugged. ‘I thought we had a deal.’

He met her grey gaze and an unwilling feeling of admiration flooded through him as he realised that she meant it. And even though she wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on if he had decided to offer real resistance, he knew he couldn’t do it. Because there were only so many setbacks a person could take—and she’d had more than her fair share of them.

‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘The deal still stands, though the terms have changed. And this is what we’re going to do. You are going to get ready for bed in the bathroom and you’re going to wear something—anything—I don’t care what it is as long as it covers you up. You are then going to get into bed and I don’t want to hear another word from you until morning, when we will leave for London before anyone else is awake, because I have no intention of facing your family first thing and having to continue with this ridiculous farce.’

‘But...where will you sleep?’

With a faint feeling of disbelief that he should be consigning himself to a celibate night, he pointed to a faded velvet chaise longue on the opposite side of the room. ‘Over there,’ he said.

‘Dante...’

‘No,’ he said, his patience dwindling as he moved away from her, because despite the fact that she was swaddled beneath that fat, white duvet, the image of her slender body wearing nothing but her bra and pants was seared into his memory. He swallowed. ‘I want you to do that right now, or the deal is off—and if I have to drive myself back to London and break into your apartment in order to retrieve what is rightfully mine, then I will do it. Do you understand, Willow?’

She met his eyes and nodded with an obedience which somehow made his heart twist.

‘Yes, Dante,’ she said. ‘I understand.’