Читать книгу Mistress To a Latin Lover - Кэтти Уильямс, Jane Porter, Cathy Williams - Страница 13
ОглавлениеCHAPTER SIX
“THAT’S good,” he said, smiling thinly but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And at least Sobato’s gone. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. His things have been removed from his room. He won’t be back.”
Emilio was gone? Cass felt a wave of relief. “What do you mean?”
“He won’t be returning to the palazzo, or attending the wedding. I made sure of that before we left the restaurant tonight.”
She felt weak, her legs wobbly, and she didn’t even know why. “You can do that?”
“My security detail can.”
She moved to the window, touched one velvet panel, the velvet soft, warm, pliable beneath her fingertips. “I didn’t know you had security.”
“I don’t when I travel. But here at home when the family gathers at the palazzo, or when we host a party, particularly one like my sister’s wedding where we have many high profile guests attending, it’s wise to take precautions.”
“That’s how you knew Emilio was trying to break into your office?”
“We caught him on one of the security cameras.”
She glanced up, checked the ceiling and corners of the room for possible cameras. “You don’t have any in the bedrooms, do you?”
Maximos smiled faintly. “I believe that’s considered an invasion of privacy.”
“Good.” A little of her tension eased. “We agree on something at least.”
Maximos stepped toward her, adjusted the strap on her white slip dress, smoothing the fabric on her bare golden shoulder. The touch of his fingers on her skin made her shiver, body and nerves tingling. “We probably still agree on quite a bit.”
She shivered again as his fingertip traced the low neckline and the lace panel covering her breast. “Careful,” she murmured, voice low and husky.
His hand fell away. “Are you dating anyone?”
Was she dating anyone? What kind of question was that? Hadn’t he been listening to a single thing she’d said today? “I’m not dating.”
“Why not?”
Did he really mean to hurt her, or was he honestly so oblivious to the depth of her feelings? It took her a moment to manage a careless shrug. “I do get asked out.” Not that she ever said yes, but he didn’t have to know that. Since he clearly didn’t care.
“And do you go out?” he persisted.
“I haven’t been in the mood.” First there was the heartbreak, then the discovery of the pregnancy and then the miscarriage. Not exactly the right mind frame for meeting—or dating—new men.
“You’re too young not to go out, find real happiness.”
“Because with you it wasn’t real happiness?”
“I was never an option.”
She gritted her teeth, not understanding, not ever understanding why it was that he’d ruled himself out as a possibility, why he’d have her body but not her heart. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make decisions for me. Decide what it is I can or can’t have, what it is I need or don’t need.” The anger was building. Hot, terrible and fierce. “You might know what you need, Maximos, and you might know what you want. But you don’t know the first thing about me.” The emotion felt hot and strangled inside. “You never even tried.”
Silence stretched, a long uncomfortable silence that made the hair on her nape rise.
“And yet you let it continue for two years,” Maximos said finally, his voice a soft drawl.
She gritted her teeth, stifling the pain. “Stupid, isn’t it? If I were smart, I would have bailed early on.”
“If I were smart I would have moved on six months ago.”
Her heart did a painful lurch. “You haven’t moved on?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, mocking smile. “You’re surprisingly difficult to forget.”
“Maximos.” His name came out strangled, her voice strangled, everything inside her tightening up. What did he mean by that? And why had she ever loved him? Why him? There were so many men in the world, so many men who had been interested in her, fiercely devoted, but she’d never cared about any of them, never cared one way or the other until Maximos.
He now reached for her, his hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers curving, briefly tangling in her long hair before falling away. “So difficult, I find myself not wanting any other woman yet.”
“Yet?”
He ignored her comment. “And you should know that I never slept with any other woman while I was sleeping with you.”
Sleeping. Slept.
Her throat squeezed, constricting nearly as tight as her heart. It crossed her mind that she should stop talking now, that even though she had questions she probably wouldn’t want answers.
But she’d come too far. Waited too long. Common sense was a thing of the past. “So I was your only sexual partner?”
“Yes.”
“For the entire two years?”
She felt rather than saw him step closer, felt the sudden sizzle of energy, the electric sexual tension that always hummed between them. “Yes.”
Yes. Her heart did a double thump, hard, uneven, fast. Too fast. He was now standing too close. “And there’s been no one since?”
“Cass—”
“I have to know.”
“Why? What good will it do? If I had a one-night stand with some nameless woman, will it change anything between us?”
“Maybe. Possibly.” She gave him her most evil eye. “No.”
“So?”
“But did you?”
He made a hoarse sound, part exasperation, part amusement. “No.”
She breathed in, breathing in the achingly familiar scent of him, feeling his warmth, his sheer physical strength. Even without him touching her she could remember the caress of his hand, the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrapped around hers.
With him she’d known a life no one else had ever shown her. Known emotion, passion, a scope of feeling that had been everything she’d ever wanted—and more and the desire returned full force.
Her belly clenched. Her legs felt odd, and she kept crossing her legs, holding the emptiness in, fighting the ache as if desire could be so easily answered.
She wanted him.
She needed him to drag her to him, make her straddle his lap, sinking deeply into him.
She remembered it all, remembered the way he’d bury himself in her, remembered the way she’d wrap herself around him. Remembered how slowly he’d take her, love her, remembered how he’d drag the pleasure out.
She wanted him now. She wanted release. A reprieve.
But it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. Not with things so complicated between them now. “You should go back to the restaurant,” she said, trying to be practical, do the right thing. “Sophia’s waiting—”
“She’s not. She’s going home with her parents. Her family lives not far from here. Besides, as I told you, we’re not together, not the way you think.”
“But Emilio said—”
“And you believed him?”
She licked her bottom lip carefully. “I wasn’t sure what to believe.”
Maximos looked at her, no emotion anywhere in his dark eyes, on his face, and again the silence stretched, the tension growing. “You should have never come here.”
Cass swallowed the knot of desire burning in her throat, matching the fire in her lower belly. She ached all over, hot with want, hot with need. “You’re probably right.”
“Maybe you’re the one that should leave,” he added. “Maybe you should run.”
Run, she repeated silently, thinking it was the same word Emilio had used earlier on the palazzo’s front steps. Run.
Run to whom? There was no one to go to.
Run where? Back to Rome where she still lived and worked? Back to the luxurious, sprawling penthouse suite Maximos had bought for her three years ago when he’d wanted her more than life itself? When he’d been determined to have her—no matter the cost?
“Yes,” she agreed, knowing intellectually that she had to leave this place and never come back, never speak to Maximos again, never have contact with him because she’d never get over him, never recover from him, if she thought, hoped, believed she might still have a chance.
“This isn’t what we should be doing.” His voice was quiet, but she sensed the storm beneath the calm. “We shouldn’t be alone, not like this.”
“I know. I’m a wicked woman, and bad for your reputation.”
He grimaced. “That’s the problem. I like wicked women. And I don’t trust myself alone with you.”
It was what she wanted, what she needed to hear, and it should have made her feel victorious but it only made her afraid. If he made love to her now, he’d blame her. If he lost control, it would be because of lust, not love. And she wanted love, his love. She’d had his body but God help her, this time she wanted his heart.
“Then you better go now.” Her voice cracked. “Because I won’t be the bad girl anymore. I’m actually not that bad.”
“You want me to go?”
Yes. No.
No.
No.
Acid tears filled her eyes and she drew a breath that cut her from the inside out. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
He’d done this to her, she thought, struggling to nod even as she stared up into his hard beautiful face, losing herself in his dark silent eyes. He’d brought her to this. He knew her better than anyone—had made love to her—and still he’d cast her off.
She had to get over him, had to get rid of him. If she were smart she’d take his heart out.
But first she’d have to rip out her own.
The bitterest of emotions filled her and she looked away, precariously close to losing control.
Either he needed to go or she did, but this couldn’t continue, not a minute longer. She missed him—Maximos—the man she loved and that was the man she wanted, not this hard distant stranger.
Silence filled the room, and then the sound of footsteps, Maximos’s footsteps and then came the firm but distinct closing of the bedroom door.
Cass jerked around, turning swiftly toward the door, tears flooding her eyes.
But Maximos wasn’t gone. He was there, at the door, and he was turning the antiquated dead bolt, locking them in.
“What now?” he asked, watching her.
She shook her head, nervous. Overwhelmed. Even scared. She was defenseless when it came to Maximos and she bit her lip, biting so hard she tasted blood. Don’t get emotional, she told herself, don’t fall apart now. “You’re not making this easy,” she said.
His laugh was low, mocking. “You were the one that came to me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“No?”
“No.” Her lips trembled and she struggled to smile. “I don’t think I’ve had a choice since I met you. I knew…knew from the first time I saw you.” Her shoulders lifted, a slight shiver of cold and nerves. “I’ve always known when something big happens, I know it in my bones. Call it instinct. But I knew from the first moment I saw you, and when I saw you, I fell.”
“Fell.”
“Hard.” She wanted to laugh at herself but she couldn’t, not after spending the last six months caught somewhere between hell and purgatory. “I knew then you were it. Everything. You were what I wanted. Heart, body and soul.”
“And now?”
The tears filled her eyes, burning hotter than before but she fought to hold them back. “You’re the last thing I need, but I suppose I had to come here this weekend to see it for myself. Had to come and say goodbye my way.”
“You have a funny way of saying goodbye,” he said, walking slowly, deliberately toward her.
“Horrible, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Clasping the back of her neck, he brought her to him, drawing her close, so close that there was no space between them, just contact, sensation, from head to toe.
“Goodbyes like this are dangerous,” he added, tilting her head back with the pressure of his hand. His lips touched the wild pulse beating at the base of her throat. “They’re like fire.”
She shuddered, feeling feverish. “So I’m learning.”
She felt his lips return to the pulse, the sensation razor hot. Incredible. Excruciating.
“You’re usually a quick study, bella,” he said, his mouth moving with tormenting slowness across her throat. “Makes me think you want to be burned.”
Yes, she answered silently, shuddering at the feel of his body against hers.
Yes, she wanted fire, she wanted the burn if only to remember—relive—what it had once been like, how amazing it had felt to be taken by him.
He had to know she craved the feel of him, the weight of him on her, the hard, heavy pressure, the way he filled her, the way he stormed her world and made it his. She’d never known anything like the glorious sensation of being touched, possessed, and maybe it wasn’t love but it was heady, seductive, intoxicating.
And then his mouth covered hers and it was so fierce, so demanding that something inside her snapped and she felt close to breaking, felt as though she needed to throw a white flag, cry surrender.
His hands were wrapping around her arms, sliding up to her shoulders and then down, molding her through the thin white slipdress with his palms, shaping her breasts, her rib cage, her torso before one palm returned to her breast.
His kiss sucked the hiss of pleasure from between her lips, and as his fingers worked her breast, cupping, pressing hard against her nipple. The rhythmic kneading, squeezing, rippled through her, bringing memory and desire to life. She shifted, brushing her hips against his, her body blindly seeking what it had so desperately missed.
Sex.
Dominance.
Surrender.
Surrender, she silently repeated as one of his hands slipped the strap of her gown down over her shoulder and he impatiently pushed the delicate fabric down to expose her skin.
She gasped at the heat of his hand against her skin, gasped again as he seemed to count and measure her ribs, a reclaiming of her body, a reminder of all that he’d given her, all that they’d experienced together.
And as his bare palm slid across her chest, his palm capturing her breast, squeezing her taut nipple, his control slipped, and he, too, cracked, and something primitive and wild took over.
He split the gown open down the back with one fierce tug of his hand, the zipper giving way, the fabric ripping wide-open. He stroked the length of her bare back until he came to the ivory satin garter belt hooked around her waist.
She felt his quick breath as his examination slowed, his fingers tracing the satin around her waist and the narrow satin stays that held her silk stockings high on her thighs.
He’d always loved her lingerie, loved the exquisite laces and silks, the satin panties, the delicate bras and bustiers.
He stroked the length of her, from the back of her neck all the way down to the small of her spine, stroking each skin, inflaming the nerves, stirring all the senses.
When she trembled against him he cupped her bottom, his palm so warm on her bare cheek, the tiny satin thong panty covering next to nothing.
How she loved the feel of his hands on her, loved the way he touched her, his fingers burning, kneading, branding her.
Branding her his.
Aggressively he moved her, lifting her off her feet to place her back down on the edge of the Florentine chair. She felt awkward perched nearly naked on the chair’s edge with her torn gown bunched loosely around her but it was the way he wanted her, the way he intended her to sit for him.
He parted her thighs wider, his large hands on each of her knees, and he looked down at her and smiled faintly. “I’ve always loved to look at you,” he said, holding her still and drinking his fill.
Then he knelt at her feet and moved between her thighs.
She jerked as his mouth touched her between her legs on the satin thong, the flimsy fabric already damp and clinging tightly to her heated body.
She wanted him. But she’d always want him. He knew it, too.
His mouth moved across the damp satin, teasing her, shaping it even closer to her body. She gasped, squirmed, legs trembling as the tip of his pointed tongue pressed hard at the apex of her thighs, finding the small rigid nub where all her nerve endings came together in intense, erotic pleasure.
Her hips shifted on their own accord, her hips grinding in a helpless dance, wanting more than just the tip of his tongue against the satin, wanting his tongue on her skin, wanting the feel of his damp tongue against her slick flesh.
“Maximos,” she groaned as his palms slid across the inside of her thighs, slow, torturous caresses that stirred her senses but brought no relief.
But he ignored her hoarse plea, his thumbs instead skimming close to the edge of her thong, finding the hollows where her thighs joined her body, playing the nerves dancing beneath her skin. She felt like a puppet on a string, jerking, jumping with every touch of his hand and mouth. He was tormenting her with the pleasure but at the same time giving no relief.
And then with a practiced hand, he reached for the thong and with a quick movement, ripped the fabric wide-open, tearing it off her body, leaving her completely open to him.
Cass choked on a breath, skin flaming, cheeks burning as his dark head lifted and his narrowed, stormy gaze slowly traveled the length of her, taking in the fullness of her breasts, the rise and fall of her rib cage, the pale bones at her hips, and the thighs parted wide, exposing all of her to him. With his gaze on her face, he reached for her, strumming her dampness with his fingertips, watching her jerk and clench her muscles, watching her tense expression, measuring her response.
“Maximos,” she repeated, grinding out his name, her voice so deep and husky that it sounded as if it came from someone other than her.
And this time he responded, leaning toward her, putting his mouth on her, his lips against the hot silk of her inner skin where she burned and melted and needed so much of him.
With his mouth against her heated skin, she quivered and reached for him, burying a hand deep into his crisp hair, hanging on to him as his tongue touched her, traced her, made her even hotter, wetter, made her want him even more.
Cupping her hips, he slid his palms beneath her bottom and tilted her up to him even as he tugged on the garter belt stays, allowing the satin stays to create friction against her skin.
So many sensations…so much to sweep her up, dazzle her…
His cool tongue on her hot slick skin, his fingertip testing her dampness, another of his fingers toying with the silk hose encasing her thigh. She dragged in air, her rib cage rising, falling, her body tightening at the endless pleasure.
And his mouth never left her, his mouth moving on her, tracing her, sucking her, making her feel far too much, making the sensation far too strong.
She arched against him as the pressure inside her grew, tension building, the climax becoming something tangible, something real.
Cass dug her hands into Maximos’s hair, felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes, felt love, felt anger, felt the unquenchable fire of desire.
His mouth pressed closer, his fingers buried in her. He wasn’t going to let her go, not without making her his, breaking her resistance.
She was, after all, his.
His possession.
His object.
His mistress.
His woman.
And she was there, at the peak, that pinnacle where sensation is so true, tension so tight that the only way to go is through. Through and over and into. Into the coil of feeling, of being, and she shattered even as his mouth held her, caressed her.
She would, she thought, giving herself over to him, always be his.
Maximos lifted her from the chair and carried her to the bed. The velvet bed coverlet rubbed at her skin as she lay back. Maximos followed, stretching out over her, his weight settling on her. Even though she’d just experienced the pinnacle of pleasure, she still wanted him, and the desire to be joined with him was intense.
“Are you protected?” he asked, making room for his body between her thighs.
“I’m still on the pill.” Not that it had protected her last time. Not that Maximos would ever know. There were some things she’d carry with her to the grave.
Confident that they could safely precede, Maximos touched her, made sure she was ready for him, and of course she was. But even though she wanted him, it still hurt when Maximos entered her. He was big, hard, and taking him inside her had always stretched her, required a quick breath to help her adjust to his size. But tonight the sting of pain was already giving way to pleasure. The feeling was unreal, the sensation of him in her, filling her, taking her, so addictive and so familiar.
Something happened when his skin was on hers, his body in hers. She felt fierce, hungry, craven. With him in her, making love to her, she knew she’d do just about anything for him. Nothing was unthinkable. Nothing taboo.
And maybe that’s how she’d fallen for him. Not for his kindness or his tenderness, but his skill in bed. Because making love with Maximos felt like love. When he touched her, covered her, she couldn’t imagine anyone else touching her again. Couldn’t fathom desire—need—pleasure with anyone else. Just once with Maximos had changed her forever.
Cass the Invincible would never have believed such a thing was possible.
Now with Maximos’s body covering her, and his warmth penetrating her skin, she felt consumed by the hunger that had once raged inside her. They’d been together for over two years and the sex had never grown stale, the desire never waned.
Again, she’d silently begged, again. Again.
Again.
And he had, until the day she wanted more from him than his body. When she’d asked for his heart.
And that, she’d discovered, was the wrong thing to ask for.
The pain of remembering couldn’t dampen the erotic pleasure he gave her now. Her body loved his, wanted him, and as Maximos surged into her in deep, powerful thrusts, she gave herself over to him yet again as they climaxed together.
Later, it was wordless silence, the night dark, the room still, the air thick with tension, with all that was unsaid. Because there was so much unsaid that couldn’t, wouldn’t, be spoken now. That would never be spoken now.
Lying there in the dark with Maximos next to her, Cass felt as if a massive weight lay on her chest and her throat was slowly squeezing closed. She couldn’t breathe, not well, not easily.
She knew how this would end. Knew what was coming next. She dreaded what was coming next.
He’d get up, and leave.
She hated the leaving part, had always hated the leaving part but it seemed positively excruciating now.
What she should do was leave, right now. She shouldn’t wait for him to get up, shouldn’t wait for him to make the move. Instead she should be strong.
Cass swallowed, touched the edge of the duvet, preparing to throw it back. All she had to do was get up. Stand up. Yet her body wouldn’t move, and she lay, inert, lay in silence and pain.
Making love again had ripped her wide-open all over again. Taken whatever thin covering lay over her wounds, peeling it off, leaving her even more bare and exposed than before.
Sex for him was a release.
Sex for her was love itself.
Cass felt Maximos stir beside her. He was going to leave. Panic rushed through her, the panic of leaving fantasy and returning to reality, the panic of knowing how bad she’d feel once he’d left, the panic of facing the pain—alone—of being alone after being with the person she loved most.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, putting her hand out, placing her hand in the middle of Maximos’s chest. His heart beat so warm and steady beneath her palm. Something inside her knotted and she thought life had never been so beautiful and awful. “Stay. Stay with me.”
She felt Maximos’s indecision, felt the ripple in his muscles as he considered whether to get up or lay down again and she found herself repeating her plea. “Stay with me until morning. Please?”
He hesitated a moment longer and then he pressed against her palm, moving her hand out of the way. “Can’t stay all night. There’s too much for me to do still tonight.”
The pain was almost too much. She took a quick breath, and another. Why had she come here? Why had she done this? She wasn’t strong enough. Since losing the baby she wasn’t strong at all…
“Maximos.” She touched her mouth to his chest, kissing his warm still damp skin. “Another hour then. That’s all I’ll ask for. I promise.”
“I’ll have to go sooner or later.”
She knew that. She knew how it worked. She felt like she was always robbing Peter to pay Paul. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed before drawing her close, settling her slim body next to his. “For the next hour I’m yours.”
Maximos felt Cass take a swift breath, heard the faint catch in her voice. “Mine for an hour,” she whispered.
She was fighting tears.
Maximos felt a stab of remorse, regret for the things that couldn’t be changed, regret that Cass had ever been hurt by their relationship because she had been hurt, very hurt, and it was the last thing he’d wanted.
From the beginning he’d tried to shield her from his life, from the reality that was, from the facts that couldn’t be changed no matter how many times you looked at them.
From the beginning he’d wanted to protect her. She deserved protection, deserved to be cherished. He knew about her past, knew her mother had been left, abandoned, and knew the one man her mother had fallen for years later had been unavailable. Emotionally. Spiritually. Legally.
Cass should never have been his mistress. She should have been someone’s wife. Treasured. Respected. Valued.
Stifling the anger and self-loathing within him, Maximos drew her even closer, held her more securely and kissed the top of her head. Not an hour, he silently corrected. Yours forever.
