The Argentinian's Virgin Conquest. Bella Frances

you?’

      She looked flustered now. But she was back to acting the princess and he’d be damned if he was going to let her wriggle away that easily.

      ‘Yes, thank you. For...you know...stepping up...’

      Dante took a step back, let his smile do the work, let his eyes trail all over her the way he wanted to trail his hands. The glorious spill of her breasts, scooped and positioned for a man just to release into his hands, to tease with his mouth. The shoulders curved gently, the hips swelled from that tiny waist. She was a feast, a banquet, an image of woman he had rarely, if ever, seen before.

      But she was trying to pull rank with him, and he for one was not going to play ball in that particular game of ego.

      ‘So, yes. Thank you. It...er...seems to have been a success.’

      He watched a fan of colour seep all over her creamy chest and this time he didn’t move his eyes. She was too tempting, on so many different levels. And, yes, maybe seeing that image of Celine had aroused his passion, raised his ire, but he was going to make her apologise over and over again—and thank him in ways she’d never even dreamed of.

      ‘Lots of happy people back there, Princess, yes.’

      She scowled.

      ‘And it was for them that I did it. I hate to see people getting short-changed when their expectations have been raised. You know, in a way it was a bit of a rescue situation... I saw someone in trouble and I dropped everything—and I mean everything—put my foot to the floor, put myself out there. I mean, what do I know about auctions?’

      He lanced her with a stare and watched as her eyes widened like saucers. Then he gave her a little wink and a smile. She was thinking. She knew exactly what he meant and she was reliving those moments. The pretty pink bloom shifted further from her glorious cleavage to the column of her neck.

      ‘Is that where the jellyfish got you?’ he asked, nodding to the scattering of the rash all over her beautiful chest.

      She looked down, then up. Opened her mouth. Looked even more embarrassed. He could let her off the hook now, but she really had been incredibly rude. And he really was incredibly angry.

      ‘I...I...’

      He leaned in to her space, and her eyes widened even further as she leaned back. Then he placed a finger on her lips.

      ‘Shh, Princess. It’s okay. Apology accepted. I was happy to help out.’

      He lifted his finger from the moist, soft pillow of her lips before he gave in to the temptation to slide it right inside and have her suck it. He tilted her chin up instead and leaned forward—just a tiny inch, just close enough to scent the luxury and the class that oozed from her pores. He lingered there, savouring in equal measure her surprise and her femininity. Letting her get caught up in the moment of thinking that he just might kiss her.

      His hand slid out, all by itself, and lightly skimmed her waist. And just like that he felt her melt—felt all those thorns wilt and fall like petals to his feet. He nodded to her, telling her with a wink that he knew she was moments away from giving in completely.

      And then he stepped back. ‘Really, I was happy to help—it was no problem at all.’

      He slipped her a smile and let his hand slide off the side of her hip. She was hot. For him. Oh, yes.

      He walked away.

      ‘Wait! I mean...’ She was literally pulling on his sleeve now.

      He stopped. Raoul was watching closely, raising a shot glass with the others in his little circle of new blood, and downing it to a chorus of cheers.

      Dante waited, then turned as slowly as he could, savouring every last moment.

      ‘You mean what, Princess?’

      He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in a jaunty, light-hearted way that belied every last emotion that coursed through his veins like trails of lit gasoline.

      ‘Okay, I’m sorry for the things I said earlier. I realise now that you were only trying to help. And thanks—thank you for then, and for now. You really...got me out of a hole.’

      ‘Forget it,’ he said, and moved away.

      She moved with him. He felt the hand on his arm.

      ‘Look, let me make it up to you.’

      Perfect, thought Dante, silently high-fiving himself, aware of the scrutiny from Raoul.

      ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Did you have something in mind?’

      He turned right around now—slowly—moved ever so slightly back into her space, watched the telltale signs spill across her face.

      ‘Would you care to join me for a drink?’

      She turned hopeful green eyes on him and he smiled softly. She was like a moist, plump peach, ripened on a tree and just about to fall into his hands. But sometimes the fruits that looked the sweetest were the ones that tasted toxic. He knew that better than anyone.

      There was something about Lady Lucie that made him pause. He could so easily take her to bed...give her a night she’d never forget. And then what? Another night? There were only a few days before he had to head east. He didn’t want anything lasting with anyone. Even if their chemistry was good—and, yes, there was every indication that it would be—even if they stayed in bed for the next four days it would all end as it always did. With his Hey, it’s been great chat.

      The last thing he wanted was any drama whatsoever. And this one had ‘starring role’ in lights all around her. He needed release, yes—but not with someone as emotional as she. That was one script he didn’t want to read ever again.

      He cupped her shoulder, gave it a soft rub.

      ‘Thanks, Princess. Another time, maybe.’