‘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