She shuddered as he palmed her breasts and then bent his head to lick them in turn, his breath warm against her skin as she arched against his tongue. She could feel the rough rasp of his unshaved jaw rubbing against her skin and knew that it would be reddened by the time he had finished. And when he drew his head back she almost gasped when she saw the intense look of hunger on his face, his cheekbones flushed and his blue eyes smoky.
‘Ride me,’ he said deliberately.
She wanted to say no. She wanted him to kiss her deeply and passionately, the way he usually did—but she recognised that she had forfeited that luxury by telling him she didn’t love him. All she had left was sex—and this was the very last time she would have even that. So make it raunchy, she told herself fiercely. Make him believe that this was what the whole thing had been about.
She slid out from underneath him to position herself on top, taking his moist and swollen tip and groping on the nearby bedside table for the condoms he always kept there. He had taught her to do this as he had taught her so much else, and she had worked on her condom application skills as diligently as a novice pianist practising her scales. So now she teased him with her fingertips as she slid the rubber over his erect shaft, enjoying his moan of satisfaction—even though it was breaking her heart to realise she would never hear it again. And when she took him deep inside her and began to move slowly up and down, he felt so big that she was certain he would split her in two. But he didn’t. Her body quickly adapted to him, slickly tightening around him until she saw his fingers claw desperately at the rucked sheet on which they lay.
For a while she played the part expected of her and for a while it came so easily. Her fingers were tangled in her hair and her head was thrown back in mindless ecstasy as she rode him, glad she didn’t have to stare into his beautiful face, scared that she might falter and give away her true feelings. Blurt out something stupid, and very loving. But suddenly he caught hold of her hips and levered her off him. Ignoring her murmur of protest, he laid her down flat against the mattress and moved over her again.
‘No,’ he said, his voice very intent as he made that first renewed thrust deep inside her. ‘I want to dominate you, Willow. I want to remind myself that everything you know you have learned from me. I want to watch your face as you come, and I want you to realise that never again will you feel me doing this...and this...and this...’
She cried out then, because the pleasure was so intense it was close to pain. And if the first time they’d ever made love she had begged him not to be gentle with her—not to treat her as if she was made of glass—he certainly wasn’t gentle now. It was as if he was determined to show her everything he was capable of, as he drove into her with a power which had her nails digging helplessly into his shoulders.
She almost didn’t want to come—as if her orgasm would be a sign of weakness and by holding it back she could retain some control over what was happening—but already it was too late. Her back was beginning to arch, her body spasming around him as she opened her mouth to cry out her satisfaction.
But for once he didn’t kiss the sound away and blot it into silence with his lips. Instead he just watched her as she screamed, as cold-bloodedly as a scientist might observe an experiment which was taking place in the laboratory. Only then did he give in to his own orgasm and she thought it seemed brief and almost perfunctory. He didn’t collapse against her, whispering the soft words in French or Italian which turned her on so much. He simply pumped his seed efficiently into the condom before withdrawing from her and rolling away to the other side of the bed.
Several agonisingly long minutes passed before he turned to look at her and something about the coldness of his blue gaze made her want to shiver again.
‘Time to get on that road,’ he said softly.
And he walked straight towards the bathroom without a backward glance.
Willow’s hands were trembling as she gathered up the tattered fragments of her torn nightdress and stuffed them into her suitcase, terrified that one of the staff would find them. She had composed herself a little by the time Dante emerged, freshly showered and shaved and wearing a dark and immaculate suit which made him seem even more distant than the look in his eyes suggested he was.
‘Are you...are you going somewhere?’ she said.
‘I am.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘I’m leaving. And obviously, you’ll be coming with me. We will drive to the airport—only we’ll be going our separate ways from now on. You’ll be heading for London, while my destination is Paris. But first, I need to speak to my grandfather.’
‘Dante...’
‘Save your breath, Willow,’ he said coolly. ‘I think we’ve said everything which needs to be said. I guess I should thank you for playing such a convincing fiancée. But I’m going to sit down with Giovanni and tell him that our relationship is over, and to remind him that he knows better than anyone that marriages simply don’t work if there is no love involved.’ His eyes glittered. ‘If you’re willing to sign a confidentiality clause, you can keep the ring. You should be able to get a decent amount of money for it.’
‘I don’t need to sign a confidentiality clause. And I won’t talk about this to anyone. Why would I? It’s not exactly something I’m very proud of.’ Her voice was trembling as she stared at the huge diamond and thought about how much it must be worth. Shouldn’t she keep it and sell it, and use the money to do some real good—for people who badly needed it? And wouldn’t it help if he thought of her as greedy and grasping? If she could give him yet another reason to hate her? She curved her mouth into a speculative smile. ‘But yes, I will keep the ring.’
The look of contempt on his lips was unmistakable as he turned away. ‘Be my guest. And now pack your case and get dressed,’ he said harshly. ‘And let’s get out of here.’
BEHIND THE FLASHING blue and gold illuminations of the Eiffel Tower, the Parisian sky was dark and starless and the streets were quiet. Far below the windows of his offices, the river Seine looked cold and uninviting and Dante was lost in thought when he heard the door open behind him and someone walk in. He swivelled round in his chair to see his assistant standing there, a pointed expression on his face.
‘Yes, what is it, René?’ he questioned impatiently.
‘You are due at a drinks party at the Ritz...’ René looked down at his watch. ‘Ten minutes ago actually.’
Dante scowled. ‘Ring them. Tell them that I’ve been held up and unlikely to make it in time.’
‘I could do that, of course,’ said René carefully. ‘But it is the birthday party of the countess—and you know how much she wants you there.’
Dante leaned back. Yes, he knew. The whole world always wanted him, women especially. Except for one woman. His mouth hardened as he stared into space.
One woman. One infernal, infuriating woman who had made it clear that wanting him was the last thing on her particular wish list.
‘Is there...is there something wrong, boss?’
Dante glanced across the room, tempted to confide in his loyal assistant—not something he ever did usually. But then, he didn’t usually feel as if a heavy weight was pressing down hard on his heart, did he? Or his life seem as if there was something fundamental missing which made him feel only half complete. He shut his eyes. Had he imagined that the heartless way that the beautiful blonde had rejected him would have been enough to make him see sense? And that it would somehow be easy to forget her? Because if that was the case then it seemed that yet again