It was everything a kiss ought to be. Passionate. Searching. Deep. It made Willow squirm restlessly beneath him, her fingers beginning to scrabble at his shirt as she felt the rush of molten heat between her legs. And maybe he had guessed what was happening—or maybe this was just the way he operated—but he slid his hand beneath her skirt and all the way up her leg, pushing aside the damp panel of her knickers and beginning to tease her there with his finger. Her eyes fluttered to a close and it felt so perfect that Willow wanted to cry out her pleasure—but maybe he anticipated that too, because he deepened the kiss. And suddenly it became different. It became hard and hungry and demanding and she was matching it with her own demands—arching her body up towards his, as if she couldn’t get close enough.
She could feel the hardness at his groin—the unfamiliar rocky ridge nudging insistently against her—and to her surprise she wasn’t daunted, or scared. Maybe it was just her poor starved body demanding what nature had intended it for, because suddenly she was writhing against him—moaning her eagerness and her impatience into his open mouth.
He reached for his belt and Willow heard the rasp of his zip as he began to lower it, when suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.
They both froze and Willow shrank back against the pillows, trying to get her ragged breath back, though it took several seconds before she could speak.
‘Who is it?’ she demanded in a strangled voice.
‘Willow?’
Willow’s heart sank. It was Clover’s voice. Clover, the bride-to-be. Well-meaning and bossy Clover, the older sister who had protected her as fiercely as a lioness would protect one of her cubs. Just like the rest of her family.
‘H-hi, Clover,’ she said shakily.
‘Can I come in?
Before Willow could answer, Dante shook his head and mouthed, No, but she knew what would happen if she didn’t comply. There would be an outraged family discussion downstairs. There would be talk of rudeness. They would view Dante with even more suspicion than she suspected he was already going to encounter. The atmosphere would be spoiled before the wedding celebrations had even begun.
She shook her head as she tugged her dress back down, her cheeks flaming bright red as she readjusted her knickers. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she called, wriggling out of Dante’s arms and off the bed, mouthing, Don’t say a word.
His responding look indicated that he didn’t really have much choice but there was no disguising the flicker of fury sparking in his blue eyes.
Willow scuttled over to the door and pulled it open by a crack to see Clover outside, her hair in rollers and an expression on her face which couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether to be cross or curious.
‘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 he
r.
‘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?’