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 withd
rawing 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.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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 he had been wrong, and he didn’t like being wrong.
He thought about the contradiction she’d been. The tender and passionate woman in his arms who had rapturously embraced the joys of sex. He remembered her childlike delight when he’d taken her to Shelter Island for breakfast. The way she’d charmed his grandfather and made his tomboy sister look like a million dollars. He thought about the crazy hope she’d awoken in his heart, along with the realisation that, suddenly, all the things he’d never dared dream of felt as if they could be possible with her. He remembered the trembling expression on her face when he’d asked her to marry him. The way she’d tried to blink back the sudden tears of joy as she looked at him.
And then?
Then...nothing. In a voice which was deathly quiet and a face devoid of emotion, she had told him she couldn’t marry him. She’d told him she didn’t love him when those words belied her every action. It didn’t make sense. He shook his head. None of it made sense. If she hadn’t been so innocent, he might have suspected the presence of another man. Though maybe that wasn’t such a crazy idea? She’d grabbed at the diamond ring quickly enough, hadn’t she? So maybe she wasn’t quite as naive as she seemed.
He watched as the lights on the tower turned to red, and then to gold. Perhaps he had been nothing but her stud—an alpha male chosen as the ideal candidate for her sexual initiation. Maybe the fact that he was a foreigner had allowed her to shed all her inhibitions—he knew some women were like that—when all along she’d intended to marry an English aristocrat of the same class as herself.
Once again, an unwanted streak of jealousy flooded through his veins like dark poison and he opened his eyes to find René looking at him with that same expression of concern. He thought about his assistant’s question and he realised that yes, something was very wrong and it was more to do with his own behaviour. Because since when had he taken to asking himself questions, without bothering to seek out the answers?
‘I need some information about a woman.’