He was so hard. Over and over again he thrust into her—he didn’t think it was possible to come that many times. Blitzed with satisfaction, he ran a fingertip over the curve of her hip, a sigh escaping from his lips. ‘You really are the most incredible lover, you know.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she mumbled drowsily.
He could easy have denied her accusation because he wasn’t known for lavishing praise and most of his lovers complained about his detachment—a reasonable enough observation, but an irritating one all the same. Yet Bianca made him feel different. As if she had somehow peeled away his skin and imprinted herself on the flesh and bones beneath. Her body felt so soft and so pliant as she moulded herself against his that at times he was unsure where she began and he ended. Contentment stole over his skin like a silken snare and later he wondered if that had been the trigger which made him shatter the comfortable and easy silence.
‘Did you tell your sister about us?’ he asked suddenly.
Slowly, she raised her head, blinking long-lashed eyes at him as if confused. ‘Well, up until a couple of days ago, there was nous, was there?’
‘No. I guess not.’
She tilted her head back and yawned. ‘Why do you ask?’
He shook his head. ‘No reason.’
Bianca’s eyelids felt heavy and the temptation to go to sleep was powerful, but something about Xanthos’s tone was making her uneasy—because hadn’t she been trained to search for nuance behind the stock phrases which people uttered every day? Up until this moment, her weekend with him had been perfect. Like one of those cheesy romcom films. She’d been on a total high. She’d even turned off her phone so the office couldn’t get hold of her and she’d never done that before. But his stilted words made doubts begin to whisper into her mind.
She remembered her sister’s question, asking whether Xanthos hadsaid anything, and how she’d thought that a very strange question at the time. Half-forgotten fragments began to piece themselves together in her mind. Rosie’s insistence that a complete stranger fly her home ‘as a favour to Corso’. What had made her say something like that? She hadn’t asked at the time because there hadn’t been the opportunity and subsequent events made it seem as if it had happened so long ago. But something didn’t add up and it was making her tense with apprehension—and coupled with that was the fear that this was all too good to be true. She pulled away from him.
‘How did you say you knew Corso?’
There was a pause. He was still looking up at the ceiling. ‘I told you. We have business interests in common.’
‘Which struck me at the time as very vague. So that’s all?’
This time the pause assumed the dimensions of a gulf and when he halted his study of the huge chandelier above their heads to face her, his black eyes were hooded. ‘No. That’s not all.’
She sat up, feeling her hair stream down over her bare shoulders, tempted to go to the bathroom to find a robe to cover up the nakedness which was suddenly making her feel vulnerable, but she didn’t want to lose this moment in case it didn’t come again.
Or that she might not have the courage to ask what she knew she needed to ask?
‘What’s going on here, Xanthos?’ she questioned quietly. ‘Why do I get the idea there’s a bigger picture and I’m the only one who isn’t allowed to know what it is?’
Xanthos’s throat felt dust-dry. He wanted a drink of water. He wanted to rewind the clock. He wanted... His mouth twisted, because only fools thought that way. Hadn’t he learned by now that wishing never got you anywhere? Meeting the wariness of her shadowed gaze, he knew he owed her the truth.
‘You once asked me if my mother ever told me who my father was,’ he said slowly. ‘And I said no, she hadn’t.’
‘Only guess what? You’ve suddenly remembered that she did?’ she suggested sarcastically.
‘No, Bianca. She never told me. Somebody else did.’ He dragged in an unsteady breath. ‘Corso, in fact.’
‘But why would Corso...?’
He saw the exact moment when she worked it out for herself—faster than he would have anticipated, but then her perception and intelligence had never been in doubt. He saw the dawning of comprehension on a face still flushed with sex. And he saw something else, too—something he didn’t want to acknowledge. Hurt, and anger, and disappointment—bitter seeds which would now flourish and destroy what little they’d had.
‘Of course,’ she breathed. ‘Ofcourse. It all makes sense now. Why didn’t it occur to me sooner? I remember thinking you looked vaguelyfamiliarwhen I first met you. And then there was my sister’s ridiculous insistence that I travel with you, though I didn’t stop to ask myself why. And you...’
She sprang out of bed and began scrambling around for her underwear and it was making a difficult situation practically unbearable to have to watch her slither into a tiny pair of black panties and matching bra. Like some taunting striptease in reverse.
‘I understand it all now,’ she breathed. ‘You’re Corso’s brother, aren’t you?’
‘Half-brother.’
‘Don’t split hairs!’ she hissed, bending down to slide on a stocking.
‘You want to know what happened, Bianca? How it happened?’
‘Not particularly. This is a story which has missed the deadline. It’s too late, Xanthos.’