CHAPTER SEVEN
‘NOW?’ MARCO SUGGESTED softly, his mouth tugging a little at one corner as if he were mocking her need. Before she had a chance to answer, he tested her, and parting her with the tip of his erection he slid slowly and steadily into her until he was lodged deep, to the hilt.
‘You’re so tight...so wet...’ he murmured appreciatively over her grateful moans.
And he was so big. She gasped with delighted shock, and then Marco worked some magic with his hand, and she was reduced to wordless sounds of need and pleasure. She was just building to an exciting climax when he withdrew completely. She had no sooner voiced her complaint with a cry and with fingers digging cruelly into his shoulders than he drew his hips back and thrust deep. Holding on was impossible. She fell gratefully into a series of violent pleasure waves. He didn’t wait for her to quieten. Lifting her, he walked with her across the room where he lowered her down on the sofa. Standing over her, he spread her legs wide over his shoulders. ‘Well?’ he said with the faintest of smiles.
‘Hard and fast?’ she suggested.
Breath shot out of her in a noisy rush. Marco had taken her at her word, but nothing could have prepared her for this.
They made love all night in every part of the penthouse. They had hungry sex, fierce sex, and even playful sex, and there wasn’t a surface they didn’t sample. Their appetite for each other proved inexhaustible, and when she finally fell asleep in Marco’s bed, it was with a happy smile on her lips and more contentment in her heart than she could ever remember feeling.
* * *
He woke at dawn and his first thoughts as always were centred around his work. He rolled out of bed and glanced at Cassandra. She was sound asleep. She had proved to be every bit as enthusiastic about sex as he had imagined. But that was all it had been, he told himself.
His mother had lived a lie for the sake of hooking up with a wealthy man. He would not be making that sort of mistake any time soon. The man he thought of as his father was a man his mother had tricked into marrying her, in order to provide her with an income stream and a father for her unborn child. Cassandra had briefly made him question his belief that women couldn’t be trusted, but when he recalled the damage a woman could do, it was easy to shut down his emotions.
After his shower, he went into his dressing room and emerged ready for the day. Cassandra was just waking...stretching her limbs like an indolent cat. The image she presented—naked and lush, and so obviously sated—was quite different from her common-sense self in Tuscany.
‘Marco...’ She reached out a hand as if the effort was almost too much for her. ‘Come back to bed...’
He frowned, and then realised that some words were necessary if he wasn’t to appear wholly inconsiderate, but the affection and reassurance that Cassandra seemed to be asking for was beyond him.
‘That was great, cara...’ Walking over to the bed, he dipped down to brush a kiss against her cheek. ‘But I have to go now.’ Leaving her side, he paused at the door. ‘I left your money on the table in the hall...’
Her money?
For a moment Cass couldn’t understand what Marco had said, and then she remembered that she was to be paid for filling a seat at his party, and that it was the money she could use to send her godmother on the dream trip.
That didn’t make her feel any better. Sitting up in bed, she hugged herself, wishing that Marco’s arms were around her, and that he was cuddling and reassuring her. She had wanted to tell him how much last night had meant to her. But now...
Scrambling out of bed, she dragged a sheet with her to wrap around her naked body. Crossing to the window, she waited until Marco had left the building, and then she watched him step into his car. She felt empty inside. As with everything else in his charmed life, Marco’s trip to the office would be seamless. He wanted sex. He had sex. He wanted the car. The valet brought it to the door for him. No interruptions were allowed to the busy billionaire’s schedule. Tenderness or a few moments of humour were beyond him—unless he was in seduction mode.
Blinded by tears, she turned around, furious with herself for being so stupid. Last night had been special for her, and she had thought it had meant something to him.
She took a long, hot shower in the hope that it would stop her shaking. She felt cold to the bone, and sick at the thought that Marco hadn’t treated her much better than a prostitute. After paying for her services, he had all but ignored her at the charity function—but he hadn’t ignored her when everyone had left. Then he’d been different, then he’d been interested—very interested indeed. And she was the fool who had allowed it to happen.