by Trish Morey
She squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth tightening as she gave a shake of her head.
‘Then what’s wrong?’
She looked up at him hesitantly, her features tortured, her green eyes wide and glossy like jewels. ‘Just…thank you.’
Pride swelled large in his chest. He had her. She was his for as long as he wanted, until he tired of her. And he intended to make the most of it.
It was only when they came apart that he realized. He cursed out loud, slamming his open hand against the wall, cursing himself for the desperation that had seen him forget to use protection. He’d been so blind with rage, goaded by her taunts, and so focused on proving his point that he hadn’t been thinking straight.
She jumped, turning her face away, her eyes afraid. ‘What is it?’
‘I didn’t use a condom,’ he said, knowing he’d scared her, touching his stinging hand to her cheek. ‘Are you protected?’
She nodded dumbly. ‘The Pill,’ she said, her voice low and half-drowsy in the aftermath of their love-making, her lips swollen and pink and beautiful as she spoke. She frowned a little then, and he couldn’t help but smooth her brow with the pad of one finger.
He kissed her because he couldn’t resist her lips any more, and smiled at their tender sweetness, thankful that they hadn’t both been relying on him for birth control. ‘We were both beyond thinking. But, I promise you, that won’t happen again.’
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the large en suite bathroom, where he stripped them of the remnants of their clothes and took her into the shower with him. He washed her, exploring with his soaped hands every dip and curve in her flesh. Then he let her soap him down, relishing the fascination in her eyes as she discovered his body, her breasts plump and firm, her nipples tightly beaded, and her eyes rich with the promise of imminent sex.
Then he returned her to their bedroom, depositing her on the wide expanse of their enormous bed, lifting her suitcase to the ground—out of sight, out of mind. This time he made no mistake, retrieving the package from the bedside table.
‘Let me,’ she asked nervously, and after a momentary hesitation he allowed her to take the foil package from him and peel it open. He held his breath as she held the tip against his swollen glans and then rolled it down, imprisoning his thrumming length. Then he was sheathed, and it was time to bury himself in yet another warmer embrace.
But first he dipped his head to one dusky nipple and drew it in deep. She arched into his mouth, almost mewing. ‘Please,’ she begged, parting her legs for him.
He wasn’t about to make her wait. He positioned himself above her, taking all the time in the world this time, extracting every last, sweet moment of anticipation from almost joining, until in one fluid stroke he pressed himself home.
And this time it was better, if that were possible, the sheer power of their coupling magnified tenfold. She fitted him so well, her satin skin moving like liquid poetry against him, inciting him to greater heights, greater pleasure. Once again he was reminded of why, after that first night, he’d known he wanted her again. Of why he’d been determined he had to have her.
Because he’d known he had to have her again. He’d known having her with him could work, at least while the fire between them burned bright and strong.
Just like he knew that afterwards, after the fires had burned out and the flames had subsided, things would be different, and he could excise her from his life and go back to complete his plan.
But that would be then. Right now, with her legs curled around him, he wasn’t going anywhere.
He reared up, straining, feeling close, needing leverage as her hot mouth left his to trail down his neck. Her lips danced down his neck, doing things with her tongue against his flesh that should be illegal, threatening to bring him undone.
That did bring him undone. He exploded into her like a tornado, wild and frenzied and powerful, and she went with him, her own storm merging with his to become one unrelenting maelstrom that sent them both spinning in its wake.
Sweat-slicked and panting, sleep tugging at him, insistent, unrelenting, he moved his mouth up to her neck, tasting soap and salt and one-hundred per cent woman.
‘We have a dinner tonight,’ he said. ‘Wake me at seven.’
Mackenzi showered and unpacked her suitcase quietly, careful not to disturb him until seven o’clock, but in reality relishing the opportunity to watch him sleep. His face was turned away on the pillow, and his arms flung wide, exposing his bare back in all its sculpted perfection.
Would he be cold? She could pull the covers higher, but that might wake him. Besides, then she’d be denied the spectacular view, and right now she couldn’t get enough of the sight of him. She tingled anew as she remembered how his skin had felt next to hers, her inner muscles tender and still gently pulsing with the memory of how he’d felt inside her.
It had been better than she remembered. So much better, so much more, the sensations fuelled by hour after hour of anticipation. Hours of frustration.
God, how she’d wanted him! She’d never experienced a hunger like it before, had never forgotten her mind or her purpose with such all-consuming obsession.
She allowed herself a smile as she retrieved her black beaded dress and slipped it over her head. She didn’t feel frustrated any more. On the contrary, she felt alive and replete and sexy as hell, aching in places that wouldn’t let her forget what they’d done, and feeling more like a woman than she’d ever felt before.
The weight of the beads pulled the dress into place and she zipped it up, smoothing it over her curves. It seemed a fraction tighter than she remembered, and for a moment she panicked, but then she turned one way and then the other in the full-length mirror and her smile returned—maybe a fraction tighter wasn’t such a bad thing.
She twisted her hair up high, softer than she would do it for work, leaving coiling tendrils free to frame her face, before applying make-up. She looked different, she thought as she surveyed the result. Her eyes were lined with kohl, smoky and seductive, and her lips still plumped from their love-making. Even the kink in her nose she hated so much looked less noticeable tonight.
Her smile grew wider. Maybe being a mistress had its good points after all.
And, now that they’d got the sex thing out of the way, she could take a step back and think more rationally about what she was doing here. Dante had seemed to be reasonably happy with her performance, from what she could tell. And if she kept on pleasing him in bed sooner or later she would have the opportunity to talk to him, to make him see the madness in destroying such a beautiful building when it gave pleasure to so many. Maybe she might change his mind after all. She had to face it, she was hardly going to convince him to save Ashton House by a return to acting like she had before.
She was just rezipping her make-up bag when she found them—her strip of birth-control pills—and her fingers fell on them gratefully. She’d told Dante she was on the Pill, so it was just as well that she had remembered. She poured a glass of water and went to pop out the day’s pill when she noticed: surely that wasn’t the right day…?
She must have missed one. Then came the sickening realization that she’d missed not one but two pills—the first that night in the hotel when she’d stayed over at the hotel unexpectedly, the second when they’d arrived in Auckland so late and she hadn’t been thinking straight.
And she’d told him she was protected! She dropped down to the side of the bath. Should she tell him? That would hardly improve her stocks. Or should she wait? There was really no point in worrying him unnecessarily, surely? And something told her it was hardly the thing Dante would take kindly to hearing. Besides, what were the chances? People tried for months to get pregnant, didn’t they?
Mackenzi checked her watch. It was time to wake Dante. She stood up, a bit shaky but almost convinced it would be okay, popped two pills and swallowed them down. It would be okay. Life couldn’t be that cruel.
She rounded the
wide bed and called softly to him. He didn’t stir, and she called his name again, louder this time.
His breathing was slow and steady, his eyelids barely flickering as he slept soundly on. He was so beautiful asleep. She sat down on the bed alongside him, leant down with a hand to his strong shoulder, and dipped her face low, drinking in his masculine scent, feeding on it.
Her lips brushed his cheek. ‘Dante,’ she murmured, and this time pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, stroking him, tasting, remembering.
He stirred below her, one arm suddenly snaking around her neck before she could pull away, his mouth now moving under hers in a sensual play of flesh against flesh, the sensations pulling at her like a drug, demanding more. Then, with one powerful toss of his body, he rolled her until she was under him and it was his turn to take advantage of her mouth, heady and intoxicating and deep.
How long the kiss lasted, she had no idea. She’d lost all concept of time, abandoned all notion of preserving her make-up. All she knew was that when finally he pulled away she was breathless and dizzy and more turned on than any woman had a right to be, especially a woman who had climaxed twice already today.
His face hovered above her own, his eyes heavy with desire. ‘Now that’s what I call a wake-up call. You look…good enough to eat.’ Then he frowned, his brow puckering. ‘How long have we got?’
Excitement skittered up her spine anew, obliterating any concerns about missed pills and chances. ‘Long enough.’
He smiled, and his mouth headed back for a repeat performance. ‘That’s the right answer,’ he said before destroying her make-up some more.
‘Stuart Quinn is owner and CEO of Quinn Boatbuilding Enterprises here in Auckland,’ Dante explained during their limo ride to the restaurant. They were running almost to time for their eight o’clock dinner appointment, which was a minor miracle given the amount of repair work she’d had to do when Dante had finally released her.
‘Quinn,’ he continued, ‘owns a rare two-hundred metre strip of prime harbour-front property in an area ripe for redevelopment. His business is floundering, in serious need of updating. He lacks the cash to retool, can’t get finance, but is pulling out all stops to circumvent a sale to me—even to the point of getting his cronies to stand in the way of zoning changes that would see my development-proposal accepted.’
‘Why can’t he get a loan? The land alone must be worth a fortune.’
‘He’s borrowed heavily against it already to support his son’s ailing business, a gamble that failed. The bank won’t extend any more credit.’
She frowned. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Simple. I own a controlling interest in his bank.’
‘So what—you pulled the rug out from under his feet?’
‘The bank needs to make a profit for its shareholders, of which I am one. Bad risks need not apply.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, couldn’t you at least have given him a fighting chance?’
‘Look, I didn’t get where I am by waiting for people to hand me something on a plate. It doesn’t work that way. I believe that if you want something in this world, you have to go after it. And if you blow your chances you don’t deserve it. It’s winner takes all.’
Mackenzi settled back into the upholstery, starkly reminded of how utterly ruthless Dante Carrazzo could be. She felt uncomfortable with the fact she’d even needed the reminder, when just a short time ago she’d been totally fixated on how good he made her feel, how good he felt inside her, and was already anticipating their next encounter, his ruthlessness the furthest thing from her mind. But the wild and passionate lover had another passionate side—a side that saw him determined to win in business at all costs—and it would be at her own peril to forget it. ‘So you ensure Quinn is without financing, and he ensures you don’t get zoning approval. Sounds like you both deserve each other.’
Alongside her Dante made a sound like a growl. ‘All that concerns you is that tonight he’s bringing his wife, Christine. Just be charming and keep Christine amused, and I get the chance to work on the old man.’
‘Turn the screws, you mean.’
‘I prefer to think of it as persuading him to see reason.’
‘I bet you do. So will Adrian be there?’
He looked around. ‘Why do you ask?’
It was her turn to look away. She gazed out of her window, feigning an interest in the view and the lights playing on the dark waters of the harbour as they neared their destination. ‘I thought with him being your second in charge and all…’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘Adrian won’t be there.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. There was something about the man that rubbed her up the wrong way, and he’d made no secret of the fact he thought even less of her. Not having him around would be one less source of tension tonight. The car came to a halt outside the plush harbourside restaurant, sails and skilful lighting transforming the courtyard entry into a look reminiscent of a yacht in full sail.
Stuart and Christine Quinn were already seated at the bar, waiting for them. Stuart was a sprightly senior with snowy-white hair and crinkled skin, but with eyes still rapier sharp. Christine was all elegance in a powder-blue suit encrusted with seed pearls, smile lines the only visible signs of aging in her pleasant face. Mackenzi warmed to her immediately.
‘What an unusual name for a woman,’ Christine said honestly after the introductions were made. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one before.’
‘It’s an old family name,’ Mackenzi told her. ‘Usually the province of first-born boys.’
‘And your parents decided to break with tradition?’
‘Sort of. They struggled to have a child at all. I was an IVF baby, and my parents decided that they may never get another chance, and so went with tradition even though their first born was a girl. They dropped the “e” off the end and gave me Rose as a second name, just so I had something feminine to go with it.’
‘Mackenzi Rose,’ Christine said, nodding as if testing the names on her tongue. ‘Well, I like it. Individual and feminine. I think it suits you too.’
A few minutes more small-talk later, they were ushered to their table, looking out through a wall of glass over the moonlit harbour, the lights of houses across the water twinkling in the distance.
‘So tell me, just what are we doing here tonight, Dante?’ Stuart Quinn asked after they’d ordered, his voice gruff and gravelly. ‘I thought it was pretty clear at today’s meeting that negotiations are at stalemate.’
Beside her Mackenzi sensed Dante tense, caught his tight no-nonsense smile. ‘I always believe there’s a solution to everything. I’m sure we can get around this stalemate if we just come at it from a different angle.’
‘But I don’t want to sell to you, not if you’re going to pull down the boatyard and replace it with row upon row of those apartment buildings of yours. If you thought that showing up here with a beautiful woman on your arm was going to suddenly make me change my mind about that, then you must think I’ve gone soft in the head. That boatyard has been there for almost seventy-five years. Generations of employees have worked there. It deserves more than to be wiped off the face of the earth.’
Dante’s lips thinned until Mackenzi was sure there wasn’t a drop of blood left in them. ‘So why don’t you just take the money I’m offering and relocate?’
‘Why should I, when I have the perfect location on the harbour right now?’
Dante flicked his napkin down on the table. ‘Why should this dinner be anything to do with the deal?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Quinn turned to Mackenzi, obviously aware there was no such thing as a free meal. ‘So tell me, young lady, what’s your role in all this tonight? Are you going to try to butter me up and convince me that I should be doing business with Dante Carrazzo at all costs?’
There was a startled, ‘Stuart!’ from Christine at the same time as laser-sharp eyes latched onto her own.
‘On t
he contrary,’ Mackenzi said without a glimmer of remorse, ‘from my experience dealing with Dante, personally I think you’re wise to hang out for a better deal. Even if that means dealing with someone else.’
She felt the heat of Dante’s eyes turn on her, not failing to notice the simmering warning contained therein.
‘Do you, indeed?’ Stuart said. ‘And what kind of deal do you think I should be holding out for?’
She looked at the faces around the table nervously. ‘Forgive me, this probably sounds crazy, but from the little information I have heard I’m wondering if there isn’t something in the proposed redevelopment for both of you.’
Quinn’s hand flew through the air. ‘I’m not interested in apartment blocks. And the zoning changes won’t allow for a residential component that high. As far as I’m concerned, Carrazzo here can’t do anything with the land zoned the way it is, not with his current plans.’
‘Then maybe he should change them. Why not share the redevelopment? From the sounds of it, there’s more than enough land, surely, for a new state-of-the-art boatyard together with an apartment complex. Maybe even a marina between them, to tie the whole development together. Why not go into it as partners, rather than adversaries? That way nobody loses and you can both benefit. Surely there would be synergistic benefits? And Dante would have more chance of winning the goodwill of the regulatory bodies.’
‘Mackenzi,’ Dante interrupted, ‘that’s enough.’ He turned to Quinn. ‘Like Mackenzi said, she knows nothing of the detail about the project.’
Quinn ignored him, and continued to regard her speculatively, his fingers steepled in front of him. ‘You’re certainly not what I was expecting, young lady. For what it’s worth, your idea could certainly be one way around the mixed-zoning issue. The trouble is, Carrazzo and I are both what you might call lone wolves when it comes to business. Even if the figures stacked up, I don’t know that a collaboration could work. What do you think, Carrazzo?’