There was a flame in his eyes, bright and hot, and burning hotter as she looked at him. Then suddenly he spun her round so she was facing him, the intensity in his expression burning her to the ground.
‘You’re not nothing,’ he said roughly. ‘And you’re not a thing. When I said for ever, Matilda, I meant it. You belong with me. I will never get rid of you. You’re mine.’ And then before she could say a word he lowered his head and took her mouth as if he owned it.
They’d made love many times in the days since he’d taken her on the desk in his office. But he’d always been very deliberate about it. Very measured.
He was not measured now.
He pushed her up against the mirror at her back, kissing her harder, deeper, nipping her bottom lip, sending tiny darts of pain through her.
His. She was his. He would never let her go.
She was shaking and she found she’d threaded her fingers through his black hair, holding on tight to him as he pressed her against the cold mirror, his body covering hers.
‘It’s not about me, though, is it?’ Her voice was husky against his marauding mouth and she didn’t even know why she was saying it. A dare, perhaps. Certainly a challenge, as she’d never been able to resist challenging him. ‘You want a kingdom. You want a queen. You don’t want me.’
‘Don’t tell me what I do or do not want.’ He nipped her again, hard, making her gasp. Then he lowered his head further, his teeth against her neck. ‘If a queen was all that I wanted, I could marry anyone. But I’m not. I’m going to marry you.’
‘For Simon’s sake.’
‘No, not only for Simon’s sake.’ He lifted his head, put one hand on either side of her head on the mirror behind them then stared down at her, letting her see what was blazing in his eyes. ‘I want you, Matilda.’
She couldn’t stop trembling, her body coming helplessly alive under the touch of his mouth and the fierce, demanding heat of him. ‘You want me in your bed, Enzo. That’s all.’
‘Yes. I do.’ He shifted his hands, cupping her face between them. ‘But there’s nothing “all” about that. I could have anyone in my bed, cara, but the only woman I want there is you.’
It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but it was enough. Enough to push the doubts away, to heal a little piece of her wounded heart.
And, as she was good at taking what she could when she could get it, she took what she could now, curling her fingers tighter in his hair and pulling his mouth down on hers.
She didn’t want to think about the rest of her heart, the parts that wouldn’t heal and that he wouldn’t be able to fix. And most especially she didn’t want to think about the fact that she wanted him to be the one to fix them.
Instead, she thought about his teeth nipping at her neck and his hands stroking the curve of her breasts through the fabric of her silver gown, his thumbs circling her aching nipples, making them hard.
‘The party,’ she panted, arching into his hands.
‘Damn the party.’ His voice was a growl. ‘Rock the boat, cara. Put a foot out of line. Tell me your opinion. Now.’
But she couldn’t tell him what she really wanted, not when she was afraid to articulate it even to herself.
She could rock the boat a little, though. She could rock his boat.
‘Give me room,’ Matilda whispered, then pushed gently at him, making him release her and take a step back.
Then she dropped to her knees in front of him.
He didn’t try to stop her as she reached for his belt and undid it, or make a move as she opened his trousers and pulled down the zip. He only murmured his approval as she reached into his boxers and curled her fingers around his hard, thick length.
Then he leaned forward as she drew him out and put his hands on the glass of the mirror again, looking down at her with that compelling amber gaze gone smoky and lambent with desire.
‘I tried to forget you, Matilda,’ he said unexpectedly, his voice husky. ‘For four years I tried, but I couldn’t do it. And I was angry at you for that. But you’re here, and you’re mine, and you’re what I want, understand?’
She did. And she also understood that he was giving her what he could; that, although he hadn’t said it straight out, he did care.
Pity it’s not enough.
But it was enough for her now, though, and she took it, holding his gaze as she guided him to her lips, as she touched her tongue to the head of his shaft. As she licked him the way she remembered him having taught her, watching the flames ignite in his eyes.
And then she took him all the way into her mouth, losing herself in the salty, rich taste of him and the silky texture of his skin. He made a deep, rough sound as she did so, the desire in his eyes burning her through.
Yes, this was enough. Being the one he wanted. The only one he wanted.
She tightened her grip on him and began to suck, watching as the muscles in his neck and jaw grew tight, a soundless snarl twisting his lips, deciding that four years wasn’t going to be enough. She was going to burn herself into his brain so completely that he’d never forget her.
So she teased him and taunted him, using her mouth and her tongue, loving the sounds that she drew from him. And when he reached down eventually and thrust one hand into her elegant hairstyle, making it fall apart into long curls that fell over her shoulders, she ignored his powerful grip. She kept up her rhythm until he was growling in rough, savage Italian, his hips moving in time with the pull of her mouth.
He was near the edge and she wanted to keep him there as long as possible. But at the last minute he took control, shoving his other hand in her hair and totally ruining what was left of her hairstyle as he thrust into her mouth.
She didn’t care by then, though, gripping his thighs as he threw back his head, making him roar her name as the climax hit him.
Afterwards she had to lean forward and rest her head on his rock-hard abdomen, her heart beating like a drum in her ears, the pulse between her legs feeling almost as loud.
He moved his hands lazily in her hair, seemingly not caring about her sleek hairstyle any longer, twining his fingers in her curls then moving down to caress her neck. Despite herself, a deep sense of satisfaction crept through her.
Yes, she could do this. She could.
‘Up,’ he murmured, his voice rough and lazy.
Slowly, she rose to her feet.
A very male, very territorial look gleamed in his eyes that had her pulse beating faster, harder.
He pushed her gently back against the mirror and took her mouth again, kissing her very thoroughly, as if he enjoyed the taste of himself on her. She let him, winding her arms around his neck, relaxing against him. Enjoying his heat and the possessive way he held her.
Then he pulled back, giving her a sharp, intense look as he tucked himself away and righted his clothes. ‘I need to return the favour, but unfortunately there is a party we need to get to.’
She shivered, aware of the pulsing ache between her thighs and of how much she wanted him to touch her. But he was right; the party couldn’t wait.
‘Hold that thought,’ she murmured.
There was obvious reluctance in his eyes, which gave her a small warm glow, then he reached into the pocket of his trousers. ‘Before I forget, I have something for you.’
All thoughts of being touched vanished from Matilda’s head as he brought out a small black box and held it out to her. ‘What’s this?’
‘Open it and see.’ His expression was fierce.
Her heart beating a little too fast, she reached out and took the box, flipping it open.
Inside, a ring gleamed. A jewel of glittering gold surrounded by what looked like diamonds and set in a band of silver. It was heavy, medieval-looking, and she had the sense that it was very, very old.
It was beautiful, the stone the exact co
lour of his eyes.
She touched the jewel, the facets glittering in the light of the bedroom. ‘Enzo...’ she breathed helplessly. ‘This is amazing.’
‘It’s the royal ring of Monte Santa Maria.’ He took the box from her and extracted the ring. ‘The stone is a yellow diamond and very rare. The colour is to signify the golden eyes of the Cardinali line.’ He reached for her left hand and took it in his, looking at her with those very same royal eyes. ‘Every king wore it. And now my queen will wear it.’ And he gently pushed the ring onto her wedding finger.
Despite its size and weight, it fit her perfectly.
There was an ache in her chest and in the back of her throat. Henry had given her an engagement ring too, a pretty diamond. But she’d never worn it and had never really thought about why.
She knew why now, though. Because it hadn’t meant anything to either of them. The ring had been a signifier of a promise, but not a promise of love.
It had been a signifier of duty. Her duty.
Don’t get excited. This ring doesn’t signify love either.
No, it didn’t. But once again Enzo had given her something. And this particular something was important to him.
She met his fierce golden stare and held it. ‘I love it. And I’ll wear it with pride.’
He didn’t smile this time, that fierce look only becoming more intense. ‘You’re mine now, Matilda,’ he said, and this time she felt the weight in the words, heavy and certain, like a vow. ‘Let’s go and tell the world.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE BALLROOM OF the villa was full of the cream of Milanese high society, as well as famous faces from other parts of the world: a couple of film stars—even though Enzo found actors frivolous—a politician or two, heads of various industries, plus all the members of Italy’s aristocratic families he could find.
No one had refused his invitation. Everyone wanted to know who’d finally caught Enzo Cardinali’s eye. He’d allowed a rumour of scandal to filter through to the media to generate a bit of interest; he could hardly hide the fact that his new fiancée had very recently been Henry St George’s wife, after all.
But his hopes that that particular scandal would be forgotten when people found out about his son seemed to hold true.
Simon held court in the room full of people like the future king he should have been.
Enzo introduced Simon around himself, holding the boy’s hand while he did so, paying attention to his son’s responses, watching for signs that Simon was uncomfortable or tired.
He’d told the boy earlier that they were having a special party so people could meet him and that greeting people politely was what a host did. It might be boring, but saying hello was a good thing to do, and afterwards he could go and play if he wanted.
But Enzo needn’t have worried. Simon liked people a lot and took his duties as host very seriously. Only his grip on Enzo’s hand betrayed a slight nervousness as he greeted his guests solemnly and thanked them all for coming.
Everyone in the entire room was charmed.
Certainly they seemed more interested in the little boy than the woman who gripped Enzo’s arm as he moved around the room, the ring he’d given her flashing on her finger.
And he found he didn’t mind that.
He felt even more hungry and possessive after what had happened between them upstairs; after she’d told him of her fears, revealed her vulnerabilities to him then had gone down on her knees and proceeded to show him exactly why he’d never been able to forget her for all those years.
He supposed he shouldn’t have let himself care so much about her fears, but he’d hated the thought of her being afraid she wasn’t wanted. That she didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone.
And he’d been furious on her behalf at her aunt and uncle, and at damn St George, for making her feel that way.
She was his now; he’d claimed her. She belonged to him. And he would protect her in a way her own blood relations and the people who were supposed to care for her hadn’t.
Careful. She’s starting to matter to you.
A certain unease shifted inside him. Well, and what if she did start to matter to him? She needed to matter to someone and that someone could be him. For his son’s sake, of course, but also for his own. He didn’t want her to be unhappy in this marriage, didn’t want her to lose any of her passion.
She needs more than that. She needs more than you’re willing to give and you know it.
The unease deepened, though he tried to ignore it.
What more could she need anyway? He would give her a home and the weight of all his power and money behind her to help her do whatever she wanted. Finish her degree, carve a career for herself if she chose. And then there was the physical pleasure he could give her. What more, apart from that, was there?
He’d tried more to keep his mother happy, to keep her from drinking, to keep her from leaving, but it hadn’t been enough. ‘What is there to stay for?’ she’d spat at him just before she’d walked out the door. ‘Your father will only be happy with a throne, and as for you, well, it’s not my happiness you care about, but your own. You’re selfish, just like him.’
No, it wasn’t he who was selfish. It was them. They were the selfish ones. It was true that his father only cared about power, but his mother had her own streak of selfishness too. She’d only been interested in her own misery, not anyone else’s.
Certainly not his.
His father only wanted more power and his mother had wanted him to be someone else.
Neither of them had wanted him.
A couple of important politicians smiled at Matilda as Simon made his greeting, one of them leaning in and murmuring something to her about his own son who was the same age.
She smiled back and nodded, her face bright, touching Simon’s head lightly as she murmured something in return that made the politician laugh.
Well, it was too bad if she wanted more. He’d taken a leaf out of his mother’s book. He had nothing more to give.
The thought made Enzo’s chest ache, and he wasn’t sure why, so he ignored it.
Not long after that, there was a fuss near the door to the ballroom.
It was Dante arriving—late, as per usual—so Enzo took both his son and his new fiancée over to meet him.
‘This is your uncle Dante,’ he said to Simon. ‘Say hello.’
Simon did so—in perfect Italian as Enzo had been teaching him—then frowned at Dante before looking up at Enzo. ‘Do I have to like him?’
Dante blinked while Enzo tried not to smile. ‘No. But he’ll be your uncle all the same.’
‘You can act as if you like him,’ Matilda offered generously, smiling. ‘That’s the polite thing to do.’
‘It’s fine.’ Dante grinned down at his nephew. ‘You don’t even have to be polite to me. I’m not polite to anyone else.’
Simon’s eyes went wide. ‘Really?’
At that, Enzo decided that one minute of Dante’s company was one minute too many and leaned down to whisper to Simon to go and find Maria, as it was nearly bed time.
The boy pulled a face but raced off to find the housekeeper.
When Enzo straightened up, he found his brother surveying Matilda, a certain appreciative gleam in his eye.
It made something inside him growl.
He stepped closer to her and put an arm around her waist, drawing her close. ‘And this is your sister-in-law-to-be,’ he said, putting emphasis on the ‘sister-in-law’ part of the sentence. ‘Matilda St George. Matilda, this is my terrible brother, Dante Cardinali.’
Dante gave him an amused glance. ‘Calm down, Enzo. I’m not going to steal her from you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Matilda.’
But Enzo did not feel particularly calm. The sight of Matilda’s fingers in Dante’s big, tanned palm made
him want to bare his teeth. Which was ridiculous. Dante was his brother. He wouldn’t do anything to take Matilda from him.
Matilda smiled at Dante, as bright and as beautiful with him as she’d been with everyone else. ‘Nice to meet you too.’
She was so lovely, her smile warm and generous.
She doesn’t smile that way with you.
‘I like your ring,’ Dante observed, looking down at the Cardinali royal signet ring. ‘Looks familiar.’
‘It’s from my safe,’ Enzo said, far more frigidly than he’d intended to, trying to ignore the persistent ache in his chest and the insidious thought in his head. ‘I had it resized for her. You have a problem with her wearing it?’
Dante smiled, but his dark eyes were uncomfortably sharp, as if he knew exactly what was going on in Enzo’s head. ‘Of course not. You didn’t want it for yourself?’
‘Why would I?’ Enzo couldn’t quite temper his tone. ‘It’s a king’s ring and I’m not a king.’
A silence fell, his sharp words echoing oddly in it, both Matilda and Dante staring at him: Dante with that knowing look while Matilda’s eyes held nothing but concern.
Dio, what was wrong with him?
He cast around for something to say that would smooth over the moment, but that wasn’t his forte and his brother got in first instead, asking Matilda some innocuous question. A minute or so later the pair of them were chatting like old friends, Matilda laughing at something Dante said.
She doesn’t laugh that way with you either.
No, he didn’t make her laugh. He’d never been able to make his mother laugh either. Then again, how important was laughter when he could make her scream with pleasure instead? Surely that was all she needed?
Yet the ache in his chest grew deeper, wider, and he wanted to tighten his arm around her, pull her out of this crowded ballroom and go somewhere quiet where he could make her scream again for him. Ease that damn ache that wouldn’t go away.
But he didn’t. He wasn’t going to let himself give into it. But he did need to get a handle on himself. Perhaps he should go and check on Simon. Seeing his son always made him feel better.
Demanding His Hidden Heir (Mills & Boon Modern) (Secret Heirs of Billionaires, Book 26) Page 13