by Kate Hewitt
‘Lina,’ he repeated, letting the syllables slide around in his mouth. ‘And why were you so desperate to attend a party that you weren’t invited to?’
She cocked her head, her smile teasing, her eyes alight, although he sensed a surprising nervousness underneath. ‘What girl doesn’t want to have fun?’
‘Right answer,’ he murmured, and clinked her glass. Her smile deepened, revealing a delightful dimple in one cheek, and she took a sip of her champagne.
‘Oh, it’s delicious!’ she exclaimed, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
‘You almost sound as if you haven’t tasted champagne before.’
She gave him a haughty look. ‘Of course I have,’ she said, and then, as if to prove the point, she drained her glass.
‘Time for another, I think,’ Rico said, and summoned a waiter with one imperious gesture. This woman, this Lina, was fascinating. Gate-crasher, definitely. Gold-digger as well, he was quite sure. He didn’t mind, though; as long as women were upfront about what they wanted—as he was about what he didn’t—the arrangement was usually satisfactory. He felt the tingle through his body of attraction and, yes, desire as he looked at her. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be very satisfactory.
She was certainly lovely, and unabashedly sexual with her tight dress and tumbled hair. She hadn’t bothered with make-up or jewellery, as if she had no need for extra frippery for what was, after all, a very basic transaction. She’d come to this party looking for fun, and quite possibly a protector. Rico intended it to be him, at least for a short while.
He took another flute of champagne from the proffered tray and handed it to her. ‘Cin cin,’ he murmured, and she smiled.
‘Cin cin.’ They’d been speaking Italian, and hers was flawless, although Rico suspected it was not her first language. He wondered what was. There was a faintly exotic cast to her features, her slightly tilted eyes and golden skin. He had no intention of or interest in asking her such questions or learning more about her. He’d long ago found that women started expecting things, emotional things, when he asked them even the most basic of questions. So he didn’t. And he made sure they didn’t ask any of him, either.
‘Lina,’ he said. ‘This party bores me. Do you want to go upstairs?’
Surprise flashed through her eyes and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, causing another painful arrow of desire to knife through him. ‘Upstairs?’
‘Yes, upstairs. I have the penthouse suite.’ He let his mouth curve in a lazy smile. ‘I think it would be a great deal more comfortable up there, and the champagne is of a far better vintage.’
‘I don’t even know your name,’ she protested, her cheeks flushing. She looked uncertain but also excited. Perhaps he’d been a bit too abrupt. He was getting tired of the same old niceties.
‘Rico,’ he said, although he was quite sure she knew who he was. Everyone here did. ‘I’m the CEO of Falcone Enterprises.’
‘Falcone...’ Recognition flashed in her eyes.
‘You’ve heard of me, then.’
‘Yes, in the bathroom just now.’ Lina bit her lip, looking both guilty and amused. ‘Two women were talking about you.’
‘Were they?’ Rico arched an eyebrow. ‘Women’s gossip in a bathroom—I can imagine what they said, and I assure you, it’s all true.’
Her eyes rounded. ‘All of it?’
Rico didn’t even hesitate. ‘All of it,’ he drawled, and Lina let out a hiccupping laugh. She had, he noticed, already finished her second glass of champagne.
‘They said you were cold. A heart of ice...’
‘Pejorative, but essentially true.’
‘Oh?’ Lina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling, a small smile curving her lush mouth. ‘How are you so cold, then?’
Rico took a sip of champagne, considering. ‘I’m matter-of-fact,’ he stated, deciding as always that bold honesty was by far the best policy. ‘I don’t dress up what is essentially a physical and very satisfying transaction.’ He met her curious and impish gaze with a direct challenge in his own eyes, and he watched with pleasure as colour flared in her cheeks and her lips parted soundlessly.
‘Do you mean...?’ she began, and Rico cut her off.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do mean.’
She shook her head slowly, her pupils dilated, her cheeks still wonderfully pink. ‘They said something else in the bathroom.’
‘Did they?’ Although he affected a bored drawl he realised he was interested. He wanted to know what Lina had heard, what preconceptions she might have of him.
‘They said...they said...’ She licked her lips, making his libido take a little leap. ‘They said you were fabulous at sex.’ She let out a little laugh, seeming almost incredulous that she’d admitted such a thing. Rico’s mouth curved into a wicked smile.
‘Also true.’
She laughed again, shaking her head, seeming embarrassed, almost shy. Was it an act, a rather obvious and unneeded attempt to snag his interest? A woman didn’t pour herself into a sexy dress and try to gate-crash the party of the year without having some brash confidence and bold hopes.
‘So?’ Rico demanded in a low, sensual voice. He was tired of chitchat, of waiting. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’
‘Upstairs...’
‘To my suite. A bottle of champagne is waiting.’ It always was.
‘I... I don’t...’
Annoyance flickered through him. He didn’t have time for this. Rico stretched out one hand and slid his fingers through hers, enjoying the shower of sparks that fired through him at that slight touch. He’d made the right choice, he was sure of it. ‘Well?’ he murmured. ‘Are you coming...or not?’
CHAPTER TWO
HALINA COULDN’T THINK. From the moment Rico Falcone had rescued her from the box-ticking bouncer, she’d been ensnared. Bound body and mind by the sensual charisma of the man standing in front of her, so arrogant and self-assured and so very, very attractive.
She had limited experience of the opposite sex, and she had no experience whatsoever of the kind of man who stood in front of her now, one dark slash of an eyebrow arched, his mobile mouth curved into a smile of supreme self-confidence, his body radiating pure, muscular, sensual power.
‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked, and there was a note of challenge in his voice, as well as a hint of impatience. Halina hesitated. She shouldn’t go with him, of course, this man whom she knew, from both gossip and his own gorgeous mouth, was a cold womaniser. A man who was fabulous at sex.
Not that she had any intention of having sex with him, of course. Her virginity was a point of honour, as well as a prized asset. As a princess of a desert kingdom, her chastity was of utmost importance. She’d never even touched a man before tonight.
But why did this have to be about sex? All she wanted was to drink champagne, perhaps even be kissed...
It was hard to resist such a beguiling invitation. And he was quite the most perfect specimen of a man she’d ever seen—dark hair cut close, silvery grey eyes that flashed like sunlight on metal as he remained with his hand outstretched, fingertips gliding along hers, his tall and powerfully built body encased in a top-end tuxedo, the crisp white shirt and black fitted jacket the perfect foil for his dark hair and grey eyes, his swarthy skin.
From the corner of her eye Halina saw the two women she’d glimpsed in the bathroom shooting her speculative and frankly envious glances. No matter what they’d said to each other, they wanted this man...this man who, improbably, impossibly, seemed to want her.
‘Yes,’ she said, flinging the word out the way a knight would fling down a gauntlet. It felt like a challenge, a dare, completely reckless but also brave. ‘Yes, I will.’
‘Excellent.’ His fingers tightened on hers, causing a fizz of fireworks to go off in her belly. She was already feeling light-headed from two glasses of hastily
drunk champagne, imbibed to steel her nerves. Now she felt utterly overwhelmed by the sheer, lunatic magic of the situation—she, the innocent Princess in her ivory tower being lured upstairs by the most magnetically sexual man in the world, never mind this room. And he wanted her.
Taking a deep breath, Halina followed Rico down the hall, away from the party, determined not to panic or even doubt herself. A little bit of flirting, another glass of champagne, maybe a kiss...and then she’d leave. Of course she would. And she wouldn’t think about her mother, or Abdul, the sleepy bodyguard, and certainly not her father the Sultan who would be both furious and heartbroken to know she’d dared to go this far, never mind what she might get up to once they were in Rico’s suite.
One night. One adventure. That was all she wanted, all she was asking for. Surely it wasn’t too much?
Rico stabbed the button for the lifts and the doors whooshed open. Still holding her by the hand, he drew her inside, then the doors closed and they were alone, soaring upwards.
‘So what made you decide to crash the party tonight?’ he asked in a lazy voice. Halina tried not to blush. So it had been obvious that she hadn’t had an invitation.
‘An impulse decision.’
‘Some of the best decisions are borne from impulse.’
‘Are yours?’ she asked. She was so nervous and hyper-aware of him that she wondered if he could see the hectic, urgent thud of her heart from beneath her dress. She resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms down its sides.
‘My impulses are borne of instinct,’ Rico answered. ‘So they’re always right.’
She laughed, incredulous and a little bit amused by his arrogance, despite her nerves. ‘Is there anything you’re insecure about?’
Something dark flashed across his face, so quickly that Halina almost missed it. She couldn’t decipher what it was. Then his expression evened out and he smiled, his lips curving, showing a flash of very white, very straight teeth. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘There isn’t.’
The doors opened straight into the penthouse suite of the hotel, the one her mother had demanded but which the concierge had regretfully informed her was already booked. What kind of man was Rico Falcone, that the hotel had turned away even a queen?
‘So, where’s this wonderful champagne?’ Halina asked as she stepped into the suite, her heels clicking the black marble floor. The space stretched on into the darkness, the only light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
Rico threw her a darkly amused glance. ‘Are you quite certain you want another glass?’
Surely he wasn’t going to treat her like a child? Halina lifted her chin. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t want you drunk when I make love to you.’
Everything inside her trembled, her internal organs reduced to a plateful of jelly. ‘Who says you’re going to—to make love to me?’ Halina demanded with far more bravado than actual courage. An image slid through her mind like a sensuous snake—body entwined with body, candlelight gleaming off satin sheets—and a current of desire zinged through her, twanging all her senses, every nerve.
‘I do,’ Rico replied baldly as he retrieved a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice-bucket by a pair of white leather sofas. ‘Why else would you have come up here with me?’
Nerves clamoured in her belly. Was she in over her head? The answer was obvious—of course she was. Yet she didn’t want to leave. Not so soon, not yet. ‘For the champagne, of course,’ Halina quipped as she strolled through the sweeping living area of the suite towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Eternal City, its ancient, crumbling buildings now awash with moonlight.
‘At least on that I can oblige.’ With a satisfying pop he pulled the cork from the bottle and then filled two glasses right to the brim before handing one to Halina. She took a sip, relishing the crisp taste of bubbles on her tongue, and definitely needing the Dutch courage. What now?
‘You really shouldn’t be quite so arrogant,’ she said as she lowered the glass. Her palms were slick and her heart thudded but she managed to hold his sardonic gaze. Just.
‘Oh? Why shouldn’t I?’
His utter, unapologetic confidence stunned her. She admired it too, because although she knew she could seem confident to her school friends or sisters, playing to familiar crowds with her trademark drama and humour, when it came to the real world she had nothing on this man. Nothing at all.
‘It’s not a particularly appealing trait,’ she said at last.
‘I disagree.’
His self-assurance was like a brick wall, high and wide, impossible to cross or find a chink in. Still, for some perverse reason, she tried. ‘So you think it’s an asset? Being so ridiculously self-assured?’
He shrugged, as if the answer was so apparent the question should not have even been asked. ‘Of course.’
‘Why? How?’
‘Because there is a basis for it. I am the way I am because I know what I’m doing and, more importantly, I know what I want and I go after it.’ His eyes flashed, a glint of silver like moonlight flashing off the blade of a knife. ‘And do you know what I want right now, Lina?’
She swallowed. Hard. Excitement licked along her veins like the most dangerous fire. ‘What?’
‘You.’
Before she could form the words for a semi-coherent reply he’d crossed the room, swallowing up the space in a couple of strides, and plucked the champagne flute from her nerveless fingers. She opened her mouth to protest—she hadn’t finished her drink—but then his hands were on his shoulders, warm and so very sure, and he was kissing her.
Her very first kiss, and it felt like diving head-first into ice-cold water, a shock to her entire system. She stiffened underneath the onslaught of his persuasive mouth, the sudden intimacy of it, even as heat exploded in her centre and stars shot from behind her eyes. Her knees buckled and she felt Rico smile against her mouth as he gauged her obvious and overwhelming response to him.
She clutched at the slippery, satiny lapels of his tuxedo jacket, lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers. Were all kisses like this? Did you always feel as if you were drowning, caught up in a whirlpool of pleasure, every sense singing? She’d never experienced anything like it, and all she knew was that she wanted more. Much more.
Her mouth opened under his and she stood on her tiptoes, straining to reach more of him. Feel more of him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and created even more arrows of sensations sizzling through her, making her whole being burn.
Rico slid his hands from her shoulders to her waist, anchoring her against him so her hips nudged his and she felt the hard throb of his arousal against her, shocking her to her core and thrilling her too. Even she, in her innocence, knew what that was. As much as it thrilled her, it also made a ripple of terror go through her. What was she doing? And did she want to stop?
Rico spread his fingers across her hip, each lean digit creating a burn even through her dress as if he were branding her by his touch. She was so achingly conscious of every part of him, from the hard planes of his chest and thighs to the sure movement of his mouth and the delightful press of his hands. He was everywhere on her, yet she still wanted more, a delicious and insistent ache of need starting at her centre and spreading outwards, right to her fingertips.
She felt so much, she was afraid she might combust, burst into flames right in front of him. How did people experience this and live?
Then, quite suddenly, Rico tore his mouth from hers and took a step away, raking his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. Colour blazed along his blade-like cheekbones and his breathing was ragged. He was, it seemed, as affected as she was, or almost, and that was an incredible thought.
Halina’s knees wobbled and she grabbed onto a nearby table to steady herself. She felt the absence of him like a physical thing, everyt
hing in her all at once turning empty, cold and aching. For a little while she’d felt so gloriously alive. She couldn’t let it end so quickly. She couldn’t let it end at all.
Because she knew then, no matter how inexperienced and nervous she was, she wanted more. Needed it. She wasn’t done with Rico...and she prayed he wasn’t done with her.
* * *
Rico gazed at Lina thoughtfully, trying to ignore the hectic thud of his own heart. He’d been far more affected by her clumsy kisses than he liked to admit, even to himself. Even in love-making, in the highest heights of his pleasure, he kept his control. To lose it would be another form of weakness, one he despised. He would not be a slave to any emotion, whether it was love or its poorer but equally powerful cousin, lust. He’d decided that a long time ago, when he’d watched someone walk away from him and felt his heart break. Never again. Never again would he allow someone to break something inside him. He wouldn’t even allow himself to be affected...at all. Never would he give in to the weakest emotion of them all, the torment of love.
And as for Lina... He let his gaze sweep over her, noting her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, her ink-dark, wavy hair falling in tumbling waves over her shoulders. Her breath shuddered through her, and artlessly she pressed one hand to her pounding heart. She was just as affected as he was, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it. He didn’t think it had even occurred to her to hide it, to hide anything, and that made her very different from the women he usually bedded.
Those women were beautiful and hard in a sharply glittering way, as determined to get his money as much as they were eager to get into his bed. He gave them pleasure, of that he was certain, but they didn’t respond as Lina just had—trembling and eager, unrestrained and artless, seeming to crave him just for him...which was an intoxicant in and of itself.
‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice a breathy whisper. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘How am I looking at you?’