by Teri Wilson
Definitely.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, reaching for her with his free hand and cupping her cheek. “Would you like it if I touched you now?”
He lowered his gaze to her throat, where he could see the flutter of her pulse just above her sapphire necklace. In the depths of the gemstone, he spied a hint of his own reflection. It was like looking into a dark and dangerous mirror.
“Would you like it if I kissed you?” She lifted an impertinent brow.
Franco smiled in response. If she wanted to rattle him, she’d have to try harder.
“I’d like that very much. I see no need to pretend otherwise.” He sipped his champagne. “I’d just prefer the kiss to be genuine.”
“For your information, that kiss was more genuine than you’ll ever know. Which is exactly why Artem is angry.” Her gaze flitted toward her brother standing on the other side of the room.
Franco narrowed his gaze at Artem Drake. “Let me get this straight. Your brother wanted us to make everyone believe we were a couple, and now he’s angry because we’ve done just that?”
Diana shook her head. “Not angry. Just concerned.”
“About what exactly?”
She cleared her throat and stared into her champagne glass. “He thinks we’ve taken things too far.”
Too far.
As irritating as Franco found Artem Drake’s assessment of the situation, Diana’s brother might be on to something.
He and Diana had crossed a line. Somewhere along the way, they’d become more to each other than business associates with a common goal.
Perhaps they’d been more than that all along. Every time Franco caught a glimpse of that massive billboard in Times Square he found himself wondering if they were somehow finishing what they’d started three years ago. Like time had been holding its breath waiting for the two of them to come together again.
He knew it was crazy. He’d never believed much in fate. Was it fate that he’d been born into the worst slum in Buenos Aires? No, fate wouldn’t be so cruel. He was in control of his life. No one else.
But kissing Diana had almost been enough to make a believer out of him.
They weren’t finished with each other. Not yet.
“And what about you, Diana? Do you think we’ve taken things too far?” He leveled his gaze at her, daring her to tell the truth.
Not far enough. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Twelve
When had things gotten so confusing?
A month ago, Diana had been bored out of her mind selling engagement rings, and now she was standing in the middle of the biggest society gala of the year being interrogated by Franco Andrade.
He shouldn’t be capable of rattling her the way he did. The questions he was asking should have had easy answers.
Had they taken things too far?
Absolutely. That had happened the instant he’d fastened the sapphire around her neck. She should never have agreed to pose with him. That one photo had set things in motion that were now spinning wildly out of control.
Then she’d gone and exacerbated things by agreeing to be his pretend girlfriend. Worse yet, since she’d asked him to kiss her, she’d begun to doubt her motivation.
Did she really want to be co-CEO of Drake Diamonds? Had she ever? Or had the promotion simply been a convenient excuse to spend more time with Franco?
Surely not. She hated him. She hated everything about him.
You like it when I touch you.
Damn him and his smug self-confidence. She would have loved to prove him wrong, except she couldn’t. She loved it when he touched her. The barest graze of his fingertips sent her reeling. And now she’d gone and admitted it to his face.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Of course we haven’t taken things too far. We’re both doing our jobs. Nothing more.”
“I see. And last night your job included kissing me.” The corner of his mouth curved into a half grin, and all she could think about was the way that mouth had felt crashing down on hers.
“You seriously need to let that go.” How could she possibly forget it when he kept bringing it up? “Besides, you kissed me.”
“At your request.” He lifted a brow.
Her gaze flitted to his bow tie. Looking him in the eye and pretending she didn’t want to kiss him again was becoming next to impossible. “Same thing.”
“Hardly. When I decide to kiss you, you’ll know it. There will be no mistaking my intention.” There was a sudden edge to his voice that reminded her of Artem’s offer to end this farce once and for all.
Say the word, and your fake relationship with Franco can end in a spectacular or not-so-spectacular fake breakup. Your choice.
Her choice.
She’d had a choice all along, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And she’d chosen Franco. Again.
She was beginning to have the sinking feeling that she always would.
She’d tried her best to keep up her resistance. She really had. The constant onslaught of his devastating good looks paired with the unrelenting innuendo had taken its toll. But his intensity had dealt the deathblow to her defenses.
He cared. Deeply. He cared about Diamond. He cared about why she refused to ride again. That’s why he’d forced her hand about the puppy. She’d known as much the moment that Mrs. Barnes had dropped the wiggling little pug into her arms.
Despite his playboy reputation and devil-may-care charm, Franco Andrade cared. He even cared about the kiss.
A girl could only take so much.
“What are you waiting for, then?” she asked, with far more confidence than she actually felt. She reminded herself that she knew exactly what she was doing. But she’d thought the same thing three years ago, hadn’t she? “Decide.”
A muscle tensed in Franco’s jaw.
Then, in one swift motion, he gathered their champagne glasses and deposited them on a nearby tray. He took her hand and led her through the crowded lobby, toward a shadowed corridor. For once, Diana was unaware of the eyes following them everywhere they went. She didn’t care who saw them. She didn’t care about the Lambertis. She didn’t care about the rest of the Drakes. She didn’t even care about the press.
The only thing she cared about was where Franco was taking her and what would happen once they got there.
Decide, she’d implored. And decide he had.
“Come here,” he groaned, and the timbre in his voice seemed to light tiny fires over every exposed surface of her skin.
He pushed through a closed door, pulling her alongside him, and suddenly they were surrounded on all sides by lush red velvet. Diana blinked into the darkness until the soft gold glow of a dimly lit stage came into focus.
He’d brought her inside the theater, and they were alone at last. In a room that typically held thousands of people. It felt strangely intimate to be surrounded by row upon row of empty seats, the silent orchestra pit and so much rich crimson. Even more so when Franco’s hand slid to cradle the back of her head and his eyes burned into hers.
“This is for us and us alone. No one else.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Diana’s heart felt like it might beat right out of her chest. You can stop this now. It’s not too late.
But it was, wasn’t it? She’d all but dared him to kiss her, and she wasn’t about to back down now.
She lifted her chin so that his mouth was perfectly poised over hers. “No one else.”
He grazed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, then bent to kiss her. She expected passion. She expected frantic hunger. She expected him to crush his mouth to hers. Instead, the first deliberate touch of his lips was gentle. Tender. So reverent that she knew within moments it was a mistake.
She’d
fought hard to stay numb after her fall. The less she felt, the better. So long as she kept the world at arm’s length, she’d never have to relive the nightmare of what she’d been through. But tenderness—especially coming from Franco—had a way of dragging her back to life, whether or not she was ready.
“Diana,” he whispered, and his voice echoed throughout the room with a ghostly elegance that made her head spin.
She’d wanted him to kiss her again since the moment their lips parted the night before. She’d craved it. But as his tongue slid into her mouth, hot and hungry, she realized she wanted more. So much more.
Was it possible to relive only part of the past? Could she sleep with him again and experience the exquisite sensation of Franco pushing inside her without the subsequent heartache?
Maybe she could. She wasn’t a young, naive girl anymore. She was a grown woman. She could take him to bed with her eyes wide open this time, knowing it was purely physical and nothing more.
My choice.
He pushed her against a velvet wall and when his hands slid over the curves of her hips, she realized she was arching into him, pressing herself against the swell of his arousal. She could spend all the time in the world weighing the consequences, but clearly her body knew what it wanted. And it had made up its mind a long time ago.
Your body betrays you.
He’d been right about that, too, damn him.
“Franco,” she murmured against his mouth. Was that really her voice? She scarcely recognized herself anymore.
But that only added to the thrill of the moment. She was tired of being Diana Drake. Disciplined athlete. Diamond heiress and future CEO. Perpetual good girl.
She wanted to be bad for a change.
“Yes, love?” His mouth was on her neck now, and his hands were sliding up the smooth silver satin of her dress to cup her breasts.
She was on fire, on the verge of asking him to make love to her right there in the theatre.
No. If she was going to do this, she wanted it to last. And she wanted to be the one in control. She refused to get hurt this time. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
But as she let her hands slip inside Franco’s tuxedo jacket and up his solid, muscular back, she didn’t much care about what happened tomorrow. How much worse could things get, anyway?
“Come home with me, Franco.”
* * *
Franco half expected her to change her mind before they made it back to her apartment. If she did, it would have killed him. But he’d honor her decision, obviously.
He wanted her, though. He wanted her so much it hurt.
By the time they reached the threshold of her front door, he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. Diana gave no indication that she’d changed her mind. On the contrary, she wove her fingers through his and pulled him inside the apartment. The door hadn’t even clicked shut behind them before she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
It was a kiss full of intention. A prelude. And damned if it didn’t nearly drag him to his knees.
“Diana,” he groaned into her mouth.
Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. He’d waited a long time for this. Three excruciating years. Waiting...wanting.
“Slow down, love.” He needed to savor. And she needed to be adored, whether she realized it or not.
She pulled back to look at him, eyes blazing. “Just so you know, this is hate sex.”
He met her gaze. Held it, until her cheeks turned a telltale shade of pink.
Keep on telling yourself that, darling.
He drew his fingertip beneath one of the slender straps of her evening gown, gave it a gentle tug and watched as it fell from her shoulder, baring one of her breasts. He didn’t touch her, just drank in the sight of her—breathless, ready. Her nipple was the palest pink, as delicate as a rose petal. When it puckered under his gaze, he finally looked her in the eye.
“Hate sex. Obviously.” He gave her a half smile. “What else would it be?”
“I’m serious. I loathe you.” But as she said those words, she slid the other spaghetti strap off her shoulder and let her dress fall to the floor in a puddle of silver satin.
I don’t believe you. He stopped short of saying it. Let her think she was the one in control. Franco knew better. “I don’t care.”
History swirled in the air like a lingering perfume as she stood before him, waiting. Naked, save for the dark, sparkling sapphire resting against her alabaster skin.
She was gorgeous. Perfect. More perfect than he remembered. She’d changed in the years since he’d seen her this way. There was a delicious curve to her hips that hadn’t been there before, a heaviness to her breasts. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to grow more beautiful. But she had.
Either that, or this meant more than he wanted to admit.
Hate sex. Right.
She gathered her hair until it spilled over one shoulder, then reached behind her head to unfasten the sapphire-and-diamond necklace.
“Leave it.” He put his hands on the wall on either side of her, hemming her in. “I like you like this.”
“Is that so?” She reached for the fly of his tuxedo pants and slipped her hand inside.
Franco closed his eyes and groaned. He was on the verge of coming in her hand. As much as he would have liked to blame his lack of control on his recent celibacy, he knew he couldn’t. It was her. Diana.
What was happening to him? To them?
“Diana,” he whispered, pushing her bangs from her eyes.
He searched her gaze, and he saw no hatred there. None at all. Only desire and possibly a touch of fear. But wasn’t that the way it should be? Shouldn’t they both be afraid? One way or another, this would change things.
His chest felt tight. Full. As if a blazing sapphire like the one around Diana’s neck had taken the place of his heart and was trying to shine its way out.
“I need you, Franco.” Not want. Need.
“I know, darling.” He grazed her plump bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. She drew it into her mouth, sucked gently on it.
Holy hell.
“Bedroom. Now.” Every cell in his body was screaming for him to take her against the wall, but he wanted this to last. If they were going to go down this road together...again...he wanted to do it right this time. Diana deserved as much.
She released her hold on him and ducked beneath one of his arms. Then she sauntered toward a door at the far end of the apartment without a backward glance.
Franco followed, unfastening his bow tie as his gaze traveled the length of her supple spine. She moved with the same feline grace that haunted his memory. He’d thought perhaps time had changed the way he remembered things, as time so often did. Surely the recollection of their night together shone brighter than the actual experience.
But he realized now that he’d been wrong. She was every bit as special as he remembered. More so, even.
He placed his hands on her waist and turned her around so she was facing him. She took a deep, shuddering inhale. The sapphire rose and fell in time with the beating of her heart.
She was more bashful now, with the bed in sight. Which made it all the more enticing when her hands found his belt. But her fingers had started trembling so badly that she couldn’t unfasten the buckle.
“Let me,” he said, covering her hands with his own.
He took his time undressing. He needed her to be sure. More than sure.
But once he was naked before her, her shyness fell away. She stared at his erection with hunger in her gaze until Franco couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to touch her, taste her. Love her.
He hesitated as he reached for her.
This isn’t love. It can’t be.
The line between love and
hate had never seemed so impossibly small. As his hands found the soft swell of her breasts, he had the distinct feeling they were crossing that line. He just didn’t know which side they’d been on, which direction they were going.
He lowered his head to draw one of her perfect nipples into his mouth, and she gasped. An unprecedented surge of satisfaction coursed through him at the sound of her letting go. At last.
That’s it, Wildfire. Let me take you there.
He teased and sucked as she buried her hands in his hair, shivering against him. He reached to part her thighs, and she let out a soft, shuddering moan. As he slipped a finger inside her, he stared down at her, fully intending to tell her they were just getting started. But when she opened her eyes, he said something altogether different.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Like amethysts.”
The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He loved her eyes. He always had. But this wasn’t the sort of thing people said during hate sex. Even though he wasn’t at all convinced that’s what they were doing.
Still. This wasn’t the time to turn into a romantic. If she needed to pretend this was nothing but a meaningless release, fine. He’d give her whatever she needed.
“There’s a legend about amethysts, you know,” she whispered, grinding against him as he moved his finger in and out.
“Tell me more.”
He guided her backward until her legs collided into the bed and she fell, laughing, against the down comforter. He stretched out beside her and ran his fingertips in a leisurely trail down the perfect, porcelain softness of her belly.
Then he was poised above her with his erection pressing against her thigh, and her laughter faded away. Her eyes turned dark, serious.
“According to legend, they’re magic. The ancient Romans believed amethysts could prevent drunkenness. Some still say they do.”
Franco didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. He felt drunk just looking into the violet depths of those eyes. “Nonsense. You’re intoxicating.”
“Franco.”
He really needed to stop saying such things. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.