The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

by Natalie Anderson

  He steadily held her gaze. That unnerving reserve made her too aware of him, but she refused to let him silence her with little more than a stare. Not now or ever.

  ‘You think it would damage your reputation to be seen exiting my club at this hour of the morning?’ Her voice shook and she drew in a sharp breath. ‘Maybe it would enhance it.’

  He still didn’t answer but his demeanour changed. He might be wearing worn workout gear, but now he looked every inch the powerful ‘Head of State’. Clothes made no difference. Nothing could pierce that princely aura. Bella’s anger flared. He was so protected, whereas she?

  ‘No one would believe anything “untoward” of you. But me?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I’m the vixen, right? But surely not even wicked little Bella Sanchez could trap Prince Antonio with her wiles...’

  It was what he’d accused her of attempting only moments before. And he was right, it was laughable. Scathing, she stepped closer; her words tumbled unchecked, unthinking.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so worried,’ she snarled. ‘You’re untemptable, right? You’re the frigid Prince.’ She took no notice of his sudden frown or the muscle jerking in his jaw; his wordless judgment had unleashed the banked-up bitterness of so many betrayals. ‘Your absolute rejection of any physical intimacy is cowardly.’

  Just as hiding here for hours would be cowardly.

  And dangerous for her.

  ‘In what way?’ he asked icily, his words sharply enunciated. ‘Doesn’t it denote self-control?’

  Something burned in his eyes now, but she was too hurt to take heed and too hurt to stop herself lashing out. ‘Maybe you’re afraid that once you start, you won’t be able to stop.’

  He said nothing. He didn’t need to. His rigidity screamed irritation and arrogance.

  ‘Everyone loses control some time,’ she taunted. She’d seen it every night since she’d opened the club. People got carried away. Just as she was now. But she didn’t care.

  ‘Not me,’ he finally countered.

  ‘Because you’re a robot?’ she scoffed. ‘You’re just a prince—that doesn’t give you super powers.’

  Silence strained for two beats before he broke it with a soft-spoken, hard-hitting whisper. ‘You want me to prove it?’

  He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow he made the room smaller. The subtlest change in his tone, the darkening in his eyes put her senses on alert. He’d gone from angered, to something else altogether. Something more dangerous.

  Goosebumps rose on her skin, but deep down satisfaction flickered. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

  ‘Don’t I? When you’ve taken it upon yourself to judge me so completely?’

  ‘You’d judged me before you even crossed my threshold,’ she pointed out with relish. ‘And you collude with other people’s judgments when you react with concern about being seen in my company.’

  ‘You’re mistaken in many ways.’ He frowned. ‘I’m not a robot. And no, I don’t have super powers. But I don’t lose control, Bella.’

  He walked closer, until he loomed in front of her. She held her ground and watched. Dared.

  ‘I can start,’ he promised with wintry imperiousness. ‘And then stop.’

  ‘Start what?’ she taunted again.

  ‘You’re Bella Sanchez,’ he murmured. ‘You live for kisses and adoration.’

  That stung. Her mother’s reputation had stained her own from the start. Men assumed that as she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she’d have her ‘skills’ too. But her mother had been discarded by every one of her many lovers. Which was partly why Bella was not the lover of anyone bold enough to make a move. And the truth was she was unmoved. Always.

  She should shake him off with some glib retort and a smile and make her escape from a situation like this the way she’d done many times before. Or she should tell him exactly where to go and why.

  ‘What if I don’t want you to kiss me?’ she asked, determinedly standing in place despite the adrenalin rush urging her to run.

  ‘Don’t you?’ He laughed then. A low, sexy, mocking laugh.

  That he’d laughed at all was a shock, but that he laughed like that? She just gazed at him, stunned by this glimpse of someone else altogether—a gorgeous virile man.

  His smile disappeared as he neared, but there was still that glimpse of human behind the pale blue. ‘You are beautiful.’

  Beneath that clinical assessment she heard huskiness. Heat washed over her, confusing her more.

  ‘Beauty isn’t everything,’ she pointed out.

  Glossy magazines and plastic surgeons would argue otherwise, but Bella knew the truth. Beauty faded. Beauty depended on who was looking. Beauty didn’t count for anything at the end of the day.

  ‘No,’ he agreed softly.

  The atmosphere thickened, building the tension both within her and between them. She wanted to duck and run. She already knew she wouldn’t feel anything if he kissed her. She never felt anything. That was the point. She’d tried but she wasn’t the hedonist the world wanted her to be. In ten seconds it would be obvious who the frigid one was. He’d know her secret. She gritted her teeth, angered by that old humiliation.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she finally snapped. ‘Try it and see what happens.’

  ‘Such an invitation,’ he mocked.

  ‘You’re hardly bounding over with unbridled lust.’

  ‘I don’t do unbridled lust, remember?’ He regarded her intently. ‘You’re not going to drive me crazy.’

  It was almost as if he was challenging himself. Not her.

  ‘I don’t want to drive anyone crazy,’ she retorted. ‘People ought to take responsibility for their own actions.’

  She just wanted to do her own thing. She hadn’t asked to be raised in the glare of paparazzi flashes. Yes, she’d chosen the ballet stage, but it wasn’t supposed to have intruded into her personal life as much. And now she did all that Internet sharing only to build something for the future—funding her escape route.

  ‘Indeed they should.’ He gripped her waist, his hands not too high or too low or too tight. He didn’t step closer so there was a clear two inches between them. He held her in the position perfect for a formal dance. But they weren’t in a ballroom. They were yards from her tiny bedroom.

  Heart thudding, Bella fisted her hands and held them to her stomach, but she couldn’t bring herself to say stop. Instinctively she knew that if she did, he would. But she was curious to see how far perfect Prince Antonio would take this. She kept her eyes open, focusing intently on him. It was a trick she’d learned when amorous dates had moved closer than she’d wanted. Guys didn’t like to think they weren’t wowing a woman with their sensual prowess.

  But Antonio kept his eyes open too. As he inclined his head she found herself sinking into their surprising depths—they were such a pale blue, but there was an echo of that smile glinting in the backs of them. That smile was what she really wanted more of.

  He pressed his lips to hers in the lightest caress, offering less than a heartbeat of touch. But it delivered a lightning flash of heat. Bella froze, teetering on the edge of something unknown, so tempted to tumble over—but he didn’t take her there. He didn’t touch her again.

  He remained a breath away but she couldn’t fathom his feelings in his unreadable eyes.

  Finally it dawned on her that he had no feelings. He’d been teasing her. He’d intended to give her nothing but that chaste peck all along. Perfectly, bloodlessly executed. Any second now he’d step back and say, ‘I told you so’. He was utterly in control at all times.

  Disappointment spilled into that vast, empty space in her chest. She really shouldn’t feel it, she really shouldn’t care, she should concede his victory with laughing grace and push him away.

  But she’d felt a glimmer of what might have been—a sliver of heat that had stunned her with its strength.

  So she could only stay still, unable to move for thinking—for feeling. His eyes
were so damn mesmerising but now she couldn’t bear to look into them any more. Yet when she dropped her gaze, she saw his sensual mouth and his chiselled jaw roughened with morning stubble. He was picture-postcard perfect and it was so unfair because for one millisecond she’d actually wanted—

  His fingers tightened, pinching her waist. She looked up in surprise but before she could speak his lips brushed hers again. Another soft, too brief—tantalising—caress. She got the smallest glimpse into his eyes before he bent to her again. His reserve crumbled as intensity flared. Her heart stopped at that flash of emotion.

  When he kissed her that third time, he lingered. She lifted her chin, meeting him, her body instinctively yearning for him to stay. She wanted more—a real kiss. She wanted him to release the energy she sensed building within him and ease the need starting to ache within her. She wanted more of the magic she’d tasted in that first swift touch. She wanted more than disillusionment and emptiness and abandonment all over again. She just wanted more.

  For the first time in her life, she really wanted it.

  He didn’t disappoint her this time. He stayed. He held. He kissed. His lips moved from gentle, to more insistent, to finally demanding. As she acquiesced, parting her mouth, his demands grew greater still. His hands shifted, shaping her curves and then possessively pulling her closer. Her heart struck up again, sprinting to a frantic tempo—in shock. In passion. She wriggled her hands from where they’d been squashed between them and reached up to his shoulders so she could literally hang on as he bent her backwards and kissed her more thoroughly still.

  Oh, he kissed her. Her eyes drifted shut as she focused on the pressure of his lips—the teasing pleasure. His kiss lightened and she gripped his shoulders more tightly, afraid he was about to pull away. But he kissed her again and again in a series that mimicked that first—softly stirring desire, building her frustration until she couldn’t control the small moan that escaped. Then he kissed her hard and long again. And he repeated the pattern—unpredictable, maddening. Delicious.

  She’d never have expected Prince Antonio to be as playful. Or as skilled. But what did it matter when he made her feel like this?

  She moaned in pleasure as he kissed her deeply again. It was as if all the empty places within her were being filled and heated and the sensation was so addictive. There was pure pleasure to be had in his arms. The kind she’d never experienced with anyone else.

  Breathless, she wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She didn’t want to break the magic—uncaring of any consequences, of how crazy this had suddenly become. She just wanted to feel it—all of him—all of the gratification she could get. Instinctively she moved, circling her hips. His hand slid, pressing over the curve of her bottom and pulling her harder against the heat of his pelvis. Feeling how aroused he was made her melt all the more into his embrace.

  His arms tightened around her but she didn’t resist as he walked her backwards and then pushed her back against the desk. She couldn’t remain standing anyway and she had no desire to stop. She only wanted more. Just here. Now. In this white-hot moment.

  He shoved the files behind her to the floor with a sweep of his arm, pushed her back until she lay on the hard wood, and followed her down.

  He kissed down the side of her neck, burying his mouth in that sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulders. His hand slid beneath her light pyjama top. The sensation of skin on skin made her arch involuntarily. His hand was heavy, then light, teasing as he traced small circles over her abdomen, up to her ribs, then higher still. She shivered as he neared the hard peak of her breast. He lifted his head from hers, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes. He didn’t look down as he lifted her top to expose her breasts. She felt the cool air, felt her nipples tighten more—until they were almost painful. She licked her dried lips as she waited, splayed on the desk beneath him, until he looked down at her partially naked body.

  A groan ripped from him when he finally looked. She looked down too, saw how her breasts thrust up towards him, her nipples tight and needy and erect—begging for more than his visual attention. They wanted touch. He muttered something unintelligible. Before she could ask him what he’d said he bent his head and took her nipple in the hot cavern of his mouth. Her breathing came quick and erratic as she watched him take pleasure in her body—in pleasuring her.

  She closed her eyes, sprawled back on the desk, basking in the sensations as he explored her more fully. He pushed between her legs, grinding against her, and cupped her other breast in his hand, his fingers teasing that taut peak. When he pushed her full breasts together to lave both nipples with his tongue, she almost arched off the wood completely. All her restraints were now off, her need unleashed. She bucked, thrusting her hips against his, wanting him to strip her, touch her and kiss her where she was hot and wet and so, so ready.

  Never had she been ready for a man the way she was for him. Never had a man made her feel this aroused. The ache between her legs burned, her blood ran faster in a quickening beat of need. She reached out, wanting to explore him too. His skin was hot to the touch. His jaw bristled but it was so good as it gently abraded her tender skin. She raked her hands across his back, the heat of him burning through his sweatshirt.

  His muscularity surprised her. He was only ever pictured in suits so she’d never have guessed he’d be this defined. Granite muscles like these meant he worked out—regularly and hard. She wanted to see them. Wanted to touch. But he pressed down, smothering her attempts to pull his sweatshirt up, distracting her from that goal by simply kissing her again and again and again while running his hands over her bared breasts with wicked skill.

  And she couldn’t resist succumbing to the pleasure of it.

  That it could be this man who pulled this feeling from her? This unadulterated lust. He left no room for regret or reason. There was only this, only now. His breathing roughened but he said nothing more. He kissed down her neck, then lower to tease with fiery touches across her quivering belly, then back up to her breasts. But his hand worked lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her flimsy short pyjama bottoms. She parted her legs further without thinking about it, aching for him to touch her there. He growled guttural approval as his fingers cupped her intimately. She shuddered at the intensity of desire that consumed her as he gently stroked. She was so close. The pleasure built so shockingly quickly. She’d never been so close with anyone.

  ‘Antonio...’ She breathed the quietest plea as she arched against him, right on the edge.

  He froze, then glanced up to look into her eyes for a heartbeat. Dazed, she didn’t register his tormented expression. But then he pulled away from her, his face now utterly impassive.

  ‘You’re stopping?’ She gasped in disbelief. ‘Now?’

  His lips twisted but he didn’t reply. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed out a harsh breath and stepped back from her.

  Astonished, she stared, realising what he’d done. He’d done this to prove a petty point. And he’d proved it already. But it was also a punishment. He was putting her in her place in a humiliating show of power—he could have her any way he wanted, however he chose.

  But now he chose not to.

  That he’d use his sensual dominance over her this way was most especially cruel because she’d never felt anything like this. No man had made her want in this way and this one time she’d almost felt pure, sensual pleasure, it had been snatched from her. She swept her hand over her belly, as if she could press away the ache deep inside.

  ‘I don’t need you,’ she muttered angrily. So hurt. ‘I don’t need any man.’ She didn’t need any one.

  He turned back, his gaze smouldering. Her legs were still splayed. She was so exposed, half-stripped and spread on her own damn desk for him to toy with but she refused to cover up and show how shamed she felt.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His words sounded raw and accusing.

  She realised he was staring at her hand pressed low on her belly. Bitt
erness rose in her throat. Because yes, the only way she’d ever experienced an orgasm was by her own action. But as if she’d do that now?

  Heat burned in his narrowed eyes. Outrage burned in her. She wasn’t giving him the pleasure of watching. She curled her fingers into a fist, her vision swimming with acidic tears.

  She heard his groan and a muttered word, but she didn’t know what he said because suddenly he was there. Back where she needed him. Bending between her parted thighs, his spread hand raking up her body.

  ‘It wouldn’t be as good,’ he muttered, leaning close, catching her gaze with his.

  She tried to turn her head away but he moved too fast, holding her chin with a firm grip. He almost smiled as he moved closer.

  This kiss was cautious and tender.

  She didn’t close her eyes and when he drew back a fraction to gauge her response, she kept glaring at him. But then he kissed one eyelid. Then the other. Making her close her eyes. Then he caught her mouth with his again. Not cautious at all. Not holding anything back. Just that passionate teasing, stirring her to react again. To want.

  And heaven help her she did. So quickly she was there again, lost in the lust he roused within her. She couldn’t wriggle away from him. Couldn’t break the kiss. Rather she moaned in his mouth—a mixture of hurt and want and pleading.

  In answer he slid his hand firmly over her stomach, wrapped his broad palm around her fist and lifted her arm, pressing it back on the desk beside her, clearing his path down her body. He cupped her breast, then teased his way lower again, to where she was still wet and hot and wanting. All the while his lips were sealed to hers, his tongue stroking and teasing and claiming her the way the rest of her wanted to be claimed.

  She moaned again, nothing but want this time. She wanted him naked, wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted him to thrust deep inside her and ease this hellish ache. He didn’t. He just teased—decadently, mercilessly until she was sweat-slicked and shivering and mindless.