His Private Mistress

by Shaw Chantelle

  ‘I’m not playing at anything,’ she promised as she walked towards him. ‘All I want is this.’ Taking a deep breath, she reached up on tiptoe and drew his head down, her lips seeking his with an air of self-possession that hid her quaking nerves.

  He smelled so good—warm and male—the exotic musk of his aftershave stirring her senses. For what seemed an eternity he made no response, his hands clenched by his sides, his mouth set in an inflexible line, and with a growing sense of desperation Eden deepened the kiss, her tongue exploring the contours of his lips before tentatively dipping between them. She’d misread the signs, came the agonising realisation. He didn’t want her, and in a few seconds he would thrust her from him, crucify her with his contempt. But just as she was ready to admit defeat, he groaned low in his throat and his arms clamped round her, pulling her hard against him.

  As his lips parted Eden felt almost faint with relief, and she sagged against him, allowing him to take control, and he kissed her with a hungry passion that demanded her response.

  This was where she was meant to be, she thought with an almost fatalistic acceptance. She was Rafe’s woman, and despite the years apart he was the only man she would ever want.

  ‘This time there will be no going back, no changing your mind at the last minute,’ Rafe warned when at last he lifted his head and she dragged oxygen into her lungs. ‘I’m so desperate for you I could take you right now, in a trailer in the middle of the bloody Grand Prix, and to hell with whoever walks in on us.’ He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring with the effort of enforcing control over his desire, and Eden reached up to stroke his jaw. ‘There’s no time, as usual,’ he muttered. ‘There was never any time for us.’

  ‘We’ll make time,’ she promised. ‘After the race, I’ll be here, waiting for you.’

  He muttered something in Italian before his mouth captured hers once more and he ran his hands over her body in a fevered exploration, unfastening her jacket to slip inside, and he growled his pleasure when he discovered the delicate camisole and the indubitable proof that she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘Cara mia, I want you so badly I will explode with it,’ he muttered rawly, and Eden couldn’t disguise her shiver of excitement when he stroked her nipples through the sheer silk of her camisole. She wanted more, wanted him to strip her and take her now, but a huge crowd of fans had gathered to see their nation’s hero, and her time would come later.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ she vowed once more, and the rap on the door of the trailer warned her that she would have to contain her impatience, although Rafe’s muttered curse told her he was also struggling.

  ‘Why have you really come?’ he asked again as he jammed his cap on his head and pulled the peak low, hiding his eyes.

  ‘I watched the Portuguese Grand Prix. You were the highlight of the day.’ She closed her eyes briefly, reliving those terrifying moments before she had seen him climb out of the car.

  ‘I wasn’t hurt, cara, a few bruises, that’s all.’

  ‘I know—I spoke to Petra afterwards. But what if you hadn’t survived, Rafe? All I would have is my pride. You said you wanted to give our relationship another chance, a fresh start.’ She hesitated for a moment and then whispered, ‘I want that, too. I’m tired of thinking about the past or worrying about the future, and I don’t know how long it’ll last between us, but quite frankly I don’t care any more. I want you now, today,’ she told him firmly, and his mouth curved into the slow, sexy smile she adored.

  ‘I’m a little busy right now, cara mia. Can you wait until tonight?’

  The Villa Mimosa was situated a half-hour drive away from Milan, in a small village on the shores of Lake Como. The master suite, at the front of the villa, afforded stunning views across the sparkling blue water of the lake, while the back looked over a fabulous private garden and pool. It was an oasis of tranquillity, yet surprisingly close to cosmopolitan Milan, which boasted designer shops and magnificent architecture.

  Returning to the villa was like stepping back in time and as Eden glanced around the master suite she was assailed by memories. In this room, she had known heaven and hell! During the year she had spent with Rafe the villa had been home, although they had spent little time in it, but for a few precious weeks after the end of the racing season when she had revelled in the intimacy of sharing his bedroom. Rafe had no doubt employed top interior designers to decorate the villa, but the decor of his suite was unchanged, even to the collection of glass frogs on the dressing table, and Eden felt a curious pain in her chest as she picked one up. They were cheap and gaudy, made from green glass, but she had fallen in love with them in a marketplace in Spain and had been delighted when Rafe had bought them for her. Why had he kept them? she wondered. They looked painfully out of place in the elegant room, but for some reason he had them on prominent display, and she wondered if he ever thought of her when he looked at them.

  She set the frog back in its place and studied her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She had bought the sexy black negligee for one purpose only—seduction—and she had to admit that she looked the part of a sensual siren, but inside she was so nervous she felt sick. It had been midnight by the time they were able to leave the after-race party, and, as the winner of the Monza Grand Prix, Rafe had been in huge demand. Eden had attempted to keep out of the limelight, but he would have none of it and kept her clamped to his side all evening, arousing the curiosity of the Press photographers. Now, finally, they had some privacy, but as the car had swung onto the driveway of the villa she had been beset with nerves, and gladly accepted Rafe’s suggestion of a shower.

  ‘Did you find everything you required in the bathroom?’

  The sound of his voice caused her to whirl away from the mirror, eyes wide, the pulse at the base of her throat setting up a frantic tattoo as she stared at him. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She had been stunned to discover her favourite range of toiletries set out in the bathroom, but had told herself it must be coincidence; Rafe was hardly likely to have remembered the fragrance she had used five years ago.

  He strolled across the room to extract a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket, and her eyes were drawn to the width of his shoulders, his white silk shirt open at the throat to reveal an expanse of olive skin. If anything, he was even more devastatingly attractive than five years ago. His body was leaner, harder, and the bold expression in his eyes caused a familiar weakness to flood through her. His eyes were telling her that he would make love to her tonight, that there would be no reprieve, and the thought filled her with nervous anticipation, an excitement she could no longer deny.

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he released the champagne cork, noting the way Eden jumped liked a startled doe at the sound. She was not as self-assured as she would have him believe, but he liked that, liked the fact that she was nervous about their first time together after all the years apart. It mirrored his own tension. Dio! She was beautiful, he thought as he handed her a glass. He’d fantasised about her body all day, imagined the fullness of her breasts and her long, slender legs which were hidden beneath her trousers. The negligee left little to the imagination and his fingers itched to untie the ribbons that laced the bodice so that her breasts spilled from the black silk. The gown was floor-length, hiding her legs, but not for long, he acknowledged, his heart rate quickening as he mentally stripped her.

  He intended to take it slow, to savour every delicious moment, but already he was so aroused that his trousers felt uncomfortably tight and he was filled with a primitive urge to rip the enticing scrap of black silk from her body and take her hard and fast, make her his in a way she would never forget.

  ‘I think tonight calls for a toast,’ he murmured, his eyes never leaving her face as he raised his glass. ‘To us, Eden—for as long as it lasts.’

  His words caused a sliver of ice to run down Eden’s spine, but she took a sip of champagne before obediently agreeing.

  ‘For as long as it lasts,’ she said coolly, and anything else she might have said
was lost beneath the pressure of his mouth. He tasted of champagne, and her already heightened senses went into overdrive as he forced his tongue between her lips in a fierce exploration that forewarned her of his hunger and his overriding need to possess her. She was on fire for him instantly. There was no slow build-up of passion, just a whoosh, like setting a flame to tinder, and she ran her hands over him, her fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons in her feverish desperation to touch his skin. Beneath her fingertips she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t as in control as he made out, not quite the all-conquering master he portrayed, but a man enslaved by the burning passion that consumed them both.

  ‘You fill my senses until I can think of nothing but you,’ he muttered against her throat when at last he lifted his head and trailed his mouth down to the valley between her breasts. His fingers tugged impatiently at the ribbon that secured the bodice of her negligee, his hands cupping her breasts, moulding them and lifting them so that he could take first one throbbing peak, and then the other, into his mouth. ‘I want you now, cara, I can’t wait.’

  The room spun as he lifted her and laid her on the bed and she watched through half-closed eyes as he shrugged out of his shirt before coming down on top of her. She wanted him, too, wanted him with an urgency that shook her, made her forget, but as she felt him tug the negligee over her hips her memory returned with a vengeance.

  ‘I want to keep it on,’ she whispered, and heard his low growl of laughter.

  ‘Not a hope. I have spent the last four years fantasising about your body, the whiteness of your skin spread on black silk sheets, ready for me. I want to see all of you, cara, every beautiful inch of those long, sexy legs I remember so well.’ With a final tug he discarded the negligee and let his gaze roam her body. ‘Madre de Dio!’

  Eden squeezed her eyes closed. Hearing the shock in his voice was bad enough without witnessing the revulsion on his face. ‘I warned you my leg wasn’t a pretty sight,’ she said thickly, striving for a light tone and failing miserably.

  Still nothing. Rafe’s silence was worse than any kind of verbal rejection, and in an agony of despair she opened her eyes to face the look of horror in his.

  ‘You don’t have to…I mean, I’ll understand if the urge has gone,’ she quipped huskily, and his eyes darkened.

  ‘Why do you think I no longer desire you?’ he asked, and she twisted restlessly, wanting to drag her nightgown back over her body to hide her scars. ‘Do you really think these,’ he traced his finger over the scars that criss-crossed her leg, ‘would make any difference to my hunger for you?’

  ‘They’re horrible,’ Eden whispered, blinking back her tears. It was pathetic to cry, especially when she had witnessed the bravery of people with far worse injuries, but she felt so vulnerable. Rafe could take his pick from the most beautiful women in the world, why on earth would he pick her, now? ‘The surgeon said they’ll fade a little in time, but my leg’s a mess and you always were a leg man,’ she finished, unable to disguise the wobble in her voice.

  ‘I was always your man,’ Rafe told her, so forcefully that she stared at him.

  ‘Is this the reason you rejected me in London?’ he asked as realisation dawned, and Eden nodded.

  ‘I thought you would be disgusted and I couldn’t bear the fact that you would find me ugly.’ She sniffed inelegantly and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. As a passion killer it worked wonders, she thought bleakly. She felt cold and devoid of anything but a need to hide herself away to metaphorically lick her wounds, and despite Rafe’s protestations he didn’t look like a man overwhelmed by passion, either. ‘I’ll sleep in the guest suite,’ she told him, but as she went to sit up he pushed her back against the pillows.

  ‘Neither of us will be sleeping anywhere, not if I can help it,’ he informed her coolly, and she watched with wide eyes as he stood up and unzipped his trousers.

  He took his time. If it hadn’t been such an incredible idea she would have said he was doing it deliberately, stripping in front of her with slow, steady

  intent, and her mouth ran dry when he slid his boxers over his hips and stood naked and magnificently aroused.

  ‘Rafe, you don’t have to…’ Eden began and he gave a harsh laugh.

  ‘I think it’s rather obvious that I do, cara.’ He knelt at the end of the bed, lowered his head and feathered a line of kisses along the deep scar that ran the length of her shin.

  ‘Don’t,’ she pleaded, his touch making her flinch, and he stared into her eyes.

  ‘Does it hurt when I touch them?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, ‘but they’re hardly attractive.’

  ‘They’re part of you,’ he said simply, ‘and I want you, all of you. If I looked shocked when I first saw your leg, it was not through disgust, it was…’ He broke off, searching for the words. ‘…Compassion, pain, here inside.’ He held his hand against his heart. ‘I can’t bear to think of you lying somewhere, bloodied and hurt. I wasn’t there, I couldn’t help you.’

  He bent his head once more and this time she forced herself to relax as his lips anointed each scar in gentle benediction. By the time he reached the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh she was breathing hard, desire flooding through her so that she moved her hips restlessly and held her breath when he hooked his fingers around the waistband of her briefs.

  ‘You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, cara,’ he told her, and even if she had not trusted the words, the burning intensity in his dark eyes revealed the depths of his passion. A mixture of relief and joy filled her, banishing the last of her inhibitions, and she lifted her hips, enabling him to draw her knickers down over her hips.

  Her skin was creamy and satin-smooth, an erotic contrast to the black silk sheets, and Rafe surveyed her in silence for a moment, a tide of colour running along his cheekbones. ‘Four years is a long time, cara mia. Have there been many others?’ he queried, his voice such a deep, husky growl she could barely make out the words.

  She wanted to say something glib, taunt him that her tally of lovers was hardly likely to match his, but there was a curious vulnerability about the way he refused to meet her gaze and she ran her fingers over his jaw. ‘Does it matter?’ she whispered, and he shook his head.

  ‘No, you’re in my bed now and that’s all that matters.’ He allowed her to guide his face down to hers, and she smiled against his lips.

  ‘You’re the only one, Rafe, the only man I’ve ever wanted.’

  ‘The only man you’ll ever know,’ he corrected. ‘Promise me you’ll stay with me, Eden, for as long as I want you.’

  Her reply was lost beneath the force of his lips. Her admission that he was her only lover had opened the floodgates and he claimed her mouth in a devastating assault while his hands roamed her body, down over her stomach to slip between her thighs. She was ready for him, slick and wet, and he pushed her legs apart, sliding his hands beneath her bottom to lift her. He entered her slowly, his body rigid with the effort, but by her own admission it had been a long time and he wanted to give her time to accommodate him. His intentions were good, but she was so tight, felt so good, that he was afraid he would explode, and he stilled and rested his forehead against hers, his brow beaded with sweat.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, cara,’ he muttered and inhaled sharply as she wriggled experimentally beneath him.

  ‘The only way you could hurt me is if you stop,’ she assured him, and he snatched the remnants of his self-control and began to thrust, deep and slow, waiting for her to match his rhythm before he increased the pace.

  Eden clung to his shoulders as he drove into her. It was so good—she had forgotten how good—and she twisted her head from side to side, her body arching as he took her higher and higher until her muscles clenched in a spasm of pleasure that ripped through her. ‘Rafe,’ she cried brokenly as wave after wave kept coming, each powerful thrust causing her to contract around him, and he groaned, his face a taut mask
in the seconds before he shuddered with the force of his release.

  ‘You made a promise to stay for as long as I want you.’

  Eden tensed. She didn’t know what she had expected his first words to be after they had shared such mind-blowing intimacy and she opened her eyes to stare at him uncertainly. Had it all been a power game after all, and, now that he had won, was he going to tell her that she had served her purpose and he no longer wanted her? ‘Yes, I did,’ she agreed huskily, and watched as his mouth curved into a sensual smile.

  ‘I’ll want you for a long, long time,’ he warned her. ‘Maybe forever.’

  ‘Then that’s how long I’ll stay,’ she said simply, and his smile faded, his eyes darkening as he captured her lips in a kiss that held tenderness as well as passion.

  Chapter 8

  The Villa Mimosa boasted a fabulous pool, and for the last few days Eden had found plenty of time to admire it. It was a beautiful Italian summer’s day.

  Rafe’s housekeeper, Sophia, was on hand to provide tempting delicacies and her paperback was reasonably entertaining. She had everything she could possibly want, she reminded herself, ignoring the voice in her head that pointed out she didn’t have Rafe.

  He was there at night, of course. She couldn’t complain about his lack of attention in the bedroom, or his passion. He made love to her with single-minded dedication, as if he was determined to make up for the years they’d spent apart.

  In bed, nothing seemed as important as the way he made her feel, the touch of his hands and mouth on her skin, the way he took her to the very edge of ecstasy, prolonged her agony and then tipped her over. When he made love to her she became a mindless, wanton creature intent only on the giving and receiving of pleasure until she fell into a dreamless sleep in his arms.

  Sometimes he woke her in the hour before dawn by the simple method of trailing his lips over her already-sensitised skin. Then she would smile sleepily, her body instantly ready to welcome his as he entered her with slow, deep thrusts that quickly fanned the flames of her desire, but when she stirred later the bed was always empty.