by Kate Hewitt
Annoyance sparked. ‘You call this cruel?’ He took a step closer to her, noting the gold sparks in her eyes, as well as the ones firing between them. ‘How, bella, am I toying with you?’
‘You know.’ She kept her face averted, her breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. She didn’t want to say it. Admit it. And Cristiano realised he very much wanted her to.
‘I don’t know, actually. I need you to enlighten me.’
She drew a tortured breath, looking anywhere but at him. ‘Fine. You’re almost sounding as if...as if you expect me to...something to happen between us.’
‘Something is already happening between us, bella,’ Cristiano answered softly. ‘Can’t you feel it?’ He certainly could. He felt it in the tautening of the air, the heightened awareness he had of her: of every draw and tear of her breathing; the pearly sheen of her skin; the way his loins tightened when she touched her lips with her tongue.
‘I just want to go home,’ she said, her voice low. ‘This isn’t my world. I don’t belong here.’
‘You were certainly acting as if you belonged here earlier in the evening.’
Finally she looked at him, horrified realisation and hurt flashing in her aquamarine eyes. ‘You saw...?’
‘I saw everything. You on the casino floor with Rico Bavasso—practically sitting in his lap, laughing at his jokes, letting him paw you while your mother watched. She taught you well, I suppose.’
She shook her head, curls bouncing. ‘It wasn’t like that...’
‘It was exactly like that and you know it,’ he answered, a hint of steel entering his voice. ‘Now what I’m wondering is, why are you acting like an outraged virgin now?’
She let out a cry and whirled away, stalking towards the lift doors. Cristiano watched her, darkly amused, as she pushed the button.
‘You intend to go down to the lobby, to face Rico Bavasso and his security, in my dressing gown? Because that is not a tactic I’d recommend you employ. It will end badly for you. Very badly indeed.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ she said, her whole body taut and quivering, his robe trailing the ground.
‘That’s quite a risk you’re willing to take, then.’
‘And one I prefer.’
Her games were getting tiresome. What on earth did she possibly hope to gain from them? She had his interest already. Playing hard to get, or as if she were some offended innocent, was both pointless and aggravating. ‘Unfortunately it’s one I do not prefer,’ Cristiano said lazily. ‘The lift is locked, bella. You’re not going anywhere. Not until I say so.’
CHAPTER THREE
LAUREL WHIRLED AROUND, the breath leaving her lungs in one almighty whoosh. Cristiano lounged against the window, his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he were out for a summer stroll. Not as if he’d just threatened her. Not as if he’d just intimated that she was as captive in this hotel suite as she would be in Rico Bavasso’s.
‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seems,’ she managed, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Cristiano was not hiding the heat that simmered in his eyes, but she could hardly believe it. Ten years ago he’d batted her away like an annoying inconvenience. So now he wanted her, and she had no say in the matter?
‘Fire has much to recommend it.’
She stared at him, caught between confusion and outrage. Was he teasing her? She couldn’t believe that he wanted her badly enough now to keep her captive in his penthouse. She couldn’t believe he wanted her at all. He had his pick of the most beautiful and glamorous women in the world, and she was an inexperienced hick from nowhere, Illinois. What could he possibly see in her?
‘What do you want, Cristiano?’ she asked slowly, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.
He lifted his chin, his silver-grey eyes blazing, but with ice. Cold and hot at the same time—but didn’t it feel like a burn, when you touched something icy and incredibly cold? That was how Cristiano felt to her. A cold blaze of danger.
‘It’s simple,’ he said. ‘I want you.’
He couldn’t put it more plainly than that, yet still she was sceptical. ‘Why me? You could have any woman you wanted.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Why should either of us pretend otherwise? You’re in the celebrity gossip magazines often enough.’
‘Why, bella, are you keeping tabs on me?’
‘It would be hard not to, considering how often you feature in the press—and please don’t call me bella.’
‘All right. Laurel.’ He spoke quietly, with a sincerity she hadn’t heard before, his tone of voice low and heartfelt, affecting her in a way that his barely leashed looks had not. That tone left her feeling unsteady. Uncertain. And, shamefully, wanting.
‘Well?’ she demanded unsteadily. ‘Why?’
‘Why do I want you?’
‘Yes.’ She could hardly believe they were having this conversation. Cristiano’s tone made it sound as if he were chatting about the weather.
‘Why not?’ Cristian answered with a shrug.
‘That’s it? “Why not”?’ She stared at him, trying to fathom what was going on behind that inscrutable face, the negligent shrug of his powerful shoulders. Was it simply that a woman was available, a woman who he obviously assumed made free with her body, so of whom he intended to take advantage? The thought made her feel physically sick.
‘You take issue with my response?’ he enquired.
‘Yes. You’re practically threatening me—’
‘There are no threats, Laurel.’ Cristiano’s voice cut across her, quick, lethal and very, very sure. ‘Nothing I have said or done is a threat. And nothing will be.’
She flung one arm towards the lift doors. ‘And the locked doors?’
‘The last thing you want is for anyone to have free access to my flat.’
‘Because of Bavasso?’
‘I believe you underestimate him. Admittedly, he is able to turn on the charm when he wishes, but he can be a vicious man.’
She suppressed a shudder as she recalled Bavasso’s hands on her, reaching, grabbing. ‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But I still don’t appreciate feeling like a prisoner.’
‘For your own safety, as well as my own, I must take precautions. I’m sure you understand.’
He was so smooth, so aggravatingly assured, that Laurel felt her protests falling away, unspoken. Cristiano had locked the doors, yet here she was, the one who felt as though she was being unreasonable.
‘And if I insist on leaving?’ she asked. ‘What then?’
Cristiano shook his head slowly, his expression one of patently mock regret. ‘But you see, I could not live with putting a woman into potential danger on my conscience. Especially one I was once, however happenstance, related to.’
‘We were never related.’
He inclined his head in a regal nod. ‘It is as you say, of course. Stepsiblings hardly count as blood relations.’
‘And surely you exaggerate?’ Laurel persisted. She had to believe that. ‘Rico Bavasso isn’t that dangerous.’ When she’d first met him, he’d seemed charming, just as Cristiano had said: silver-haired, hazel-eyed, all smooth urbanity. Admittedly something about his assured manner had made Laurel uneasy, but her mother had seemed happy, and Laurel had just wanted her money. Shame licked through her again at the thought.
Cristiano dropped his expression of fake regret as his gaze turned startlingly serious. ‘Do you really want to take such a risk?’
Wordlessly Laurel shook her head. Bavasso had been so angry. She had no desire to run into him again, especially not any time soon.
‘How well do you know him?’ Cristiano asked. His voice was mild, even friendly, but with a ripple of darkness underneath that nearly made Laurel gulp again.
‘I don’t know him,’ she said quickly. ‘That is, not very well at all.’ She didn’t really want to go into the how and why of her acquaintance with Rico Bavasso, yet it seemed Cristiano had already assu
med the absolute worst.
Which wasn’t all that far from the truth, unfortunately—yet it felt different. It was different, at least to her. She hadn’t thought Bavasso had been interested in her.
‘You seemed as if you knew him quite well while you were on his lap, whispering in his ear,’ Cristiano said in that same awful, mild tone.
‘I wasn’t on his lap,’ she snapped.
‘Close enough.’
Laurel shook her head. ‘It wasn’t what it looked like.’
‘Funny, I think it was exactly what it looked like.’
‘You would.’ Clearly Cristiano was going to think the worst of her. And Laurel knew it had looked bad. How could she explain that she had never meant to lead Bavasso astray; that when he’d started cosying up to her she’d frozen inside, appalled and uncertain? And, with her mother smiling and nodding the whole while, she’d assumed it was all in her head, that she was being paranoid and oversensitive. If only.
‘I believe you, as a matter of interest,’ Cristiano drawled. ‘I don’t think you know him well. If you had, you would not have tangled with him so precipitously.’
‘No, I wouldn’t have,’ Laurel agreed. Had her mother known what Bavasso was capable of? Had she been in on it? Had she realised that, if Laurel had known what Bavasso really wanted, she never would have agreed to set foot in all of Italy, much less a casino in Rome? Cristiano’s casino. ‘Can I have some clothes, please?’ Her voice sounded high and thin, as if she was scared.
And she was scared—of everything, at the moment. Scared of a future she couldn’t even begin to fathom, a freedom she longed to grasp but which felt further away than ever. But she wasn’t, Laurel realised, actually scared of Cristiano. Despite his determination, his desire, she believed him. She had to believe him, believe that he wouldn’t threaten or force her to do something she didn’t want to do.
But the trouble was, he wouldn’t be forcing her. Already she felt a dark, honeyed ribbon of longing wind its way through her, melting her resistance. Already she was imagining the feel of his lips on hers. Already she was anticipating the delicious, icy burn of his touch. His caress.
‘Of course you can have some clothes,’ Cristiano answered smoothly, thankfully distracting her from her fevered imaginings. ‘As a matter of fact, I already ordered them while you were in the shower. You seem to think I am some sort of brute, Laurel, which I confess I find a bit ironic, considering the man you just fled. I hope the contrast between us is more than apparent.’
It was. Oh, it was. Laurel didn’t trust herself to answer so she turned away, walking towards the windows, taking in the incredible view.
She heard Cristiano move and then she felt him come up behind her. Her breath froze in her lungs and her heart felt suspended in her chest. Every nerve was strung tight, every sense on overload. And he wasn’t even touching her.
Then Cristiano laid a hand on her shoulder. Even through the thick terrycloth robe she felt the press of his palm like a brand, a burn, and it took everything she had not to respond—although she didn’t even know how she would. Move closer or further away? Her body would betray her.
‘I should tell you now,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘That I abhor game playing of any kind. Every transaction I’ve had with a woman has been straightforward and intensely pleasurable. So, if you think you can gain something more from me than what I have already offered by playing the coy miss, think again.’
He squeezed her shoulder lightly, a warning, while Laurel’s mind spun. Everything he’d said was offensive, appalling. She didn’t even know how to begin to respond. A transaction? Intensely pleasurable? Coy miss? She nearly choked with affront at it all.
‘What exactly are you offering?’ she finally asked in a shaky voice when she’d managed to kick her mind back into gear and could form at least one coherent sentence. ‘Out of curiosity?’
* * *
At last, a straightforward question. And he would give a straightforward response. Finally they were getting somewhere.
‘My protection,’ Cristiano said as he stepped away from her, deciding he needed a little space to stay cool and level-headed. When he’d been standing behind her he’d inhaled her scent, something light and fresh, a hint of lemon and violets. He’d felt her heat, warm and seductive, and the desire to slip the robe from her shoulders and feel the silky skin underneath had been so strong his palms had itched. His body had ached.
‘Your protection?’ she repeated. He couldn’t quite gauge her tone, veering between tremulous and infuriated.
‘From Bavasso.’
She stayed where she stood, staring out at the darkness, a slight, slender figure swathed in dark blue. ‘Do I really need protection?’
‘For a short time, yes.’
‘And how can you protect me? By keeping me here?’
‘Initially, yes. Bavasso is like a child with a toy when it comes to women. The best way to get him to forget you is for you to be seen to belong to someone else.’ He paused, waiting for that to sink in, then continued, ‘Bavasso enjoys the use of my hotels and casinos. If he discovers that you are with me, he will not pursue you.’ Bavasso was a vicious man, but only with those weaker than him. Cristiano was confident Bavasso would not bother with Laurel once he realised she was off-limits. And he very much intended her to be off-limits...to anyone but him.
‘With you?’ Laurel’s jaw hardened, her mouth set in a line as she continued to stare out into the night. ‘Is that a euphemism?’
‘It is fact.’ Their affair was only a matter of time. Surely she realised that? Surely she felt it in the desire that shimmered and pulsed between them, an energy force neither of them could deny?
‘And so I exchange one man’s unwanted attention for another.’ She spoke flatly and Cristiano prickled with irritation. He did not believe his attention was so unwanted.
‘Again you are comparing me with Bavasso, and I will remind you of the contrast.’
‘Oh, you’re certainly more attractive,’ Laurel said as she turned around, true bitterness spiking her words. ‘I’ll grant you that. Although, Bavasso is good-looking in that “silver fox” kind of way.’ She tossed the words out, but beneath the blaze of anger he felt they’d cost her. ‘And your...seduction would no doubt be far more assured and deft,’ she added. ‘But it still amounts to the same thing.’
‘It does not.’ His whole body was twanging with both indignation and awareness. How dared she compare him to sly, sleek Bavasso? And how could he want her now, more than ever, when she was verbally repelling him as best she could?
Laurel lifted her chin, her eyes flashing blue-green fire. ‘Tell me how it doesn’t, then.’
Cristiano stared at her for a long moment, his jaw clenched, fists too. He felt angry, aware and wanting. ‘I told you before, I do not threaten. I certainly do not force. Trust me on that, Laurel.’
‘Why should I trust you on anything?’ she challenged. ‘And, in any case, there are different kinds of coercion.’ She looked away, a flush staining her cheeks, her teeth sinking provocatively into her full lower lip. Realisation dawned and bloomed inside him, making him smile. She wasn’t afraid of him forcing her. She was afraid she wouldn’t need to be forced.
‘Coercion?’ he asked softly. ‘Or seduction?’
She drew a shuddering breath, lifting her chin and tossing her hair back, forcing herself to meet his knowing gaze. Because he did know—he knew that she wanted him, just as he wanted her. Why she was fighting the attraction, however, remained a mystery. Was she holding out for more? ‘What else do you offer?’ she asked. ‘Besides protection?’
‘Pleasure.’ He watched her eyes flare, but to her credit she held his gaze. ‘Of that you can be certain.’
‘You are appallingly arrogant.’
‘Merely sure.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘And how long would this...arrangement between us last?’
‘As long as I want it to.’ He felt the first flickers of triumph, m
ingled with a strange and unsettling disappointment. After all her maidenly outrage, Laurel was acting exactly as he’d expected her to, needed her to...and he found he didn’t quite like it.
‘And how long would that be, do you think?’ she asked. Her eyes flashed and her lips trembled, fury and fear mingled together. ‘Judging from what I’ve read in the tabloids, your mistresses don’t last more than a week. And we are talking about me becoming your mistress, aren’t we? That’s the position I’m being interviewed for, isn’t it?’
‘Call it what you like.’ He’d had straightforward discussions with previous mistresses, but for some reason they hadn’t felt quite like this: so cold and mercenary. Although, mercenary was exactly how he’d always wanted to be, especially when it came to women. Any softer emotion, never mind actual love, was for fools. Fools like his father, who had been both fleeced and heartbroken by grasping women like Laurel’s mother and the wife before her. As for his own mother...
‘So for how long?’ she asked, a catch in her voice. ‘Roughly?’
Cristiano’s eyes narrowed. ‘For as long as it takes for Bavasso to be satisfied that you’re off-limits.’ And as long as he still wanted her.
‘It’s my safety you’re thinking of, is it?’
Now he was getting seriously irritated. ‘Among other things.’
‘How kind of you,’ she drawled, and he could not mistake her sarcasm. He watched her walk across the room, the sash of his robe trailing the ground, her long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked like a young, hesitant queen and, in spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, for a moment he admired her.
‘Your safety is important to me,’ he said, ‘whether you believe it or not.’
‘Why should it be? I doubt you even thought of me once in the last ten years.’
‘Then you thought wrong.’
She stilled at his tone, which was quieter and more sincere than he’d meant it to be. ‘Any thoughts you’ve had of me can’t have been good ones,’ she said, her tone as quiet as his, and equally sincere. ‘Can they?’