It was concerning. He didn’t want to want anything at all.
He gritted his teeth, for the first time in a long while considering denying himself. Because he shouldn’t care if she didn’t touch him or kiss him, or get that delicious body on his. It shouldn’t matter to him in the slightest.
If it doesn’t matter, why are you even thinking of refusing her?
Dante had no answer to that.
He smiled, though for the first time in years it felt forced, more like a grimace than a smile. And he tried to make himself sound nonchalant. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, kitten. Come closer and let me see you.’
And perhaps she heard the strained note in his voice, because an expression that looked an awful lot like satisfaction flickered over her lovely face. Then she moved back over to the bed, clearly in no hurry at all, and looked at him very deliberately, the same way he’d looked at her. She was flushed now, the pink extending down her throat and over the pale curves of her breasts, and it deepened as her gaze dropped to where he was hard and ready and aching.
And stayed there.
Electricity crackled the length of his body.
What the hell was she doing to him? He didn’t let himself get like this, not with anyone.
‘I can get hard for any woman,’ he murmured lazily, trying to keep the hoarse note out of the words. ‘But it’ll take more than you being naked to get me off.’
She gave him a brief, scorching glance. ‘Who says I want to get you off? Maybe I just want to play with you.’
Sneaky kitten. So this was a power play, was it? She’d seen the general state he was in and thought she could take advantage, clearly.
Well, she could try. He might be finding it a tad more difficult to be his usual cool self, but when it came to bedroom power games he was the master. Even cuffed to the bed.
‘Obviously I’m not going to object to that.’ He let his voice get lower, become seductive. ‘But, if you want to play, you’d better know what you’re doing.’
‘Who’s to say that I don’t?’ She reached out and stroked lightly over the hard ridge just behind his fly.
More electricity crackled along his nerve-endings, the light brush of her fingertips maddening. Dante ignored the sensation. Instead, he gazed at her from beneath his lashes, letting the look in his eyes burn hot.
She was inexperienced—that kiss she’d given him had proved it well enough—and even though it wasn’t something he’d normally use to his advantage, given the circumstances, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
‘That kiss for a start.’ He let his gaze roam over her, blatantly sexual. ‘Best to know what you’re getting into, darling. I’m a lot for a little kitten to handle.’
A deep-blue spark glittered in her eyes as she stroked him yet again. ‘You’re very arrogant for a man tied to a bed.’
‘And you’re very confident for a virgin.’
The deep pink flush staining her skin became scarlet, gilt lashes sweeping down, veiling her gaze and hiding her expression. And he was conscious of a very particular kind of satisfaction spreading through him. Firstly, for guessing right and, secondly, for the fact that he was perhaps the first man she’d ever touched like this. The first man with whom she’d ever been naked.
He normally steered clear of virgins, as he wasn’t a man an innocent should get entangled with, but he couldn’t deny that for some reason he liked the thought of this particular woman being a virgin. He liked it very much.
A virgin with a gun. How...intriguing.
‘Don’t be embarrassed, darling,’ he said, watching her intently. ‘Even I was a virgin once.’ Though, thinking back, he honestly couldn’t remember how or when he’d lost it.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then suddenly she lifted her head and moved to the bed, climbing on top of it and straddling him. The weight of her was slight, but the heat of her bare skin seeping through his clothes was astonishing.
His breath caught as the blatant sweetness of her perfume surrounded him, but underneath that was something light and fresh, combined with the musk of feminine arousal.
Pretty, pretty kitten.
She rose above him, the pressure of her body against his groin an agony, the sway of her lovely breasts making his mouth go dry. Her skin was glowing, a sheen of perspiration at her throat, the look in her eyes all fire and challenge.
There was not a hint of shyness in her, or at least none that she let him see.
‘I’m not embarrassed.’ She reached for the top button of his shirt. ‘Why would I be?’
Her naked heat had sharpened his hunger while her refusal to back down ignited something far hotter. Something he’d thought he’d killed long ago.
His determination to win.
He smiled, allowing some of his sexual hunger to show. ‘No reason at all. But if you want to play with me then I do suggest learning the rules of the game first.’ He paused. ‘You don’t want to lose on your first try, do you?’
For the merest second an uncertain expression flickered over her face. Then it was gone.
‘But I’m not going to lose,’ she said coolly, pulling open the buttons on his shirt one by one then spreading open the white cotton, baring his chest. ‘I might be a virgin, but I’m not stupid. And a man is only a man.’ She pressed her palms to his skin, the heat of her touch like a brand, her blue eyes burning into his. ‘Like you said, Mr Cardinali. You’re at my mercy. And there’s nothing you can do about it.’
* * *
Dante laughed that intensely sexy laugh of his, the sound heating everything inside her to boiling point, making her skin feel hot and tight, as though she wanted to claw it off and step out of it.
He was giving her the most blatantly sexual look from underneath his lashes, all liquid darkness and heat, and the feel of his muscular, powerful body made her lose all her breath.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Biting him, taking off her dress, touching him, was supposed to tease him, taunt him with what he couldn’t have. Prove her strength to him and also punish him for making her lose her nerve so badly.
And yet the only one feeling as if all of this was a punishment was her.
She hadn’t expected that bite to ignite something inside her. She hadn’t expected his mouth to be quite so soft or for him to taste quite so delicious, like dark chocolate, fine whisky and all the seven sins rolled up into one.
She hadn’t expected the way he’d looked at her naked body to make her feel as if she was going to burn to ash where she stood. Or that touching the hard length that pressed against the wool of his trousers would feel so astonishingly good.
She hadn’t expected the intense throb between her thighs to be quite so demanding either.
Damn him. This was supposed to be a strong moment for her, not one where she felt as though she were standing naked in the path of an oncoming storm with nothing to protect her.
You’ve only got yourself to blame.
It was true. Sadly. She’d been the one who’d decided to bite him, to kiss him, to get naked and touch him. And now here she was, sitting on top of him, completely at the mercy of the desire inside her that had gripped her by the throat and wouldn’t let go.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sexual desire was supposed to be another of the weaknesses she’d cut out of her life. And yet his bronze skin beneath her palms was so smooth, the muscle under that so very, very hard, and all she wanted to do was press harder, test his strength, spread her fingers out and soak in all his heat.
But the hidden glints of gold in his dark eyes held her completely hypnotised and she couldn’t look away.
‘Poor kitten.’ His voice was rough and deep, the rich amusement in it like a caress against her skin. ‘You don’t understand, do you? I’m not at your mercy. You’re at mine.’
It seemed a ridiculously ar
rogant thing to say, when he was the one on his back and cuffed to the bed. Yet...
He was fluid and powerful underneath her, and hard, like granite carved direct from a mountain. She could see that power beneath her hands, feel it in the tight coil of his muscles and in the heat running through his body. It was there in his eyes too, an arrogant certainty of his power that made her want to tremble.
She felt that certainty within herself, in the desire that wound through her, exposing her. In the way her breath came short and fast, and in the relentless throb of heat between her thighs. In the tightness of her skin and the acute awareness of every part of her that touched him and every part of her that didn’t. In the delicious, warm scent of him that made her mouth water and her heart beat faster.
You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.
Stella shoved the thought from her head. There was only one answer to that and that was simply to be stronger. She had to be if she was to overcome the insidious dragging need to surrender to him and the relentless pressure of her desire.
Dante Cardinali had seemed to be a simple man. A man driven by the single-minded pursuit of pleasure, a slave to any pretty face that came his way.
But it wasn’t him who was the slave. It was her.
‘No,’ she whispered, both to him and to herself. ‘I’m not at anyone’s mercy.’
‘Prove it, then.’ Deep in the velvet darkness of his eyes, golden fire burned. ‘Get off me and walk away. Put on your dress and leave this room.’ His hips lifted as he said the words, the hard length behind the wool of his trousers brushing up against the soft, sensitive tissues of her sex.
Pleasure bolted like lightning straight through her and she couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped.
‘Do it.’ His voice was rough with heat. ‘If you think you can.’
She could. Of course she could.
Except he was moving subtly against her and the rhythmic pressure against that aching place between her thighs was making her shiver with delight. She’d denied herself many things in the quest to become better and stronger than the girl who’d betrayed her own brother into prison, and that included physical pleasure. She hadn’t thought she’d missed out on anything, but...
Get off him. Walk out. Deny him. That’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?
Of course it was. And, yes, she would get off him. Right now.
Except...the heat of him, and the power of his body beneath her, and the gentle rocking of his hips were all mesmerizing and she didn’t want it to stop.
You have to do something.
He wasn’t expecting her to get off him. That was obvious. He was expecting her to stay, to be at his mercy, exactly as he’d said. And her body simply wasn’t going to let her leave. Which meant she was going to have to do something else to prove her strength.
She shifted back on him, shivering at the brush of the fabric of his trousers against her. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled at the buttons of his fly.
He stilled, his big, rangy body tensing beneath her. ‘Oh, kitten,’ he breathed. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
She ignored him, tugging down his zip and reaching inside his boxers. Her fingers closed around him and she blinked, her breath sticking in her throat at the feel of him in her hand. So long and hard and hot.
She pulled the fabric away from him, staring at the length she held in her hand, completely fascinated.
‘Stella.’ Her name this time, in a rough and hungry growl. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
But it was too late. Backing down was an impossibility. It would make this entire evening an even bigger disaster, not to mention reveal the depths of her weakness, and she’d already revealed more of that than she wanted to when she’d put down her gun.
She lifted her gaze to his, the molten heat in his dark eyes making lightning crackle in her blood. ‘What did you want me to prove again?’ It was another challenge and she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she lifted her hips and fitted that hard shaft of his against the entrance to her body. Then she lowered herself down on him.
The feel of him pushing inside her was exquisite. There was no pain, only a wonderful stretching sensation and a pressure that tore a groan from her throat.
His smile vanished, his mouth twisting into a snarl, a rough, masculine sound breaking from him as she slid down on him even further.
Then she had to move and she was helpless to stop herself, the urge overwhelming. Rising and falling on him, at first hesitant and uncertain, then finding a rhythm. He’d gone silent, his hips lifting with hers, the fierce hunger on his beautiful face holding her captive.
They stared at each other as pleasure began to unwind in a shining cord, wrapping around both of them and pulling tight. Getting tighter. Then tighter still.
Stella braced herself with her hands on his chest, the world narrowing down to the rock-hard body under hers and the astonishingly good push-pull of him inside her...to the coil of pleasure that was tightening and tightening and tightening.
Her skin felt raw and over-sensitive, the desperation inside her growing teeth. She hadn’t thought sex would be like this, that she’d be so feverish and hungry. That she’d be so desperate.
The room was cool and yet she’d broken out into a sweat, her palms damp on his chest. A moan escaped her, because somehow he was dictating the pace now, the movement of his hips faster, her body trying to catch up, chasing some kind of glory she didn’t understand and which agonisingly kept moving out of reach.
‘Touch yourself,’ he murmured, his rich voice rough with dark heat, no trace of the polished playboy in it now. ‘Do it now.’
And she found herself obeying him without hesitation, driven by her own hunger, moving her hand between her thighs and touching her own slick flesh. And as she did so he lifted his hips, thrusting up hard into her.
Pleasure suddenly detonated like a bomb, and she cried out, throwing back her head, feeling herself come apart in the most incredible blaze of light.
Dimly she felt his body tense, another roughened growl escaping him, but she couldn’t seem to focus on that, not when her whole body was busy being flooded with such sharp, intense ecstasy.
As it faded, she fell forward onto his hard chest and for a second or two simply relaxed there, her cheek against his hot skin, breathing in the delicious scent of sandalwood, salt and musk. It was like lying on a rock in the sun and she wanted to close her eyes and drift, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The sound was reassuring in some way, as powerful and enduring as the sea...
‘Kitten,’ Dante Cardinali said, his deep voice echoing through her.
The delicious warmth was fading, the feeling of reassurance going out like the tide, leaving her cold and shaking, and not in a good way.
Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up and met the darkness of his gaze staring back.
What have you done? You were supposed to kill him, not get into power games. And you definitely weren’t supposed to have sex with him.
Shame flooded through her, crushing her. This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
‘Stella,’ Dante said.
But she couldn’t stand being in this room a second longer, surrounded by the ruins of her mission and the evidence of her weakness.
She slid off him, pulling on her dress and underwear with shaking hands, pausing only to grab the little clutch she’d brought with her. Then she moved quickly to the door on legs that felt as if they might give way at any moment.
‘Stella,’ Dante repeated, more forcefully this time.
But she didn’t turn. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
She opened the door and fled, the sound of him roaring her name one last time ringing in her ears.
CHAPTER THREE
‘WHAT DO YOU THINK, Dante?’ E
nzo asked. ‘Do we want to go with Tokyo on this one or stick with the New York office’s plans?’
Dante wasn’t listening, too busy restlessly pacing around in front of the windows of the boardroom in Cardinal Developments’ London office. Rain pelted against the glass, obscuring the view of the city below but, just as he wasn’t listening to his brother, he wasn’t paying much attention to the view either.
He was in England with Enzo to work out some of the details of a new project in the City, which had been hijacked by some disagreement between their people in New York and Tokyo, and quite frankly he didn’t have the patience for either thing right now.
Not when his head was full of Stella Montefiore.
It had been over a month since she’d left him cuffed to a bed in that hotel room in Monte Carlo, running out on him mere minutes after the most unexpectedly intense sexual experience of his life, and to say he was annoyed about it would be to understate things massively.
He wasn’t simply annoyed. He was furious.
And he wasn’t furious that she’d not only drugged him and cuffed him but then tried to kill him. No, he was furious firstly because she’d run out without even a thank you, and secondly because, try as he might, he simply could not stop thinking about her.
That brief moment of excitement and pleasure should have been more than enough for him. After all, there were a great many other lovely women in the world, so he shouldn’t be fixating or caring about one particular woman.
But for some reason he hadn’t been able to stop.
For weeks all he’d thought about was the feel of her tight, wet heat around him and the scent of her arousal, the unbelievable pleasure that had licked up his spine the moment she’d lowered herself down on him.
Of the challenging look in her beautiful eyes as her fingers had closed around him, upping the ante on their little game in a way he hadn’t expected. Or the way that look had turned to wonder as she’d lowered herself down on him and the heat and the pleasure between them had taken hold.
Claiming His One-Night Child Page 3