The Flaw in Raffaele's Revenge (Harlequin Presents)

by Annie West

  He shook his head and this time she thought she read a softening in that bright gaze.

  ‘There’s every need, Lily.’ He leaned forward so his breath feathered her lips. As if on cue, her eyelids lowered in anticipation of his kiss. Even angry and hurt, she couldn’t help responding.

  What she hadn’t expected was for him to kiss not her lips but her cheek. Her maimed, ugly cheek.

  She reared back, pushing him away, but he was already there, lips skimming her temple, pressing her ravaged face. Not feather-light touches either. These were real, deliberate. She felt each caress as if branded. Everywhere from her cheekbone to her jaw, the corner of her mouth and out towards her ear. There wasn’t a centimetre Raffaele didn’t touch.

  Lily’s breath clogged. She couldn’t twist away; his powerful body and hands held her still.

  Pain built behind her ribs, rising in her throat to scratch the back of her mouth.

  Finally, finally he lifted his head and the air rushed from her in an audible whoosh, collapsing lungs on fire till she drew in another breath, this one redolent of spice and musk and Raffaele.

  It was too much. More than Lily could take. Moisture pricked the back of her eyes, her throat constricting.

  On a surge of desperate energy she shoved him with both hands. She must have taken him by surprise because he fell back long enough for her to tug away, half-sitting, dragging her hair out from between them. She grabbed the sheet and—

  ‘Stop running away.’

  Lily stilled, closing her eyes as she sought something like calm.

  ‘I’m not running. I just don’t appreciate you pretending...’

  ‘Pretending what? To be attracted to you? To not be fazed by the fact you’ve got a mark on your face?’

  A mark! As if it were a mole or a smudge instead of a stonking great—

  ‘Yes!’ The word hissed from her as she rounded to face him. Gilded by the morning light, rumpled and angry and utterly gorgeous—the sight of him cleaved a shard of pain through her middle. ‘I don’t want you pretending anymore. Even though I appreciate what you did last night. Don’t think I don’t.’

  She’d expected something hurried and perfunctory. Instead she’d been gifted with a night that dazzled her senses and made her poor heart ache even harder for something she couldn’t have.

  ‘You’re a slow learner, Lily. How many times do I have to prove I don’t give a damn for your scar?’ He paused, his scrutiny so intense she felt it track over her. Then he shook his head. ‘You’re hiding behind that, aren’t you? You’re using that as an excuse.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Desperate, she swung away, shifting closer to the edge of the bed.

  ‘It’s easier to pretend it’s your scar holding you back, than that you’re holding yourself back from living. Because you’re a coward.’

  Lily froze. Even her heart seemed to stall.

  What did this man want from her?

  How many times did she have to prove herself?

  She’d left her refuge and crossed the globe at his insistence. She’d worn the clothes he’d ordered. She’d swam for the first time in years. She’d sat out in public, baring her face and body to all those curious eyes. From the first there’d been something about him that dared her to live up to his expectations. As if he knew she was stronger than even she realised.

  And now she’d given him her virginity—begged him to take it, abandoning herself utterly.

  ‘You’re pushing me away because you don’t want to admit you want more from me.’

  Lily squeezed her eyes shut, letting her head sink towards her chest.

  How did he know? Was she so transparent?

  ‘Why do you say that?’ That croak of a voice wasn’t her own.

  ‘Because I feel the same.’

  Stunned, Lily spun round. Raffaele’s eyes were serious, his mouth grim. As if she got to him as he did her!

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  His bark of laughter scratched like clawing fingernails up her spine. ‘Neither do I. But I know this. I’m not ready to walk away from you, and I don’t believe you’re ready to do that either. This...attraction between us isn’t anywhere near over.’

  Lily frowned, hope and horror vying for supremacy. ‘You don’t sound thrilled about it.’

  ‘It wasn’t what I planned.’

  Slowly she nodded. She understood having a plan and sticking with it. Goals, achievements, more goals. It was how she lived her life. Nice and orderly.

  Until Raffaele had woken her in the middle of the night with that heartbreaker of a voice. Ever since, she’d been living out of her comfort zone.

  And enjoying it, she realised. He’d dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of her refuge and into...life, with its risks and fears and triumphs. He hadn’t treated her gently. He’d challenged and instinctively she’d responded.

  A firm hand covered her fist where she still held her hair, caught in a long twist.

  ‘Maybe it’s time to let go a little. Do something unplanned and see where it leads.’

  Was he talking to himself or her?

  ‘I dare you,’ he murmured.

  ‘What? To have an affair?’ She sounded so prim. So uptight. So unlike the woman who’d melted to his touch.

  Raffaele leaned closer, his wide shoulders hemming her in. ‘I don’t care what you call it but I want more of it. Of you. Unless you’re frightened.’

  Of course she was frightened. Who knew what would happen if she gave in to her weakness for this man, not just for a night but longer?

  A shimmy of heat flared in her stomach. Excitement. Desire. Greed.

  And something else in the region of her heart. It couldn’t really be love. Not after such a short time. Not for a man so patently not for her in the long-term.

  But in the short-term...

  ‘I’m not scared.’ At least her voice didn’t shake.

  A smile lurked in the grooves at the corners of his mouth. ‘Prove it. Now.’

  Abruptly he released her and rolled onto his back, spreadeagled across the rumpled sheets. With languid grace he lifted his arms to rest his head on his hands.

  He was unashamedly virile. Her gaze traced the dip and bulge of muscle and bone, the jut of his erection, the glint of golden hair and the flash of sapphire as he cast her a sideways glance.

  ‘Put your hair up out of the way.’

  Lily hated being ordered to do anything. Yet Raffaele’s throaty growl was the most delicious thing she’d ever heard. And it told her what she felt was shared. Heat catapulted through her.

  One-handed, she groped across the bedside table, finding a couple of hairpins. Seconds later her hair was pinned up haphazardly.

  ‘And a condom. On the table.’ The growl grew deeper.

  She turned, saw an unopened foil packet in the litter and felt that throb of need again. Her hand was unsteady as she tore it open.

  Who’d have thought twenty-four hours ago that she’d be doing this? Shocked laughter trembled on her lips, only to die as she turned back and saw Raffaele watching. He looked relaxed as a cat, sprawled in the sun, yet the atmosphere was taut with expectation.

  She opened her mouth to say she’d never put on a condom before, then realised it was superfluous. Raffaele knew and was challenging her to deal with it.

  Biting her cheek, she shuffled across the bed, bashful despite the sizzle in her blood. Kneeling over him, she concentrated on her task, diverted by the feel of him, silk over steel. Inevitably she fumbled, hearing his intake of breath.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’ An upwards glance caught his jaw clenched and nostrils flared as if in pain.

  ‘Absolutely not. Just—’ he paused to swallow ‘—finish what you’re doing.’

  This time, as she smoothed the sheath down, she watched his face and realised it was arousal creating that stark look on his face and turning the thighs beneath her to granite.

  She, Lily Nolan, was seducing Raffaele Pe
tri, luring him to the brink of control. He wanted her here, wanted her touch, even if it was a little clumsy. Wanted her.

  Warmth spread through her body, like sunlight coursing through darkness.

  Lily rose on her knees and shuffled forward. Still he didn’t move, though the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed. She hesitated, wishing he’d help her, give a suggestion, but of course there was none. This was about her taking charge. The notion was decadently tempting.

  Lily held him, bracing one hand on the bed. A familiar hot spice scent filled her nostrils. His scent, she realised, not some bottled fragrance. It lured, beckoned, as if she wasn’t already in his thrall.

  Slowly she lowered herself till they touched. She caught fire in Raffaele’s bluer than blue eyes and the quick throb of a pulse in his throat. Then, watching him watch her, she eased down, eyes widening at the slow, inexorable, amazing sense of him filling her.

  It was like last night only different. Exquisite closeness, a fullness that seemed greater than the physical act of sex. It filled her heart, making her blink from an excess of emotion.

  Lily felt the sun on her scarred cheek, saw her lover’s gaze drink her in and the look in his eyes made her feel triumphant, special, even beautiful.

  If she could bottle this moment she would. But already it was over, the breathless stillness giving way to restlessness as she moved against him, her eyelids flickering as flames licked inside her. Raffaele’s hands went to her hips, steadying her when she quivered and hesitated, yet letting her set her own rhythm.

  In the morning light she was fascinated to read the signs of his arousal. The clench of a muscle in his jaw, the way his chest heaved high, his stifled gasp when she changed her angle and his hips rose, driving them harder together.

  Delight beckoned, but so did the idea of pleasing Raffaele, returning at least a little of the bliss he’d given her last night.

  Planting hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward. His gaze riveted on the swing of her breasts, the gleam in his eyes as powerfully arousing as the sensation of their bodies sliding together in perfect harmony.

  Lily grabbed one of his hands and planted it on her breast. Instantly his fingers moulded, kneading, not gently but enough to send pleasure rocketing through her. Her movements quickened, more staccato than smooth, but it didn’t matter because Raffaele’s thrusts kept pace, faster, stronger, more abrupt.

  Again that fierce triumph filled her. This was something she could do for him. Lily snagged Raffaele’s other hand, pressed it against her breast, holding his hands in place with both of hers.

  His mouth sagged as he fought for air, the tendons in his neck standing proud. That big, strong body was trembling, on the brink, and it was more exciting than anything that had gone before.

  Lily leaned down, holding his gaze. When she was so close she felt his breath hot on her lips she whispered, ‘I want to watch you come, Raffaele.’

  There was an instant of silence. His heavy-lidded eyes blinked wide then she felt it, the out-of-control buck of his body, the rushed surge inside her turning into a pulsating thrust that ignited the embers of her own climax. There was a muted growl that turned into a rolling roar. His hands kneaded her breasts, sending bolts of rapture from her nipples to her womb where the fire burst its bounds, devouring her as it devoured him.

  Together they jerked and shook and shuddered and through it all she was lost in his azure gaze, reading awe that matched her own.

  It was only as she collapsed, muscles failing in the wake of such a potent climax, that Raffaele shifted his grip, pulling her head down to his. He bestowed a kiss that tasted different to any they’d shared. It was slow and tender and, as she gave herself up to it, Lily realised the last of her defences had shattered.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  RAFFA LOOKED ACROSS the wide veranda of the plantation house to the man he was here to meet.

  The man he was here to ruin.

  Triumph stirred. Soon Gabriella would be avenged.

  Yet he found it difficult to relish the moment when he was distracted by guilt.

  He’d made a mistake bringing Lily with him, despite her desire to see the place. He shouldn’t have subjected her to Bradshaw. The man’s first startled look at her face had morphed into distaste before he belatedly put on a smarmy smile of welcome and became excruciatingly over-solicitous.

  It had made Raffa want to throttle him. But beside him Lily had merely stiffened, her face turning mask-like. Raffa knew her well enough now to realise that mask hid hurt but she wouldn’t thank him for interfering.

  ‘It’s a lovely old house,’ she murmured. ‘I particularly like the full-length windows and shutters.’

  Bradshaw smiled expansively and launched into a monologue about the property.

  Its bones were beautiful but it had been let go. Paint peeled on the shutters and even from here Raffa could see blank spaces inside where furniture and paintings had been emptied from the sitting room.

  If it had been his family home Raffa would have cherished it, not left it to crumble and fade.

  The thought caught him up short.

  What a joke. Raffa had inherited nothing except his face. And the family trait. Everyone in his old neighbourhood knew the Petri women were saints, suffering long and stoically. For the Petri men were renowned sinners, handsome rogues who enticed beautiful women into motherhood and occasionally matrimony, then abandoned them. Sordid—that was what they were.

  No wonder he’d ended up as he had.

  ‘Sorry?’ He caught Bradshaw leaning forward in his seat, obviously repeating something.

  ‘Mr Bradshaw was offering you a tour of the house.’ Lily’s voice had a husky edge that reminded him what they’d been doing just an hour ago.

  Bradshaw was unable to hide his eagerness. ‘Or perhaps we should go inside and get straight down to business. Leave the ladies to themselves.’ His toothy grin widened as a woman wafted through the French doors onto the veranda as if on cue.

  Raffa noted her studied pose, her sinuous walk, and felt recognition stir. Blonde, tanned and overdressed, she flashed a diamond bracelet and a come-hither smile.

  Olga Antakova. One-time model and would-be trophy mistress.

  ‘Raffa. It’s been ages.’ Her voice purred but her eyes were ice chips. No doubt she was remembering the way he’d bundled her out of his limo the night he’d found her there in nothing but a fur coat and aspirations to live as a pampered sex toy.

  ‘Olga.’ He inclined his head. ‘This is Lily Nolan.’ His voice was warm as he said Lily’s name and the blonde’s eyes widened.

  ‘How do you do, Ms Antakova. Or should I call you Olga?’ Lily shot him an impatient look as if wondering why he wasn’t already off, closing the deal with Bradshaw.

  Lily could be almost as single-minded as him. Raffa admired that. He enjoyed the way her mind worked, the unexpected depths she brought to any discussion. Almost as much as the way she all but purred her pleasure when he touched her.

  He rose, telling himself it was stupid to delay here, feeling protective. He knew Lily could look after herself.

  Deliberately he put down his glass and turned to the man he’d been pursuing for so long. It was time to put his offer on the table. ‘Lead on, Bradshaw.’

  * * *

  Olga was speaking, reminiscing about an opulent society event where she’d played a starring role. Lily tuned out, realising all she had to do was murmur occasional encouragement.

  She’d been nervous on the way across the island, wondering if she’d hold her own with Robert Bradshaw and his guests. Even knowing she looked her best in her new dress, she’d been daunted. Despite her growing confidence, she still didn’t like meeting strangers and the thought of a crowd filled her with nerves. But she’d been determined not to hide away as she’d once have done. Besides, there were only two people here, and Raffaele was with her.

  Should she be worried that made her so happy?

  This...relationship was
short-term, she knew that. Yet being with him, feeling valued as an equal and especially as a woman, gave her a new perspective and a new confidence.

  Thanks to Raffaele for daring her to confront her fears. With him she was a woman capable of anything. Even bringing the sexiest, most powerful man she’d ever met to trembling desperation.

  So what if Bradshaw averted his eyes from her face? As for Olga, she’d dismiss any woman who wasn’t as glamorous as herself.

  What concerned Lily was Raffaele. Behind the confident air she’d read deep-seated tension. Was this deal really so vital? Bizarrely she’d wanted to grab Raffaele’s hand and reassure him. As if he weren’t perfectly able to deal with a lightweight like Bradshaw.

  ‘So, Raffa is your boss?’ Olga didn’t wait for her answer but kept talking. Obviously she couldn’t conceive of Lily as his lover.

  Lily shifted in her chair, imagining how she must look to the glamorous Russian, her damaged face in stark contrast to Raffaele’s male beauty.

  Then the twist of silver around her wrist caught her eye. Raffaele had presented her with the bangle to go with the dress she’d bought on impulse. It was simple yet elegant and she loved it. It felt like a talisman, reminding her how unexpectedly wonderful her world had become.

  It was the first time anyone had bought her jewellery. The first time she’d felt comfortable adorning herself. It had felt momentous, a symbol of a bright new start.

  But mostly she’d been thrilled by Raffaele’s expression when he gave it to her. Not only approval but—

  ‘You two work closely together?’ Olga drained her glass and leaned back languidly. Yet there was nothing languid about her eyes. They were like a cat’s, watchful, hungry.

  ‘He must trust you to bring you here.’ Olga lifted her hand to play with her tousled curls and the band of diamonds around her wrist sparkled in the sunlight. ‘You must know if he’s ready yet to do a deal with dear Robert.’

  Was the woman really so naive as to expect her to betray a confidence?

  Olga leaned forward, her voice dropping. ‘Robert’s been so reasonable. He even offered a forty-five per cent share of the resort.’ She shook her head. ‘If Raffa is interested he’d better move fast. Others are interested too.’