by Maisey Yates
“No. I didn’t.”
She shifted slightly beneath his touch and a surge of warmth shot from their point of contact straight down to his gut.
“But you let her think you might,” Gabriella continued, her voice soft. “Right now, you’re touching me and we both know that you’ll never—”
She didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. Whether it was the challenge in her voice, the bold statement that he would never, or the softness of her hand beneath his, he didn’t know.
Whatever the reason, he halted her words with his mouth against hers, kissing her hard, hard enough that he hoped it would make the wallflower bloom. That it would show she wasn’t that wrong.
It was everything else.
But she was so warm, so soft, he forgot his goal almost immediately as it entered his mind.
She froze beneath his lips, her body stiff, rigid. She didn’t return the kiss, rather she simply sat, motionless, shocked. She was soft. Indescribably so.
He moved away from her, his heart pounding heavily, his shaft as hard as iron. How long had it been since the simple meeting of mouths had had such a strong effect on his body? Since he was fifteen, sixteen? Perhaps never.
She hadn’t even parted her lips for him. Hadn’t softened beneath him. Hadn’t succumbed in any way, and yet he felt as though he had just conquered the world.
“I should have taken her up on her offer,” he said, his voice rough, gasping. “I should have wanted her. I should be upstairs in my room, or in her room, having sex with her now. But I’m not. I didn’t want her. I wasn’t even tempted. No matter how much we might like it to be, desire isn’t logical. Which means, at the moment, neither am I.”
He stood up from the bench, needing to put as much distance between them as possible. He turned away from her, and even knowing he shouldn’t, he spoke again. “All I know is that tonight I just wanted to cross the room to be with the wallflower.”
CHAPTER NINE
HE’D KISSED HER. It was all she’d been able to think about last night, lying in bed with her lips—her body—burning.
It was all she could think about the next day, too. Which was ridiculous because they were on a tour of the stables. Which were fascinating from a great many angles—historical and equine.
But she was prickly and distracted. From exhaustion. From the heat of Alex’s body next to her, from the night spent not sleeping.
Her jacket was itchy, too. Which didn’t help. It was a pleasant day, warm and dry, the air blowing in off the sea. And she was wearing a jacket because Alex had said it was secretarial and that it was important she appear so because of reasons she had now forgotten since she had a bead of sweat running down the center of her shoulder blades.
Also she was still thinking about the kiss.
Ahead of them, one of the prime minister’s employees was extolling the virtues of the groundskeepers, and the brave servants who had saved the facilities and all the horses during a fire that happened a hundred years ago.
“This is boring,” Alex said, his lips brushing her ear as he leaned in to whisper to her. It sent a shiver down her neck, down her arm, caused heat to pool in her stomach.
She took a breath, realizing when she inhaled a healthy dose of his masculine scent that it had been a mistake. “Excellent,” she said, taking great pains to keep her voice crisp. “A chance to see The Alessandro in his natural habitat.”
“Are you observing me for a nature guide you are working on?”
“Rampantis masculinitis,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Characterized by?” he asked.
She looked up at him, at the wicked glint in his eye, and she quickly looked away again.
The tour group had gone on ahead of them, and she had only just noticed that their pace has slowed dramatically. He’d acted like this was done with last night. Like he’d realized what a bad idea it was to encourage all of this…this stuff between them. But he was back in fighting form this morning.
He was deliberately keeping her back from the group. Keeping them both separate.
This really was like watching a nature show. The predator had separated the weaker gazelle from the herd. And after last night, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was the weaker gazelle.
“What are we doing?”
“I told you,” he said, his smile turning wicked. “I’m bored. Anyway, it wouldn’t do to have you acting skittish around me, or to have me avoid you. You are my assistant, Gabby, not a bookish princess who all but forced herself into a treasure hunt with a stranger.”
She looked ahead of the group, then looked up at him, at his dark, glittering eyes. There was an air of good humor about him, but there was something else, too. A base note that ran beneath it that spoke of danger, excitement.
She should turn away from it. She should have learned from last night. From letting him get too close.
She didn’t. She hadn’t.
“The painting,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Is not out here in the stables,” he said. “I had hoped that we would tour the house today so we might get an idea of its location.”
“Well, we can do a little bit of exploring on our own.”
“I would like to do it during the day. I’m not sure where our host gets to during the daylight hours. He certainly isn’t parading us about. But once the sun goes down, and the brandy comes out, he does seem to reappear.”
“So, you think we should look for it at night?”
He lifted his shoulder. “It lowers the risk of running into him in the halls if we know he’s socializing. It’s either that or we tell him what we’re after. But I have a feeling the cloak and dagger might be necessary. I told you, I’m willing to pay for the painting, but my fear is that he won’t want to part with it when he understands what it is. That isn’t an option. Money might be no object, but failure is unacceptable.”
She nodded slowly. “Why do you want the painting so badly?”
“Because my grandfather wishes to have it. And I owe him a debt, I told you that already. He wants it—I will see he gets it.”
She studied his expression. She could see that he had no attachment to the painting. He must love his grandfather. That she was certain of. Because Alex was not the kind of man who did anything that he didn’t want to do. Only a few days in his presence and she was certain of that.
“What does it mean to him?” she asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. But there is a story…” He looked away from her, stared off toward the horizon line. “He has always told us this story, from the time we were children. About coming to America with nothing. He had eight objects that were dear to his heart. Objects that he had to sell slowly over the years to save himself from ruin. They were…they were very special to him. He often referred to them as his mistresses. Items that held sway over his heart. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it was because of their value, because of their beauty or because of their connection to another person. Regardless, these eight objects were the most important thing that Giovanni Di Sione possessed.”
“The painting is one of them,” she said.
“Yes. I was the last grandchild he asked. The rest have either been found or are being found by my siblings.”
“But I don’t understand how your grandfather could have come into possession of the painting.”
“There are a great many possibilities. He could have bought it at an art auction of some kind, could have bought it off a merchant. And of course, your family could have bought it back and brought it to this house for safekeeping after the fact. I doubt there’s any kind of serious connection.”
She suspected that he didn’t doubt it at all. She was beginning to suspect that there was some sort of connection between his grandfather and her family. And seeing as Alex wasn’t stupid, she imagined he saw it, too.
“Or,” she said, “he knew my grandmother.”
“I’m certain your grandmother would have sa
id something when she heard my name. At the very least, she might have thrown me out.”
“What would throwing you out accomplish? As you pointed out, you didn’t need either of us to retrieve the painting, not really. You’re right, you could have flashed a little gold at my mother and you would have had all the information you needed.”
“True. But still, I don’t think there is much point in spinning a fantasy out of any of it. I know my grandfather. He is a good man. He raised us after our parents died. And before they died, he was our most stable influence. I’ve always cherished my time with him. He treasures his grandchildren. In a way that our parents never did. We were very lucky to have him. We are lucky to have him still. But I know we won’t have him much longer. And that’s why…”
“You need the painting.” She looked up at the clear blue sky, blinking against the sun as the cool sea breeze ruffled her hair. “You love him very much.”
He paused. “He’s family. Of course I feel a great deal for him.”
She smiled slightly, trying not to laugh at him, since she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. “Alessandro, I think you might have a heart.”
He arched a brow and looked toward her. “Don’t say that too loudly. We can’t have any rumors about that getting around.”
“Why? Would it destroy your reputation for being a monster? I have ample evidence that you aren’t bad.”
“Oh, really? Give me a few examples.”
She sighed, letting out a breath and starting down a path that led back toward the estate, winding through a row of hedges that had bright pink flowers on them, little explosions of color against the dark green. She kept her eyes on those blossoms. A welcome distraction from Alex and his persistent presence.
“Well, you haven’t breathed fire once since I met you.”
“I’ve been taking antacids. It helps with that.”
She laughed, the sound pulled reluctantly from her. “Okay, I haven’t seen you gnawing on the bones of any villagers, either. In fact, I don’t think any villagers have gone missing since we’ve arrived on the island.”
“That’s because I only eat royalty,” he said, giving her a rather meaningful look.
She directed her gaze back to the flowers. “Also, you don’t sleep in a coffin.”
He reached out, grabbing hold of her arm and stopping her in her tracks. “How is it you know where I sleep? Have you been watching me?”
A rush of heat traveled up her arm from the point of contact with his hand and she blushed furiously. “Of course not. Even if I had looked into your room, you would have been shrouded behind the velvet curtains.”
“Maybe I have a coffin behind them.”
“I doubt it.”
“All right, so maybe you have caught on to my secret. I’m simply a man.”
“One who is going out of his way to help his grandfather. I think you might have a heart and a soul.”
“My heart is hard as a rock and my soul is ever so slightly charred from walking through life’s fires, but I suppose they’re still there.”
“You also didn’t…” She looked away from him, regretting the words even as she began to speak them, but finding she was unable to stop them. “You didn’t take advantage of me last night. You could have. Had you wanted to.”
“I have no interest in taking advantage of maidens,” he said, his voice hard.
Oh…oh, of course he didn’t.
It dawned on her. Suddenly. Horrifically.
Of course he didn’t have an interest in maidens. In her. Whatever madness had possessed him last night when he’d kissed her, it hadn’t been attraction. Men like him simply weren’t attracted to women like her.
To him, she was barely a woman. She was little more than a girl, and he made that very clear. Of course, she had made a similar number of comments about his age, and she didn’t truly think he was old.
“I don’t think you’re old,” she said, feeling the need to clarify it suddenly.
“Oh, that’s excellent. I guess I won’t dip into my retirement account just yet then.”
“You’re thirty-six?”
“Yes.”
“See? Not even middle-aged.”
He laughed. “Not even… You’re a minx. Do you know that?”
She blinked, her heart suddenly beating faster. Stupid heart. He didn’t want her. He didn’t even like her. “I’m not trying to be.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“You can let go of my arm now,” she said, looking down at where he was still hanging on to her.
“What if I told you I didn’t want to?”
“I would ask you why. And then I would ask you what good could possibly come of it.”
Her heart was pounding so hard now she could barely hear herself speak. If he couldn’t hear her heartbeat she would be surprised.
“You’re right. There is no point. As I already told you, I’m not interested in defiling any maidens this week.”
She pulled herself out of his grasp and continued on down the path. “Who said I was a maiden?” She closed her eyes for a second, allowing the sun to wash over her face, the corners of her lips curving up slightly into a smile.
“You didn’t have to say it,” he said. “I could feel it in your kiss.”
Her stomach sank down to her toes and she opened her eyes again, the corners of her lips falling. “Was it so terrible?”
Of course it had been.
“Not terrible. Inexperienced. I could taste it on your skin.”
“That’s ridiculous. Inexperience doesn’t have a flavor.”
He grabbed hold of her arm again, turned her to face him, drawing her closely toward him. Rather than speeding up, this time her heart stopped beating altogether. He lowered his head slightly, then reached up, sliding his thumb along the edge of her lip. “Yes, Gabriella, inexperience absolutely has a flavor. And on your lips, there was also innocence and wildflowers. I did not mistake the taste of any of that.”
He released his hold on her, put distance between them, and she still couldn’t breathe any easier.
“You didn’t taste like anything,” she said.
“That’s because you didn’t taste me.”
Prickles crawled up her back like an army of ants and she hunched her shoulders up around her ears, lowering her head and continuing on toward the estate.
“Suddenly, you don’t seem to like honesty very much,” he said.
“Suddenly, you’re a bit too honest. You said—”
“I am bad at behaving, and I am terrible at restraint. Tell me you didn’t like kissing me, and I won’t bring it up again.”
It would be easy to lie. All she had to do was open her mouth and tell him that she didn’t like kissing him. That should be an easy thing to do. It should be a simple thing to make her lips form those words. But right now everything felt stuck. The words lodged in the center of her throat, curled up into a little ball, refusing to budge.
She said nothing; she just kept walking on ahead.
If he was triumphant over her silence, he didn’t let on.
He was the one who broke the silence and it felt like a definite checkmark in the loss column for her.
“The party tonight is formal,” he said, “everyone is going to be in their finest.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Except for me. In fact, I may skip this one and just sit in my little servant’s quarters with a crust of bread and some cheese.”
“That’s quite dramatic. I think we could at least get you some fresh bread.”
“There isn’t any reason for me to go. Actually, I might be able to roam the halls a little bit if I stay behind.”
“Hospitality has been extended to both of us. And I’m concerned about angering the host.”
“Is that because of the painting or because you want to do business with him?”
“Everything is about business. I have an opportunity to increase my success while I’m here and I’m definitely going to
take it. I don’t want to do anything to compromise that. I certainly won’t allow you to compromise it.”
“Well, I don’t want to be embarrassed.”
“You didn’t let me finish. The party tonight is a masked ball. That means everyone will be wearing masks.”
“Thank you,” she said, her tone flat. “I actually got that from the title masked ball.”
“Just making sure.”
“Well, there is still a problem with that.”
“What’s that?”
“I left my ball gown and my elegant face mask in my other luggage.”
“I might not be royalty, cara mia, but I am a billionaire. I could acquire white tigers in the space of a couple hours if I wanted to. A gown and a mask will be no trouble at all.”
“What if I would rather have the white tigers?”
“Your room is too small.”
“They can sleep in my bed.”
“I’m not getting you white tigers. It would only spoil you. Plus, then everyone would want one.”
She couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her lips. She had no idea how he managed all of this. How he managed to make her feel hot, frustrated and amused in the space of only a few seconds. It was some kind of strange witchcraft she had never encountered before.
“Fine.”
“Fine to the gown and the mask?”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Would it matter if I said no, Alex?”
Suddenly, his voice seemed to be coming from closer behind her, his low, sensual tones skimming along her skin. “Not especially. If I had to I would go into your room myself and act the part of your valet.”
“You aren’t suggesting you would dress me?”
“I confess I have much more experience undressing women than I have dressing them. But I might be willing to make an exception.”
It was official. She was going to burst into flame.
She had lied when she’d told him she didn’t read romance novels. She did. Secretly. And while she pretended to snicker at them from behind her hand, the truth was she was fascinated. She had always been curious to know if attraction like that existed. If it was possible to look at someone and feel like they were touching you. Like it would be too much if they did. Like you would die if they didn’t.