CASSANDRA woke slowly, aware within seconds this wasn’t her bed, her room, or her apartment. Realisation dawned, and she turned her head cautiously…only to see she was the sole occupant of the large bed.
Of Diego there was no sign, and she checked the time, gasped in exasperated dismay, then she slid to her feet, gathered fresh underwear and day clothes from her bag and made for the en suite.
Fifteen minutes later she gathered up her bag and moved down to the lower floor. She could smell fresh coffee, toast…and felt her stomach rumble in growling protest as she made her way towards the kitchen.
Diego stood at the servery, dressed in dark trousers, a business shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a matching dark jacket rested over the back of a chair with a tie carelessly tossed on top of it.
He looked far too alive for a man who’d spent the greater part of the night engaged in physical activity, and just the sight of him was enough to shred her nerves.
‘I was going to give you another five minutes,’ he drawled. ‘Then come fetch you.’ He indicated the carafe. ‘Coffee?’
‘Please.’ She felt awkward, and incredibly vulnerable. ‘Then I’ll call a cab.’
Diego extracted a plate of eggs and toast from a warming tray. ‘I’ll drive you home. Sit down and eat.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He subjected her to a raking appraisal, saw the darkened shadows beneath her eyes, the faint edge of tiredness. ‘Eat,’ he insisted. ‘Then we’ll leave.’
Any further protest would be fruitless, and besides, the eggs looked good. She took a seat and did justice to the food, sipped the strong, hot black coffee, and felt more ready to face the day.
As soon as she finished he pulled on his tie and adjusted it, then shrugged into his jacket.
She began clearing the table with the intention of doing the dishes.
‘Leave them.’
‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’
‘I have a cleaning lady. Leave them.’
Without a word she picked up her bag and followed him through to the garage.
The distance between Point Piper and Double Bay amounted to a few kilometres, and Cassandra slid open the door within seconds of Diego drawing the car to a halt outside the entrance of her apartment building.
There wasn’t an adequate word that came to mind, and she didn’t offer one as she walked away from him.
The cat gave an indignant miaow as she unlocked her door, and she dropped her bag, put down fresh food, then took the lift down to the basement car park.
Minutes later she eased her vintage Porsche onto the road and battled morning peak-hour traffic to reach her place of work.
Concentration on the job in hand proved difficult as she attempted to dispel Diego’s powerful image.
Far too often she was reminded of his possession. Dear heaven, she could still feel him. Tender internal tissues provided a telling evidence, and just the thought of her reaction to their shared intimacy was enough to bring her to the point of climax.
As if last night wasn’t enough, he’d reached for her in the early dawn hours, employing what she reflected was considerable stealth to arouse her before she was fully awake and therefore conscious of his intention.
Worse, he had stilled any protest she might have voiced with a skilled touch, inflaming her senses and attacking the fragile tenure of her control.
How could she react with such electrifying passion to a man she professed to hate? To transcend the physical and unleash myriad emotions to become a willing wanton in his arms. Accepting a degree of intimacy she’d never imagined being sufficiently comfortable with to condone.
Yet she had. Swept away beyond reason or rational thought by sexual chemistry at its zenith.
Her cellphone buzzed, signalling an incoming text message, and she checked it during her lunch break, then responded by keying in Cameron’s number.
‘Just checking in,’ her brother reassured.
‘Enquiring how I survived Act One of the three-act night play?’
‘Cynicism, Cassandra?’
‘I’m entitled, don’t you think?’
‘Act Two takes place…when?’
‘Saturday night.’
‘I appreciate—’
‘Don’t,’ she said fiercely, ‘go there.’ She cut the connection, automatically reached for the Caesar salad she’d ordered, only to take one mouthful and push the plate aside. Instead, she ate the accompanying Turkish bread and sipped the latte before returning to the workshop.
Mid-afternoon she gave in to a throbbing headache and took a painkiller to ease it, then she fixed the binocular microscope, adjusted the light, and set to work.
Cassandra was relieved when the day came to an end, and she stopped off at a supermarket en route to her apartment and collected groceries, cat food and fresh fruit.
Essential provisions, she mused as she carried the sack indoors, unpacked it, then she fed the cat, prepared fish and salad for herself. Television interested her for an hour, then she opened her laptop, double-checked design measurements and made some minor adjustments, then she closed everything down and went to bed.
Within minutes she felt the familiar pad of the cat’s tread as it joined her and settled against her legs. Companionship and unconditional love, she mused with affection as she sought solace in sleep.
Difficult, when the one man she resented invaded her thoughts, filling her mind, and invaded her dreams.
Diego del Santo had a lot to answer for, Cassandra swore as the next day proved no less stressful. Her stomach executed a downward dive every time her cellphone rang as she waited for him to confirm arrangements for Saturday night.
By Friday evening she was a bundle of nerves, cursing him volubly…which did no good at all and startled the cat.
Consequently when she picked up the phone Saturday morning and heard his voice, it was all she could do to remain civil.
‘I’ll collect you at six-thirty. Dinner first, then we’re due to attend a gallery exhibition.’
‘If you’ll advise an approximate time you expect to return home,’ Cassandra managed stiffly, ‘I’ll meet you there.’
‘No.’
Her fingers tightened on the cellphone casing. ‘What do you mean…no?’ She felt the anger begin a slow simmer, and took a deep breath to control it. ‘You can take someone else to dinner and the gallery.’
‘Go from one woman to another?’
He sounded amused, damn him. ‘Socialising with you doesn’t form part of the arrangement.’
‘It does, however, entitle me to twelve hours of your time on two of our three legally binding occasions. If you’d prefer not to socialise, I’m more than willing to have you spend those twelve hours in my bed.’
She wanted to kill him. At the very least, she’d do him an injury. ‘Minimising sex with you is my main priority.’ Trying to remain calm took considerable effort. ‘As I’ll need my car for the morning, I’ll drive to your place.’
‘Six-thirty, Cassandra.’ He cut the connection before she could say another word.
Choosing what to wear didn’t pose a problem, for she led a reasonably active social life and possessed the wardrobe to support it.
For a brief moment she considered something entirely inappropriate, only to dismiss it and go with stunning.
Soft and feminine was the in style, and she had just the gown in jade silk georgette. Spaghetti straps, a deep V-neckline, and a handkerchief hemline. Guaranteed wow factor, she perceived as she swept her hair into a careless knot and added the finishing touches to her make-up.
It was six-twenty-five when she drew her car to a halt outside the gates guarding the entrance to Diego’s home. Almost on cue they were electronically released, and she wondered whether it was by advance courtesy on his part or due to a sophisticated alarm system.
The Aston Martin was parked outside the main entrance, and Diego opened the front door as she slid out from her car.
Cassandra inclined her head in silent greeting and crossed to the Aston Martin.
‘A punctual woman,’ Diego drawled, and incurred a piercing glance.
‘You said six-thirty.’ She subjected him to a deliberate appraisal, taking in the dark dinner suit, the crisp white shirt, black bow-tie…and endeavoured to control the sudden leap of her pulse. ‘Shall we leave?’
Polite, cool. She could do both. For now.
‘No overnight bag?’
‘I’ll get it.’ She did, and he placed it indoors before tending to the alarm.
‘You’ve dressed to impress,’ Diego complimented, subjecting her to a raking appraisal that had male appreciation at its base, and something else she didn’t care to define.
There was an edge of mockery apparent, and she offered a practised smile. ‘That should be…to kill,’ she amended as he unlocked the car door, saw her seated, then crossed round the front to slide in behind the wheel.
‘Should I be on guard for hidden weapons?’
Cassandra shot him a considering glance. ‘Not my style.’
‘But making a fashion statement is?’
‘It’s a woman’s prerogative,’ she responded with a certain wryness. ‘Armour for all the visual feminine daggers that’ll be aimed at my back tonight.’
‘In deference to my so-called reputation?’
‘Got it in one.’
The sound of his husky laughter became lost as he ignited the engine, and she remained silent for the relatively short drive to Double Bay, electing to attempt civility as the maître d’ seated them at a reserved table.
‘Australia must appeal to you,’ she broached in an attempt at conversation. ‘You’ve been based in Sydney for the past year.’
They’d progressed through the starter and were waiting for the main.
Diego settled back in his chair and regarded her with thoughtful speculation. ‘I have business interests in several countries.’ He regarded her with musing indolence. ‘And homes in many.’
‘Therefore one assumes your time of residence here is fairly transitory.’
‘Possibly.’
Cassandra picked up her wine glass and took an appreciative sip. ‘Hearsay accords you a devious past.’
‘Do you believe that?’
She considered him carefully. ‘Social rumour can be misleading.’
‘Invariably.’
There was a hardness apparent, something dangerous, almost lethal lurking deep beneath the surface. He bore the look of a man who’d seen much, weathered more…and survived.
‘I think you enjoy the mystery of purported supposition.’ She waited a beat. ‘And you’re too street-wise to have skated over the edge of the law.’
‘Gracias.’ His voice held wry cynicism.
The waiter presented their main, topped up their wine glasses, then retreated.
Cassandra picked up her cutlery and speared a succulent morsel. ‘Do you have family in New York?’
‘A brother.’ The sole survivor of a drive-by shooting that had killed both their parents. A shocking event that happened within months of his initial sojourn in Sydney, the reason he’d taken the next flight home…and stayed to build his fortune.
It was almost nine when they entered the gallery. Guests stood in segregated groups. The men deep in discussion on subjects which would vary from the state of the country’s economy to the latest business acquisition, and whether the current wife was aware of the latest mistress.
The women, on the other hand, discussed the latest fashion showing, which cosmetic surgeon was currently in vogue, speculated who was conducting a clandestine affair, and what the husband would need to part with in order to soothe the wife and retain the mistress.
The names changed, Cassandra accorded wryly, but the topics remained the same.
Tonight’s exhibition was more about being seen than the purchase of a sculpture or painting. Yet the evening would be a success, due to the fact only those with buying power and social status received invitations.
Should nothing appeal, it was considered de rigueur to donate a sizeable cheque to a nominated charity.
Uniformed waitresses were circulating proffering trays with canapés, while waiters offered champagne and orange juice.
‘Feel free to mix and mingle.’
Their presence had been duly noted, their coupling providing speculation which would, Cassandra deduced, run rife.
Had news already spread about the financial state of Preston-Villers? It was too much to hope it would be kept under wraps for long.
‘Let’s take a look at the exhibits,’ Diego suggested smoothly, and led her towards the nearest section of paintings.
Modern impressionists held little appeal, and she found herself explaining why as they moved on to examine some metal sculptures, one of which appeared so bizarre it held her attention only from the viewpoint of discovering what it was supposed to represent.
‘Diego. I didn’t expect to see you here.’
The silky feminine purr held a faint accent, and Cassandra turned to see Alicia move close to Diego.
Much too close.
‘Cassandra,’ the model acknowledged. ‘I haven’t seen Cameron here tonight.’
A barbed indication she should get a life, a lover…and not resort to accompanying her brother to most social events? Cameron relied on her presence as a cover, while she was content to provide it. A comfort zone that suited them both. Two previous relationships hadn’t encouraged her to have much faith in the male of the species. One man had regarded her as a free ride in life on her father’s money; the other had wanted marriage in order to gain eventual chairmanship of Preston-Villers.
‘Cameron was unable to attend,’ she answered smoothly. It was a deviation from the truth, and one she had no intention of revealing.
Alicia looked incredible, buffed to perfection from the tip of her Italian-shod feet to the elegantly casual hairstyle. Gowned in black silk which clung to her curves in a manner which belied the use of underwear, she was a magnet for every man in the room.
Alicia’s eyes narrowed fractionally as a fellow guest commandeered Diego’s attention, drawing him into a discussion with two other men.
‘You’re here tonight with Diego?’ The query held incredulous disbelief. ‘Darling, isn’t he a little out of your league?’
Cassandra kept her voice light. ‘The implication being…?’
‘He’s rich, primitive, and dangerous.’ Alicia spared her a sweeping glance. ‘You’d never handle him.’
This was getting bitchy. ‘And you can?’
The model cast her a sweeping glance, then uttered a deprecatory laugh. ‘Oh, please, darling.’
Well, that certainly said it all!
She resisted the temptation to tell the model the joke was on her. Handling Diego was the last thing she wanted to do!
‘In that case,’ Cassandra managed sweetly, ‘why did Diego invite me along when you’re so—’ she paused fractionally ‘—obviously available?’
Anger blazed briefly in those beautiful dark blue eyes, then assumed icy scorn. ‘The novelty factor?’
If you only knew! ‘You think so?’ She manufactured a faint smile. ‘Maybe he simply tired of having women fall over themselves to gain his attention.’
Alicia placed a hand on Cassandra’s arm. ‘Playing hard to get is an ill-advised game. You’ll end up being hurt.’
‘And you care?’
‘Don’t kid yourself, darling.’
‘Are you done?’ She offered a practised smile, and barely restrained an audible gasp as Alicia dug hard, lacquered fingernails into her arm.
‘Oh, I think so. For now.’
Anything was better than fencing verbal swords with the glamour queen, and Cassandra began threading her way towards the remaining exhibits, pausing now and then to converse with a fellow guest.
There was a display of bronze sculptures, and one in particular caught her eye. It was smaller than the others, and lovingly crafted to portray an elderly couple seated together on a garden stool. The man’s arm enclosed the woman’s shoulders as she leaned into him. Their expressive features captured a look that touched her heart. Everlasting love.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ a male voice queried at her side.
Cassandra turned and offered a smile. ‘Yes,’ she agreed simply.
‘Gregor Stanislau.’ He inclined his head. ‘And you are?’
‘Cassandra.’
His grin was infectious. ‘You have an interest in bronze?’ He indicated the remaining sculptures and led her past each of them. He was knowledgeable, explaining techniques, discussing what he perceived as indiscernible flaws detracting from what could have been perfection.
‘The elderly couple seated on the stool. It’s your work, isn’t it?’
He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘Guilty.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she complimented. ‘Is it the only piece you have displayed here?’
He inclined his head. ‘The couple were modelled on my grandparents. It was to be a gift to them, but I was unable to complete it in time.’
She didn’t need to ask. ‘Would you consider selling it?’
‘To you?’ He named a price she considered exorbitant, and she shook her head.
He looked genuinely regretful. ‘I’m reasonably negotiable. Make me an offer.’
‘Forty per cent of your original figure, plus the gallery’s commission,’ Diego drawled from behind her, and she turned in surprise as he moved to her side. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even sensed his presence.
Gregor looked severely offended. ‘That’s an outrage.’
Diego’s smile was superficially pleasant, but the hardness apparent in his eyes was not. ‘Would you prefer me to insist on a professional appraisal?’
‘Seventy-five per cent, and I’ll consider it sold.’
‘The original offer stands.’
‘Your loss.’ The sculptor effected a negligible shrug and retreated among the guests.
‘You had no need to negotiate on my behalf,’ Cassandra declared, annoyed at his intervention. ‘I was more than capable of handling him.’
Diego shot her a mocking glance, which proved a further irritation. Did he think blonde and naïve automatically went hand-in-hand?
Wrong. ‘He saw me admiring it, figured I was an easy mark, so he spun a sentimental tale with the aim to double his profit margin.’ She lifted one eyebrow and deliberately allowed her mouth to curve in a winsome smile. ‘How am I doing so far?’
His lips twitched a little. ‘Just fine.’
Cassandra inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can’t wait to see your follow-up action.’
‘Watch and learn.’
‘At a guess,’ he inclined indolently, ‘you’ll file a complaint with the gallery owner, who’ll then offer to sell you the sculpture at a figure less than its purported value, as a conscience salve for the sculptor’s misrepresentation.’
A slow smile curved her mouth, and her eyes sparkled with musing humour. ‘You’re good.’
Cassandra was discreet. No doubt it helped her father was a known patron of the arts, and the name Preston-Villers instantly recognisable. Apologies were forthcoming, she arranged payment and organised collection, then she turned to find Alicia deep in conversation with Diego.
Nothing prepared her for the momentary shaft of pain that shot through her body. It was ridiculous, and she hated her reaction almost as much as she hated him.
Diego del Santo was merely an aberration. A man who’d callously manipulated a set of circumstances to his personal advantage. So what if he was a highly skilled lover, sensitive to a woman’s needs? There were other men equally as skilled… Men with blue-blood birth lines, educated in the finest private schools, graduating with honours from university to enter the fields of commerce, medicine, law.
She’d met them, socialised with them…and never found the spark to ignite her emotions. Until Diego.
It was insane.
Was Alicia his current companion? Certainly she’d seen them together at a few functions over the past month or so. There could be no doubt Alicia was hell-bent on digging her claws into him.
‘Cassandra—darling. I was hoping to find you here. How are you?’
There were any number of society matrons in the city, but Annouska Pendelton presided at the top of their élite heap.
The air-kiss routine, the firm grasp of Annouska’s manicured fingers on her own formed an integral part of the greeting process.
Annouska working the room, Cassandra accorded silently, very aware of the matron’s charity work and the excessively large sums of money she managed to persuade the rich and famous to donate to the current worthy cause.
‘How is dear Alexander?’ There was a click of the tongue. ‘So very sad his health is declining.’ There was a second’s pause. ‘I see you’re with Diego del Santo this evening. An interesting and influential man.’
‘Yes,’ Cassandra agreed sweetly. ‘Isn’t he?’
Annouska’s gaze shifted. ‘Ah, Diego.’ Her smile held charm. ‘We were just talking about you.’
He stood close, much too close. If she moved a fraction of an inch her arm would come into contact with him. The scent of his cologne teased her nostrils, subtle, expensive, and mingled with the clean smell of freshly laundered linen.
‘Indeed?’ His voice was a lazy honeyed drawl that sent all her fine body hairs on alert.
‘You must both come to next month’s soirée.’ The matron relayed details with her customary unfailing enthusiasm. ‘Invitations will be in the mail early in the week.’ She pressed Cassandra’s fingers, then transferred them to Diego’s forearm. ‘Enjoy the evening.’
‘Would you like coffee?’ Diego queried as Annouska moved on to her next quarry.
What I’d like is to go home to my own apartment and sleep in my own bed…alone. However, that wasn’t going to happen.
Already her nerves were playing havoc at the thought of what the night would bring.
‘No?’ He took hold of her hand and threaded his fingers through her own. ‘In that case we’ll leave.’
She attempted to pull free from his grasp, and failed miserably. ‘Alicia will be disappointed.’
‘You expect me to qualify that?’
Cassandra didn’t answer, and made another furtive effort to remove her hand. ‘Must you?’
It took several long minutes to ease their way towards the exit, and she caught Alicia’s venomous glare as they left the gallery.
‘Do you mind?’ This time she dug her nails into the back of his hand. ‘I’m not going to escape and run screaming onto the street.’
‘You wouldn’t get far.’
‘I don’t need to be reminded I owe you.’
The Aston Martin was parked adjacent to the gallery and only a short-distance walk. Yet he didn’t release his grasp until he’d unlocked the car.
She didn’t offer so much as a word during the drive to Point Piper, and she slid from the seat the instant Diego brought the car to a halt inside the garage.
It wasn’t late by social standards, but she’d been in a state of nervous tension all day anticipating the evening and how it would end.
Dear heaven, she knew what to expect. There was even a part of her that wanted his possession. What woman wouldn’t want to experience sensual heaven? she queried silently.
So why did she feel so angry? Diego del Santo wasn’t hers. She had no tags on him whatsoever. He was free to date anyone, and Alicia Vandernoot was undoubtedly a tigress in bed.
Wasn’t that what men wanted in a woman? A whore in the bedroom?
A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat as she preceded Diego into the house.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ He undid his tie and unbuttoned his jacket.
Cassandra continued towards the stairs. ‘Play pretend?’ She reached the elegantly curved balustrade and began ascending the stairs. ‘In order to put a different context on the reason I’m here?’
‘A man and a woman well-matched in bed?’ Diego countered silkily, and she paused to turn and face him.
‘It’s just…sex.’ And knew she lied.
Without a further word she moved towards the upper floor, aware of the sensual anticipation building with every step she took.
The warmth, the heat and the passion of his possession became a palpable entity, and she hated herself for wanting what he could gift her, for there was a part of her that wanted it to be real. The whole emotional package, not just physical sex.
Yet sex was all it could be. And she should be glad. To become emotionally involved with Diego would be akin to leaping from a plane without a parachute.
Death-defying, exhilarating…madness.
Cassandra made her way along the gallery to the main bedroom, and once there she stepped out of her stiletto-heeled pumps, removed her jewellery, then reached for the zip fastener of her gown.
She was aware of Diego’s presence in the room, and the fact he’d retrieved her overnight bag. Her fingers shook a little as she took it from him and retreated into the en suite.
Minutes later she removed her make-up, then she unpinned her hair and deliberately avoided checking her mirrored image.
Showtime.
Diego was reclining in bed, his upper body propped up on one elbow, looking, she perceived wryly, exactly what he was…one very sexy and dangerous man.
She was suddenly supremely conscious of the large T-shirt whose hemline fell to mid-thigh, her tumbled hair and freshly scrubbed face.
The antithesis of glamour. Alicia, or any one of the many women who had shared his bed, would have elected to wear something barely-there, probably transparent, in black or scarlet. Provocative, titillating, and guaranteed to raise a certain part of the male anatomy.
Except she wasn’t here to provoke or titillate, and she slid beneath the covers, settled them in place, then turned her head to look at him.
He lifted a hand and trailed fingers across her cheek, then threaded his fingers through her hair.
He traced the delicate skin beneath her ear, then circled the hollow at the base of her neck as he fastened his mouth over hers.
She told herself she was in control, that this was just physical pleasure without any emotional involvement.
Only to stifle a groan in despair as his hand slid down her body to rest on her thigh.
How could she succumb so easily? It galled her to think she’d been on tenterhooks all evening, waiting for this moment, wanting it.
His tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance as she began to respond. Her T-shirt no longer provided a barrier, and she exulted in the glide of his hands as he moulded her body close to his.
Diego rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, and he eased her against the cradle of his thighs, then shaped her breasts, weighing them gently as he caressed the sensitive skin.
Their peaks hardened beneath his touch, and the breath hissed between her teeth as he rolled each nub between thumb and forefinger, creating a friction that sent sensation soaring through her body.
With care he eased her forward to savour each peak in turn, and she cried out as he took her to the edge between pleasure and pain.
His arousal was a potent force, and he settled her against its thickened length, creating a movement that had the breath hitching in her throat.
Cassandra felt as if she was on fire, caught up in the passion he was able to evoke, rendering everything to a primitive level as he positioned her to accept him in a long, slow slide that filled her to the hilt.
Then he began to move, gently at first, governing her body to create a timeless rhythm that started slow and increased in depth and pace until she became lost, totally. Unaware of the sounds she uttered as she became caught up in the eroticism of scaling the heights, only to be held at the edge…and caught as she fell.