LUCIE WATCHED HIM lope off with that overtly sexual athleticism she found so fascinating.
What on earth...? Talk about reading someone wrong. She’d been sure he was interested in her—much more than she was in him. In fact less than twelve hours ago she hadn’t even known his name, far less given him this amount of headspace. She actually shook her head to see if she could clear him out of it. But since the nausea and breathlessness had dissipated as she’d watched him own the auction, she’d found him creeping inside it—images of him and his golden smile and sinful body. He’d wowed the crowd...in fact she was sure he’d done a much better job than her mother could ever have done. And part of her longed for her to know that.
Right on cue, one of the staff indicated to her across the room. Phone. Lady Vivienne. Lucie felt her shoulders tense again and her fists fill with handfuls of the satin of her dress. But she had no option.
She made her way across the room, smiling stiffly at those who greeted her.
‘Hello, Mother.’
‘Lucie, what on earth is going on?’
‘How’s Simon? Much recovered? All trouble sorted?’
‘You know it’s rude to answer a question with a question. I can only assume you’ve been drinking, Lucie, because I can’t for the life of me think of any other reason why you’d be acting like this.’
‘I’m sorry, Mother. Shall we start again? You were asking what on earth is going on. We’ve just made over two and a half a million dollars for the charity. That’s what’s going on.’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. This was the ideal opportunity for you to sort out those silly panic attacks and you didn’t even try.’
Lucie was stunned. ‘You surely don’t mean to tell me that you set me up like this on purpose?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ her mother answered stiffly, ‘but it was a perfect opportunity wasted.’
‘Sorry, Mother, but I had to make a decision to prevent five hundred guests being bitterly disappointed. Dante Hermida—the polo player—offered, and I think we—he—actually did a really good job!’
She wouldn’t rub her mother’s nose in it. Of course not. But she was desperately keen for her to hear just how well they’d done.
‘“A really good job”? Let me be clear, Lucinda. First of all I learn that you stood in the middle of that classless great boat like a gibbering jelly, and then—worse—you actually passed the gavel to Dante Hermida, of all people! That utter Lothario? Didn’t I warn you to stay well away from men like that? This very afternoon? And then you substitute him for me and are seen hanging all over him. Have you no shame? I thought I’d brought you up to be better than that. I absolutely forbid you to have any more to do with him—do you hear me? Lucinda?’
Lucie stared at the patterns she was drawing on the mink velvet carpet with the pointed toe of her shoe. Then she examined her nails. They were flawless—lovely, actually—and she thought she might keep the polish on past tomorrow morning. Perhaps. She pressed her lips together to see if the stickiness from the gloss was still there, but of course the last thing that had been there had been Dante’s finger.
She dropped her head back and let the phone slide to her neck, where she cradled it in against her skin—anything to drown out the sound of her mother’s unstinting whingeing. Brought her up? If it weren’t so sad it would be funny. The house mistress and the nanny had brought her up. Her mother and father had been far too busy living their own lives to bother with anything as inconvenient as a child.
A tray of champagne passed by at just the right moment and she snagged a glass. Her second of the night. She was learning to enjoy it—and it slid down easily. More easily than usual, since she knew her mother would disapprove so heartily.
‘I have to go, Mother. Thank you so much for calling, but my guests need me.’
‘Guests? I hope you don’t mean that polo player? I’m warning you, Lucinda—do you hear me? Stay away...’
‘Actually, Mother—that’s exactly who I mean. And this time I’m going to make a proper job of it.’
She didn’t wait to say goodbye. She stared at the phone heard the whining, appalling voice of her mother—her own mother—still screeching at her. She clicked it off and dropped it in an ice bucket.
She was too far gone for tears—too wrung out, too exhausted. If she ever had a daughter she would never, ever say or do the hurtful, horrid things her mother did. She would nurture her child, love her and care for her. She would protect her from harm, but make her strong enough to stand up on her own two feet.
She’d had enough. Totally had enough. All those weeks and months of diet, of exercise, of listening to her mother’s ‘rules’ and her stress about her ‘real’ family. She didn’t give a damn about the success of the night, or the money they raised. She didn’t give a damn about anything other than herself!
Well, she might think she could lay down the law from three thousand miles away, and tell her who she could see and what she could do, but there was no way she was going to let herself be dictated to like that. The hypocrisy was outrageous. All these years of listening to her rant about men suddenly crystallised into one clear thought—why? What was so bad about them? Why was her mother so animated when it came to her rules about men?
For the second time Lucie made her way through rooms full of people laughing and drinking, but this time she held her head up. Rage was her engine, and she knew it. She didn’t glance left or right, just focused on moving swiftly through the crowd. She’d get off the yacht, so that the staff didn’t have to be put on the spot the next time her mother called. Someone had been grilled by her mother before she’d called her. Someone had told her all about her moments with Dante.
Dante!
The one man she had been warned to stay away from. And the one man she felt incredibly compelled to seek out right now.
He was interested in her—she knew he was. All she had to do was act a little less like a blubbering idiot and a little more like the sophisticates he was used to.
She owed it to herself to try...
* * *
The Marengo was moored on the busiest stretch of the harbour, directly opposite the chicest nightclub on the island. Dante stood a moment on the jetty, watching the lines of partygoers queuing along the front. He could feel the ‘good times’ tension in the air—could feel it in his own body. He knew exactly how this evening was going to roll. It was like a drug to him—a few beers, a few laughs, women flirting, he taking his time, then the after-party, then the aftermath of that.
Pure. Unadulterated. Oblivion.
He reassured himself every time that everyone else was praying to the same gods in this particular church. That way there was no guilt. No need for confession.
He couldn’t remember ever caring about the motivations of any romantic partner before, but he was pretty sure that Lady Lucinda didn’t shake what her mama gave her every weekend, like some of the rest of that set. Good-time girls were just that. And he wasn’t fool enough to ignore the fact that for many of them it was all a big act. A big hook with which they landed their catch.
But he had never bitten yet. Never would. Lose his unlimited pass to oblivion? Get mired in a relationship? Smoke and mirrors—that was all happy relationships were. He didn’t begrudge anyone their ‘lifetime partner’, if that was what they wanted to call it, but he didn’t believe the hype.
Seeing that Celine body double tonight had shaken him up—he had to admit it. But there had been a time when it would have taken him a lot longer to calm down. Back in his late teens, when it had still been a raw wound. Back then he would have been laid out for days on a self-destructive path. Now he was fine. He had more important things to worry about than something that had happened all those years ago. He’d learned to switch off, to deal with it.
He just hoped tonight would be one of those nights where he found the switch easily.
He looked along the front of the black glass building at the outdoor lounge area. Tall white tables and bar stools. Parasols and potted palms. Ice buckets and cocktails. Women wearing very little. Some of them beautiful, some of them hot. But as his gaze skimmed back and forth he found it hovering even longer on the jetty. He felt strangely underwhelmed by the whole thing. There really was nothing he was remotely interested in pursuing—nothing enticing him to step into that particular haven.
He wanted fire. He wanted passion. He wanted beauty.
Class.
And he was beginning to think that there was only woman who was going to do it for him. If he got the chance a second time he doubted he would be able to say no.
‘Hello, there! I thought it was you.’
Dante heard the perfectly pronounced vowels and knew his deal was sealed.
He turned away from the crowd. ‘Party over?’
She was truly lovely. He let his eyes slide and savour. Her hair fell in long waves, skimming over those shoulders, lying in inviting silken folds over her cleavage. He took his time. He had no wish to hurry as he relearned every soft curve, felt himself become aroused, welcomed it.
‘Only I thought it was good etiquette for the hostess to stay until the last guest had left?’
She blushed in that haughty, how-dare-you? manner and he felt a grin spread out across his face. The corner of her mouth twitched up and her eyes danced in answer, but still she held herself aloft and aloof.
She was here, she’d come after him, but she was going to make him work. He got that.
Wind skimmed around them, causing the hem of her dress to rise. The fabric clung to her long legs, outlining slim calves and the flare of incredibly feminine hips. His eyes dropped to the soft V between her legs and his arousal kicked up another gear as the shimmery satin outlined her mound. A long slow breath of approval escaped through his lips and he raised his eyes to hers in approbation.
She accepted it.
‘As far as I am concerned, you are the party.’
She spoke quietly, but he didn’t miss the shiver of hesitation.
‘You’ve really thought this through?’
He owed her one more lifeline. Because something told him that when she fell—as they all did—she was going to fall headfirst.
‘Because you don’t want to wake up with your head on the wrong pillow.’
‘I want to wake up with my head on your pillow,’ she said.
‘Is that so?’ he asked, stepping a little closer. He watched, becoming more and more aware that her regal act was just that—she was not quite so in command as she liked to portray. ‘That’s some honour you’re bestowing—and with that honour comes responsibility, should I accept it...’
He took another step, and she leaned back ever so slightly before straightening herself up. He watched her perfect throat as she swallowed, the movement in her skin drawing his eye, inflaming his blood. Oh, yes.
‘Well...’ she breathed, and the sound disappeared into the slap of water on the sides of the jetty and the bustle and buzz of the night all around them. ‘Do you accept?’
‘What exactly are you offering, Princess?’
‘As soon as you drop that stupid moniker I might tell you.’
Dante laughed as he closed the gap. They stood almost toe to toe. And this time she leaned back only to look up at him. She was getting into her stride now and he was loving it.
‘You don’t need to tell me anything. I can see it written all over you. In giant neon letters.’
Her eyes flashed and darted over his face.
‘Is that so?’ she asked, repeating his words, mocking him. ‘We have our little spelling test after all.’
And then he grinned, and she grinned, and he put his hands on her waist, exactly where he had wanted to rest them all evening. They fitted nicely in the soft curves. He tugged her to him. Her hands jerked up in a defensive movement but they landed gently on his chest. He looked down as she spread her fingers wide.
‘What exactly is it,’ she began, lifting her eyes in a coy little move as old as time, ‘that I’m spelling out for you?’
Dante stepped a little closer. He took his hands from her waist and skimmed them up over her ribs with immense restraint, feather-light. He slowly brushed the sides of her breasts, her shoulders, and then gently cupped her jaw. He trailed his fingers over her cheeks and gently drew a circle round each eye.
‘With these bewitching eyes, you’re showing me every single thought that’s going on in here.’ He tapped her brow. ‘And those thoughts are...’ He leaned in, took a breath beside her ear, and whispered, ‘Dirty.’
She shivered. He heard it and he saw it. Then she closed her eyes, and he knew that he was as hard as he’d ever been. She was going to be delicious.
He moved to her other ear. She flinched but he held her steady.
‘You have a very filthy mind, Lucie,’ he whispered, and she shuddered right there in his arms.
It was all he could do not to grind himself against her. One or two people had passed by and they were just in sight of the queue of partygoers. He was going to have to exercise huge restraint. Huge.
‘You’re bluffing,’ she breathed back. ‘You think everyone thinks like you.’
‘Is that right?’
He kept his mouth right beside her ear, an inch above it. A warm, sweet smell—her warm, sweet smell—wound up and he breathed it in. She melted against him, stretched her neck out for him, and he let his lips graze the satiny skin all the way down to her collar.
‘Mmm, Lucie... What do you think I’m thinking right now?’
Her hands were still lying across his chest, getting in the way of what he wanted. He lifted first one hand, then the other, and she wound them round the back of his neck. He looked down at her upturned face. She was undone, but she was pulling herself together. He had to hand it to her.
‘What you’re thinking?’ she said. ‘Oh, I don’t quite think we were finished with your amazing assessment of what I was offering. It was apparently “written all over me”—remember?’
He smiled. ‘Good call. Now, where was I...? Ah, yes.’
And he cupped her jaw again, brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, tugging it.
‘This mouth... These lips... They are quite clearly promising what you plan to do with them.’
‘And that is...?’
He could hardly hear her. Was it the blood rushing in his ears or her sexy breathlessness—he had no idea. But he held her right where he wanted her, slid his hands further into her hair and positioned her at the slight angle he preferred. And then he waited. This was too divine to rush. She was easily the most tempting morsel he’d ever had—the last thing he was going to do was gorge on her out here, in full view of everyone.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have just a little taste.
He moved them together, so close only a sliver of air was between their mouths.
‘You were saying...?’ she whispered.
And as she spoke her lips brushed his and his resolve evaporated. He covered her mouth with his own in a hungry, passionate kiss and it was all he had known it would be. Soft, sweet and pure hot heaven.
Her lips were the perfect fit, the perfect pout. He made her deliver up kiss after kiss as he bit down on his resolve to keep them both decent. But with her breasts pressed fully against his body and his erection straining against her stomach it took all of his will to stay in a low gear.
‘I was saying—before you interrupted—that these lips...’ He slid his tongue over them. She whimpered. ‘These lips have been telegraphing to me...’
He used his tongue to flick from the centre of her open pout to the upper edge of her top lip. And back. All the way along.
‘That they’re going to kiss every last part of me. Every. Part. Isn’t that right, Princess?’
He felt her tongue dart out to meet his and the need to grind into her almost felled him. This game was overplayed. The public version, anyway. He grabbed her hand, looked up and down the jetty.
‘We’ll finish this back on the Sea Devil. Come on.’
He took her hand and almost marched her further along the runway to where a row of silently bobbing motorboats waited. He spotted his launch, stepped down and held out his hand, anxious to get this precious cargo aboard quickly.
His heart was hammering as he reached for her, and in one movement he’d tucked her close and taken his place behind the wheel. She leaned right in tight as he nosed the boat carefully around and out past the other launches. They came alongside the Marengo, its huge gleaming sides bearing down on them as he passed it and moved out into the bay.
In less than ten minutes he’d have her across the water, and five after that he’d have her across his bed.
The throb of the motor and the crash of the waves joined a crescendo of sensations with more to come. Dante loved this part of the chase—the anticipation, the build-up. The arc of tension gathering height until he could let his mind empty and his body just feel. And this felt right. This felt as if the particular symphony they were co-composing was going to have all the depth and drama he needed.
So she hated crowds...had social anxiety. So what? She was well in command of herself where her libido was concerned—that was for sure. And he could handle those emotions once they started to show.
But wasn’t that the part that was dangerous? Wasn’t that why you gave her the big brush-off earlier?
Like a mallet to a polo ball, he struck those thoughts out of his mind. He felt Lucie leaning against the crescent of his arm and shut out anything that was set to interrupt his mood. Wasn’t that what he was best at?
No words passed between them as he cut the engine and tossed the speedboat’s rope onto the yacht. He stepped out deftly, tied her up, and then held out his hand and guided her aboard the Sea Devil.
A third of the size of the Marengo, it was fast, sleek, and reflected the only aspect of his personality he was prepared to go public with—he gathered no moss. He was no apologist for liking things the way he liked them. Another benefit of the single life—no compromise in pretty much anything. Of course he’d had girlfriends who had tried to soften things up, the way women did, and that was fine. As far as it went. But it did no one any favours if you let them think they were going to gain permanency rights.
Permanency was the last thing he wanted to think about as he led Her Ladyship by the hand up the three steps to the sundeck. Darkness swathed the night, backlit by the pinpricks of deck lights. There was nobody else on board, his staff having taken him at his word and gone off for the weekend. Good for them—they worked hard. And good for him too, as it now turned out.
‘I half expected there would be some party in full swing,’ she said aloud, her cut-glass tones slicing through the night.
‘I’m the party—remember?’ he said as he moved them further along and down into a sunken area.
Plump banquettes skirted the space, and were scattered with an array of cushions—and that was as feminine as it got. A black glass table sat between three sides, and on the other side lay loungers in various positions. A small plunge pool to the left sank down even further, and more seats and beds were arranged there. It was comfortable. He liked it.
He switched on the side lights and quickly selected a muted melody underscored with the low throb of African drums. He poured them both champagne and walked to where Lucie had stalled in the middle of the space and was gently swaying her hips. He paused. Watched her.
She didn’t ooze sexuality, the way some women did but, regarding her now, he saw that what she lacked in overt, in-your-face eroticism she more than made up for in sensuality—it ran through her like the bass line in the tune that was pulsing around them right now.
‘Perfect...thank you,’ she said as she took the glass from him and took a sip. Nervously?
‘You know, I heard the staff call this boat “Dante’s Lair” earlier today?
Had she, indeed? He shrugged it off.
‘People like to speculate, I suppose. They imagine they know all about me and my business.’
And they knew nothing. Why should they? His own parents had no idea of half the things he’d done. He wasn’t the type to bleat about his woes. He and his brother, Rocco, had been brought up to be independent, to stand tall. The last thing he’d ever do was feel sorry for himself. Or, worse, let his guard down.
He had a great life. Gloss and glamour and good times. He knew how lucky he was—how much of a good start he’d had compared to his adopted brother. He’d never had to run in the streets to survive. He’d had everything he’d ever wanted. His mother hadn’t been the most demonstrative with her affection, but he’d wanted for nothing. So when a bit of a trauma like Celine had come along he’d been able to deal with it. Of course he had. He hadn’t told a living soul—hadn’t needed to. He could handle life.
The Hermidas were proud—every last one of them. Proud and silent. And that was what made them so interesting to the press.
‘“Lair” suggests something of a predator though.’
‘Do you think that about me, Princess? That I’m predating on you? Right now?’
‘Hardly,’ she answered wryly, touching her hair. ‘As far as I recall it was me that suggested this...this...’
He walked to her. ‘This...private party?’
‘Exactly,’ she said, looking very much as if that was the only type of party she would consider attending. The long swish of her blonde hair obscured one eye, starlet style, and she completed the look with another coy smile.
He almost shook his head at her. Who would believe this confident, in command woman was the same one who had literally begged him to help her out at the charity auction earlier.
‘Maybe, but you must know that despite what’s said about me I’m very choosy about who I allow into my...lair.’
He lifted the glass from her hand and set them both down on the table.
‘I take it I am supposed to consider that a compliment?’
‘All I’m saying is that being a princess doesn’t give you any special rights.’
She smiled through the eyes she narrowed at him.
‘You’re not going to give up with that, are you?’
He winked slightly. ‘I might. Depends...’
‘On what, exactly?’
‘On whether you’re going to follow through with all those signals you’ve been telegraphing since the first moment I saw you.’
‘Oh, that’s right. Something about my filthy mind and my suggestive mouth. Was that it?’
The bubbling of the hot tub suddenly seemed to fill the night air. Dante nodded to it. Lucie’s eyes drifted over, and then flipped right back to his.
‘Not forgetting your body—which I recall was a lot less covered up then. And. Completely. Soaking. Wet.’
She seemed to take that like a sucker punch, and her hand slid to her chest. Her mouth formed a silent ‘oh’ and for a second he thought he had genuinely shocked her. Then she slipped him another smile. Oh, yes, she was feeling it as much as he was.
‘What are you suggesting, Dante?’
He started to unbutton his shirt. ‘Princess, I’m well past the point of suggestion.’
The hand at her chest went to her mouth now. Oh, she was very, very good. Coy and cute and causing him all sorts of constriction issues. He tossed away his shirt and laid his hand on his belt, ran the leather through the loops and pulled it free. His erection strained uncomfortably as he tugged down the zip and yanked off his trousers.
Still she stood there, in her Little Miss Innocent pose. He had to laugh.
He gripped the sides of his boxers, raised his eyebrows and gave her a full-beam grin.
‘Seems like we’re right back where we started, Princess.’
She was still standing as if she’d been struck by lightning. Just as she had when he’d scared her off the boat earlier. Only this time the last thing he wanted her to do was disappear overboard.
But she didn’t move a muscle and the glimmer of a red flag suddenly waved in his mind. Surely this was an act? Surely she wasn’t really freaked out by his nudity?
‘I hope you’re not going to abandon ship this time?’
There was nothing else for it—he tugged down his boxers, releasing himself. Then he stood up and faced her head-on—fully hard, fully erect and fully loaded.
Lucie stood utterly still, but her eyes zoned straight in on him. Seconds ticked by as she gorged on the sight of him, and he felt so damn turned on that he put his hand around himself and stroked. This was getting out of hand before it had even begun.
‘You’d better make your mind up, because soon I might not be in any fit state to rescue you.’
Another long beat as he continued to stroke, and she continued to stand, and then suddenly she began to walk towards him, her eyes trained directly on his. For some bizarre reason he felt as if he were guiding her across a rope bridge, willing her to take the next step. But that was just ridiculous.
‘Nice to see you,’ he said as she stepped into his space.
He placed his hands on either side of her jaw and closed the last inches between them. And then he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her.
Some kisses were sweet. Some kisses were hot.
Dante felt as if sunspots were bursting in front of his eyes and all through his body as his tongue slid into Lucie’s warm, wet mouth and found hers. He thought he could hear moans and sighs escaping her, but that might just as easily be him. Her lips and his lips and her face and his face had become one.
He grabbed her and plunged and plundered and savoured. His hands were in her hair, on her neck, her shoulders, her beautiful cleavage. He was unstoppable.
‘Lucie, if you want to wear that dress ever again you’d better take it off now, before I rip—’
But the control he normally had in spades had evaporated before he could even finish the sentence and he spun her round and pulled.
Harnessed by her sleeves, she stood before him, her hair wild, her eyes wilder. Her mouth was wet and open and her breasts were almost completely bare. She looked more feral than regal, but he knew then that he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
‘Too late, I guess,’ he said, reaching for her jaw and then latching his mouth onto the nipple he’d released from the veil of strained fabric.
She screamed, he thought, but it was as much as he could do not to throw her to the ground as he kept up the pressure on her nipple. Round and round he moved his tongue, sucking and tugging, and moulding with his other hand. Such full, beautiful breasts. He palmed and weighed and shaped them as he moved his mouth from one to the other, as each bud hardened to a point he knew would be bringing her intolerable, exquisite pleasure.
And, yes, he knew she was breathlessly begging him to stop, but that only drove him on. Until he felt her hands on his shoulders and realised he was bearing her weight. He straightened, scooped her up then spun her round and tugged the dress down further.
‘This has got to go,’ he said as he found the buttons that were hidden and ripped at them.
Her dress came apart in his hands. He looked at the shards of silk and then at the pale-skinned goddess before him. Her face was flushed and her breasts were soaked where his mouth had sucked and teased them. Her waist, flaring out to the perfect balance of feminine hips, was scored with tiny marks.
‘Hey...’ he said, smoothing his fingers over them. ‘Sweetheart, was that me? Did I hurt you?’
She looked at him, and then down at herself, frowning for a brief moment. ‘What?’ she breathed. ‘Hurt me...? No.’
He stepped up to her, his erection immediately pressing down against her stomach. He so badly needed to be deep inside her.
He lifted her. He couldn’t stop himself. He placed himself neatly in between her legs. Immediately she hooked her legs round his waist and threw back her head.
A loud, low groan escaped from his mouth.
‘Oh, yes, you’re quite the princess for everyone else...but you’re one very dirty girl for me.’
He glanced around—a wall, a floor, a sofa—he had to lay her down somewhere. But nothing was right. She deserved better.
‘Let’s do this properly,’ he said.
And he stepped past the hot tub, past the cushion-strewn banquettes and discarded scraps of fabric and clothes. And then he walked with her, naked but for the last scrap of silk and the teetering heels that pierced his flesh with each step. Down three stairs and on through the salon. Along the passageway that led to his suite. The lamps were low, sending soft Vs of light over the slices of dark polished wood that were used throughout the yacht. It wasn’t cold—far from it—but Dante hugged her body close to his, protecting her.
Opening up the door of his suite, he saw the panoramic windows displaying a view of the whole of the bay. Of course the Marengo—stupendous—presided over the whole space, even at this distance. But she was the last thing Dante wanted to look at right now, and he quickly pressed the button that slid the curtains closed, closing off the twinkling night and any nosy paparazzi that might be circling like the sharks they were.
The Sea Devil might have already appeared on every piece of trashy, glossy paper and online feature, but Dante was always well aware of what was going to be published before it happened. He was in control of what the world saw. And he had a sixth sense that he really didn’t want the world to have even a glimpse of this particular assignation. Oh, no. This was indeed a strictly private party.
He stepped fully into the room, feet landing on soft, plush carpet. The door closed behind them.
Immediately he felt her hands on his head, cupping his cheeks. She was kissing him deeply, passionately, and with a wantonness he was finding harder and harder to resist.
Blindly he stepped forward, past the four club chairs and the walnut coffee table, his thigh dragging against the skirt of one of the cabinets that arced from one end of the room to the other.
The bed.
He felt his leg bump against it and grabbed Lucie’s wrists, pulling them back from his head and her mouth from his face. He held her and looked at her make-up-smudged eyes and hot pink cheeks.
‘You beautiful girl,’ he said.
And he set her down on his bed.
She blinked at him as she kneeled up, and for a moment a sad little smile graced her face. ‘Well, we both know that’s stretching it a bit, Dante. Nice of you, though.’
He frowned at her. What on earth was going through her mind?
‘Sweetheart, you’re beautiful—believe me.’
‘Anyone can be beautiful with a stylist and a bucket of make-up. I hardly think I still qualify all these hours later.’
She had no idea.
‘I’m no fantasist—I know my limitations.’
‘Is that a fact?’ he said, bending towards her and letting his breath seep in through the fine silk of her panties. ‘Why don’t you lie back here and I’ll show you how lovely you are.’
And he kneeled before her and put his hands on her hips, then round to the curve of her bottom, moulding and kneading, urging her legs a little more open.
‘Dante, please!’ she said.
‘I want to kiss you here,’ he said, ignoring her gasp as he bent to press a kiss between her legs. ‘Take these off.’
With one hand he held her by the waist and with the other he tugged down her panties, again feeling that growing realisation that she was...shy?
But he knew women, and he knew what they loved.
She lay back now, as he gripped her ankles and tugged her legs open, ignoring her little squeal. She was outstanding. Completely. Never shifting his gaze, he took a single finger and gently stroked his way slowly between the swollen lips, slicking the wet flesh until he came upon the tiny hard nub. With a harder rub he pressed, until he heard her cry out in pleasure.
He placed one hand on each of her thighs and started to dip his head forward. There was nothing he wanted to do more than feel his mouth at her core, taste her. He tried to hook her legs over his shoulders, but as he looked up at her lush body, saw her eyes wide and watchful, suddenly she jerked up and slipped out from under him.
He made another deep, throaty sound and then he dipped his head. He so badly wanted to lap her with his tongue.
‘Dante, please. I really don’t want you to do that.’
‘Honey, you’ll love it,’ he said, barely pausing.
‘No, honestly,’ she said, struggling away from him.
He stopped. Instantly. Leaned up. Backed off.
‘Hey, if you’re not comfortable this stops now.’
There was no way on this earth he would ever force himself on a woman, no matter how his sanity depended on it. But this one was outdoing herself with the conflicting signals.
Sudden silence fell between them. He waited a moment, then made to stand up. He’d known this was a bad idea. She was a whole bag full of issues—and none of them easy to solve.
‘Time out,’ he said.
‘Please, don’t—I really want to—I want you...’
She reached for him—lunged.
‘I’m sorry. I want you so much. Please, Dante.’
And she kneeled up, wound her arms around his neck and slid her beautiful lush body against him.
He took her wrists, held her back even as his body reacted.
‘We’re mature adults. Mature, consenting adults. This is not about coercion. Ever.’
‘I know,’ she breathed, staring up with big bruised eyes. She was all vixen again. God, she killed him. But there was no way he was going to do anything with a woman who wasn’t as into it as he.
‘Dante, there is nothing I want to do more right now than this.’
She held his eye, then leaned forward to cup his face. His eyes fell to her full breasts, swinging towards him. Still he held back. Until her tongue eased his lips apart and slid into his mouth. He felt the very tips of her nipples graze his chest. And then the rest of her.
She pulled him down as she lay back and he let her. He let go. Her legs slid round his back. He was big, and he really didn’t want to hurt her, but when he stalled after only an inch the need to fill her battled with the need to answer the nagging doubt that was creeping into his head again.
‘Please don’t stop,’ she breathed, tightening her legs and tilting her hips.
She reached her arms up and pulled him down into a kiss he could no more resist than resist taking his next breath. She defined irresistible.
He tried again. So sweet and so tight...but something was just not right.
Her eyes, when she opened them to see why he had stopped, were anxious.
‘Lucie, are you sure you’ve done this before?’ he asked, not even knowing himself that those words had been going to come out of his mouth. It seemed ridiculous—but he had to know...
She glanced away.
‘Sweetheart?’
‘I never said I had or I hadn’t—but I want to—so badly. Please, Dante.’
He looked bewildered. ‘Are you telling me you’re a virgin?’
He shook his head at his own stupidity. She was so adamant. So resolute. And she just did it for him. Completely.
When she didn’t answer he rolled that around in his mind for a bewildered second even as she moved under him, used the legs hooked round his back to pull him nearer. He groaned as he felt himself slide in deeper. And then deeper still. And then he could only follow the urges of his body until he was buried in her to the hilt.
‘Oh, angel, you’re killing me.’
She moaned, deep and long, and he’d never felt such a perfect fit—it was visceral. He bent down and kissed her, drinking in the sounds of her satisfaction and starting to pulse to the tempo of his own.
‘You feel amazing,’ she whispered against his neck.
She whispered his name. He whispered hers back, asked her if she was okay. Because he was. More than okay. And the sensation of being inside her, so hot and deep and primal, was absolutely right. That was it—he felt absolutely right.
He looked down at her—at her face, her breasts, where he was sliding in and out. Then back to her face. She was with him all the way. And then she began to cry with her own pleasure and he knew he was stroking that special place.
‘You’re okay?’
She opened eyes that had been closed and smiled at him. She didn’t look remotely virginal.
‘Oh, yes. Never better.’
‘Oh, I think we can do better.’
And he tilted her hips up higher and drove in deeper. He felt his climax coming like a freight train—unstoppable and thunderous—and he called his release out to the night, unguarded and unedited.
* * *
Dante rolled to one side and lay on his back, his arms above his head. He could feel Lucie turning onto her side and moving to close the distance between them.
Had that really just happened?
The best sex of his life with a...?
He couldn’t get this straight in his head. Had to process it. He sat on the edge of the bed, heard her shift behind him. Then the heavy fog of silence.
‘Was that your first time?’
He tilted his head—didn’t look but waited to hear the truth.
Nothing. Except the wispy strains of music that emanated from the salon and the unravelling of the moments they had just shared. Then her hand...burning on his back—only her fingertips, but still he felt as if he had been scalded and jerked away.
He stood up. ‘I’m going to hit the shower.’
He should have listened to his gut. Should have let his eyes see the red flag that had fluttered in the corner of his mind. Should have stopped when he’d first had that inkling. What an idiot! Lose himself in a woman? An evening of no-strings sex? With English aristocracy who turned out to be a virgin. A virgin who had decided to relinquish that status with him. Tonight. Now.
You couldn’t make this stuff up.
He turned on the shower and stepped in, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as the steam crept across it like an embarrassed flush. He looked haunted—grim. His eyes had been dulled by the effort of holding it together and then letting it all out in—that woman.
What a woman.
Damn her. What on earth had just happened? Why him? Why now? Women were such devious, scheming creatures. There was always an ulterior motive. Every time!
He racked his brains, trying to think of what she might hope to get out of it, what emotional ransom she was going to hold him to. She didn’t need money, she certainly didn’t need fame. He didn’t think she’d been bluffing when she’d told him of her shyness. And she was so beautiful she could have her pick of men.
Yet she’d waited until tonight to have sex.
With a man she’d made no secret of hating from the first moment they’d met...
Was it payback for something he’d done? It was the best payback he could imagine if that was the case!
It was incomprehensible—but when it came to women nothing would surprise him. Who knew what was going on in those pretty little heads? Those months with Celine had taught him that, at least. She had been a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. The carefully executed seduction...the lies and then the venom... And then the final act.
Dante felt the water streaming down his face. He rubbed the back of his neck with both hands and shook his head.
Images of Celine—or Miss di Rosso, as she’d been then—seeped into his brain. The first time he’d seen her, in that tight, bright skirt, walking through a vale of sunbeams in the cloisters with the school principal. He’d fallen in love with her then—everyone had. The only sexy young female teacher in a boys’ boarding school. It had been inevitable that she would become the pin-up girl.
But of all the men and boys there she’d targeted him—leaning over him, her blouse artfully undone, while he sat powerless with an erection under his desk. Then the ‘extra lessons’ she’d felt he should have. Slowly, carefully, she had seduced him into a secret world. A world where he’d felt like a king compared to his classmates. He was screwing the object of their wet dreams and she was screwing his mind.
He’d felt like that right up until the moment when it had all become so obvious. When the lust he’d been feeling hadn’t turned into the love she’d demanded. That was when he’d drawn back. Right at that moment. And then the tables had turned. Spectacularly.
But that had been fifteen years ago. And he’d been on his guard ever since. Nothing had got past his impenetrable shield. No one could see through the smiling, charming, engaging young man he’d become since those dark months.
Dante squeezed some shower gel onto his hand and the lemon scent of it burst through his senses—just as the image of Lucie’s trusting eyes burst into his mind. He frowned at the memory of that moment. It had felt as if he’d—let her in. There was no other way of saying it.
Well, that was definitely not going to happen again.
* * *
Lucie could hardly bear to look at the perfect picture of his backside, walking away. She drew her eyes quickly to the small slice of window that was not covered over by curtains. It was still terribly dark outside. The faintest trace of lilac laced the horizon but it would be hours until sunrise. Her strappy shoes lay on the pearl carpet. Her dress was back in that salon. Lying like a puddle of satin where he had as good as ripped it off.
So that was what it was all about.
She squeezed her eyes shut and let the feelings flow over her again. She’d never have believed anyone could make her feel like that. It had been beyond fantastic. Way beyond. Her body was liquid, melting after his touch. And she’d almost, almost let him kiss between her legs.
Almost—but, no, she couldn’t. Not there. She didn’t want to think about it.
She opened her eyes and stared at the wall. The shower was running, the sound muted through the veneer walls of the bedroom. She lay back and stared up at the ceiling. What should she do? Leave? Join him in the shower? Lie here and wait for the second course? Was this normal behaviour for a man? If so it was terribly disappointing.
She sighed and shook her head. She certainly wasn’t going to wait around to find out.
She wrapped herself up in a sheet and went over to the panoramic window. Framed there, between the slightly open curtains, was the bay. The Marengo was in pride of place at the jetty. Lights still twinkled, but the great big thing was always lit up—in perpetual readiness for the next port, the next party, which her father had let slip was to be in Florida.
The crew had two weeks to sail her there. She had planned on staying on overnight and then heading back to the villa later today. Now she was stuck on the other side of the dratted bay, and she’d be damned if she was going to swim back a second time.
The door of the en-suite bathroom opened.
She saw his reflection in the window. A puff of steam and then the man himself, in a shaft of light, a black towel wrapped around his hips. He glanced at her. Just for a second. Then he moved across his room, every step emphasising that this was his place. His lair.
‘You’re welcome to use the shower,’ he said.
She processed his tone. She was good at that, having learned from a very early age to work out which of her mother’s moods was in operation at any given time. That had helped her to modify her own responses and behaviour, to work out when to melt into the background—which had almost always been the best thing to do.
This tone from Dante...?
She barely knew him, but one thing she’d picked up was that there was a storm behind all that sunshine. He could turn it on and off. On and off. Stepping up to take charge of the auction he’d been at his sunniest. Standing like a statue in the middle of the dance floor he’d been at his most thunderous. He’d looked then as if he’d like to rip someone’s head off. And then he’d slipped back into laconic, lazy lover mode. But there was something dark, something lurking behind that dimpled grin and sexy walk. She could feel it.
But that was no reason to be so hideously inconsiderate. None.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I’d rather get going.’
He pulled the towel off. Uninhibited. Totally. Dried himself and then tossed it onto the bed.
‘Look. If I’m angry with you it’s because you didn’t tell me about your sexual past—or lack of one.’
Lucie was stunned. That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. He couldn’t possibly be bothered about her inexperience. Deflowering virgins was something that men boasted about. Stupid men, admittedly.
‘Well, gosh, I’m sorry. If I’d known it was such a big deal I would have had a T-shirt made.’
He was walking to one of the cherrywood cabinets when he stopped and cast her a look down the side of his face.
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Lucie.’
‘No more than contempt suits you.’
‘If that’s how you interpret it, then I’m sorry. But I’m serious—you should have told me about being a virgin.’
‘You would have stopped.’
He started moving again. Reached into a drawer and pulled on a pair of super-tight, super-sexy black boxers. She tried so hard not to stare—but how on earth did he expect her to keep the drool in her mouth when he was standing in front of her looking as if he’d just stepped from the pages of a magazine?
‘I would have stopped for good reason, Lucie.’ He straightened and then reached into another drawer. He pulled out a T-shirt and slid it over his head. The shock of damp blond hair fell into place perfectly.
‘You’re not a silly little girl—you’re a mature woman. And you’ve chosen to sleep with your first ever sexual partner tonight? What am I supposed to think? It was clearly important for you to keep yourself chaste all these years—how old are you, anyway?’
He was frowning. There was no trace whatsoever of Mr Sunshine.
‘I am twenty-five, since you ask. So charmingly.’
She sounded awful, she knew—like some kind of snobbish harpy. And she was beginning to see his point of view. But for heaven’s sake...
‘My point exactly. Twenty-five-year-old princess beds Argentinian polo player in Get Rid of Virginity Quick game. Yeah? See how those headlines would read? Some people might say you used me.’
‘I did not use you!’
He was now pulling on a pair of jeans, sliding a belt through the loops and buckling it. He eyed her sceptically.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, puffing herself up as much as she could while draped in a sheet. ‘Everyone knows that women don’t have equal rights in the bedroom. Men are sexual predators who take what they want, and the more that they do, the more they’re admired. What a stud! What a hero! The minute a woman goes after what she wants she’s a tart.’
Suddenly the storm broke. Thunder spread across his brow.
‘You think so? You think that’s always how it works? Well, take it from me: there are a lot more female predators out there than you might imagine.’
He blasted out the words. Fury laced every syllable. It was like being in the eye of a typhoon that had come right out of nowhere. She stood, stunned, waiting to be sure that the storm had passed before she spoke.
‘And your actions tonight could be interpreted as predatory...’
Now he was barely audible, moving about, running his hands through his hair, avoiding any eye contact.
‘Even you don’t believe that I’m a sexual predator! How ridiculous! Listen to yourself. You know perfectly well that all that happened was that we were both in the right place at the right time. You wanted it as much as I did.’
‘You really expect me to believe that it was just a question of “tonight’s the night”? After twenty-five years?’
‘Look, I don’t expect you to believe anything.’
‘But you still owe me an explanation.’
He kept his back to her, sat on the edge of the bed pulling on deck shoes.
‘How about this, then? Yes, I used you. I used you for sex. But you can be sure there won’t be a repeat of it.’ She sounded shrill. She sounded waspish.
He stood up. Faced her. Hands on hips. Raised eyebrows.
‘Yeah, well, that was always a cert.’
Lucie stared. ‘You really are just another insensitive pig.’
And she walked in the column of her sheet, with as much grace as she could muster, to the door. She heaved it open and made her way back along the corridor. She passed the hot tub, bubbling away under dawn’s canopy, and stepped up into the salon, spotting her dress immediately in its shards of shame. She grabbed up her underwear and tried to wriggle into it.
How the heck was she going to get ashore? She’d rather die than ask him for a lift in the speedboat. Could she swim? Call a water taxi?
She was desperately fastening the legions of buttons when she heard him come close. Suddenly protecting her own space became the most critical thing she could do. She dropped the dress and gathered up the sheet.
‘Even an insensitive pig like me knows a liar when he sees one.’
She turned to face him. He was leaning casually, one arm on the doorframe, head cocked to one side—but he looked as relaxed as a starched shirt.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You really need me to spell it out? Okay. I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours. But in that time I think I’ve seen every one of your princess-cut diamond faces. You went from the rudest, most ungrateful bitch I’ve ever met to a—a wreck.’
Lucie stood her ground as he straightened up and began to pace towards her.
‘That panic attack? It nearly drew the curtains on your big night. And it was the only reason you even gave me entry to your father’s yacht. If I hadn’t stepped up you would have had me clapped in irons and thrown in the—the tower, or whatever you aristocrats do. And then something happened. Because the next thing I know you’re hunting me down and offering yourself to me on a plate.’
He paused and stared at her with that penetrating gaze. She was determined to hold his eye—to stare right back while she fired a retort. But it was useless. He was right. She had used him. And she’d lied to him. How awful. How utterly, disgracefully awful.
She stepped away, bowed her head.
‘When I rescued you the last thing you had on your mind was losing your virginity. Isn’t that right?’ he asked.
She opened her mouth but he put up his hand to stop her.
‘Yes, I know you didn’t need to be rescued. And I know that I probably upset the whole of the marine biodiversity of the Caribbean—but that’s not the point. Here,’ he said, holding out her shoes. ‘Tell me I’m wrong.’
Lucie reached for her shoes but he held them just out of reach and eyed her carefully. Through the haze of guilt she cast him a quick look and grabbed for them again. This time he shook his head and released them.
She clutched them and moved away.
‘Lucie?’
‘Yes—okay,’ she said. ‘I hated you from the minute I saw you.’ She turned round to face him. ‘And when you came on the yacht I hated you even more.’
She had. All that arrogance. While she’d been feeling so wretched! Thinking he might be her mother, of all people.
Her mother—who had let her down. Who didn’t have time to fulfil her promise but had all the time in the world to order Lucie about, demand that she do this or that. To tell her to stay away from the very person who had stepped up and actually helped her.
She turned to him. ‘But I was genuinely grateful for what you did. You did more for me than anyone has ever done before—helping me out like that.’
He looked at her curiously. Suddenly she felt she’d gone too far. Given too much away. She tossed her head back.
‘I wanted to taste forbidden fruit, if you like. I didn’t intend that we would go as far as we did. I didn’t think for a minute that I would sleep with you. But then I thought, Why not? That’s all. There’s no big mystery.’
She knew she sounded self-righteous. But wasn’t that always the way?
She started furiously to pull the dress on. It was ripped at the shoulders and it was still a monster to get on, sticking at her hips and causing her to heave at it in an ungainly way. Her hands fumbled with the dratted buttons, missing the silk loops over and over, and suddenly it was too much.
Fiery tears formed in her eyes. She’d held herself together all night and now some stupid buttons were going to be her undoing? No way. No. She tried again. Bent her head and tried to manoeuvre her fingers while he stood utterly silent behind her. Damn him. Damn.
‘You wait twenty-five years and then you think, Why not? I’ve had better compliments in my life.’
Her mind flashed with images of him worshipping her, mounting her, leaning down on her, glorying in her femininity and making her feel proud of her body for the first time she could remember.
‘I’m sure you have.’
‘So I was right the first time. You used me. I was just some kind of problem-solver—first with the auction and then with the virginity.’
How horrid. How utterly cold and calculating. Was that what he really thought of her? She could barely see her fingers through the thick, wobbling veil of unspilled tears in her eyes.
‘If that’s how you want to put it.’ Her voice was choked and thin but she wouldn’t turn her head, wouldn’t let a single tear fall as the buttons—finally done—held the two torn sides of her dress together.
‘I can’t think of a better way.’
The hot tub bubbled back into life. Like some Greek chorus filling in every awkward pause.
‘And the reason you had to lose your virginity tonight was...? Because, believe me, this is the part that really interests me.’
He really had her like a worm on a stick, turning it and making her squirm.
‘Because of my mother,’ she blurted, shocking herself with the words that had actually poured from her mouth.
‘Your mother?’
Saying more would make her sound absolutely ridiculous. Saying less would be crazy. ‘Yes. My mother has warned me my whole life to stay away from men like my father. Men like you.’
‘Like me? You think I am like your father?’
‘Yes—and when she found out you had replaced her at the auction she was furious.’
He narrowed one eye. ‘Your mother was furious because she thinks I am like your father and that I replaced her. And that’s why you slept with me?’
Lucie sat down heavily on a sofa and tried to stuff her toes under the narrow straps across her evening shoes.
‘My mother is a bitch. That’s why I slept with you.’
‘Oh, that makes so much more sense.’
Lucie looked around for some kind of distraction. Her shoes were tied, her dress was on—she needed something to occupy her hands. There was nothing—except this great hunk of man in front of her, demanding answers.
‘Okay. You really want to know? My mother was supposed to do this whole event with me. It’s why the CCC approached me in the first place. I might raise two quid on my own, but Lady Viv could easily raise two million. I asked her. She knows how bad my social anxiety is, and she promised she would do it. I would never in a million years have got involved in any of this if she hadn’t agreed. She said she would do it if I accepted her conditions—Oh, good grief. I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.’
Suddenly his hands were round her upper arms, warm and steady. And his eyes were trained on hers.
‘What conditions?’
Lucie pulled away—but he strengthened his grip.
‘What conditions?’
‘Look, none of that matters. She wants me to be more like her—and I’m nothing like her—and she doesn’t care for the things I care for. That’s all.’
‘Like turtles?’
She turned on him.
‘Hey! I’m serious—I’m not mocking! But you said “conditions”. What conditions?’
How did she explain?
‘Lose weight. Other things too, but mostly the weight.’
She couldn’t look at him. Saying the words out loud made her feel ashamed.
She heard two things then—the beginning of a long whistle and the ringing pulse of a phone. She looked round for hers, then remembered she didn’t have so much as a pocket handkerchief with her—and that her phone was drowning in an ice bucket somewhere.
Lucie followed Dante’s gaze to where a phone was lighting up.
‘It’s fine. It’s my mother. No one else would phone this early.’
Its ringing filled the air.
‘Aren’t you going to get it?’
He half-smiled, shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to listen to the end of your story.’
‘My story?’
He nodded his head. ‘Everyone has their story. And it sounds like yours is quite a complicated one.’
‘I’m really not in the habit of telling people my “story” or anything about me. So let’s leave it at that.’
‘Fine—except that your story now involves me. And it will for ever.’
She felt that stick poke her a little more keenly, and the worm squirmed a little more painfully. Normally when people got this interested she had no difficulty whatsoever in putting them in their place—or exiting. It was part of who she was—her essence. Nobody must know anything—ever.
And, yes, although that came more from her father than her mother, even Lady Viv ‘managed’ things. She only put out what she wanted. And she certainly wouldn’t want anything like this. Wash dirty linen in public? Never. Though wasn’t that exactly what she’d done to Lucie last night? She didn’t care one iota about Lucie’s public image, or rather public humiliation.
Yes, she had totally stepped over the line yesterday. Leaped over it. Way over.
‘My mother courts attention. Craves attention. Needs it. I abhor it. She likes to look pretty. I don’t. Look pretty. So I don’t try.’
‘Yes, you said that already. I have to say I’m not sure where all that ugly duckling delusion comes from.’
‘Dante...’ She sighed, almost exasperated. ‘I’m what you’d call “the outdoors type”. In England that means I’m at home in muddy fields—well, you have horses...you know what I mean. And over here it means that I swim, I tag animals, I run on the beach. I like what I like. And I don’t try to be anyone else or please anyone else.’
‘That’s obvious.’
‘Lady Viv is all about things being pretty.’
‘And she finds it hard to accept that you’re more than just pretty? You have depth.’
Lucie’s eyes widened.
‘And she’s jealous of you.’
At that she laughed out loud. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not jealous! She’s embarrassed by me!’
The words hung in the air. Unsaid for all these years. Yet there they were—bold and ugly. But resonating with truth.
‘I doubt that.’
‘Do you?’
Lucie turned away from his gaze. It was too humiliating. She realised she must sound as if she wanted reassurance.
‘Look, I don’t care. I don’t need anyone to tell me what I’ve spent my life witnessing. It’s fine. It is what it is.’
‘You’ve really no idea.’ He seemed to say it almost to himself. ‘I really do have to spell it out to you.’
‘No, you really don’t. Trust me—the last thing I want is anyone’s pity.’
‘The last thing I’d give you is pity. But it seems to me that you’re living under some grave misapprehensions. Anyway...’ He smiled and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. ‘You used me. For sex. The least you can do is indulge me.’
‘Indulge you in what?’
Why did the smile that slid across his handsome face make her feel so warm and woozy? It was just a smile...a parting of the lips. Okay, his eyes crinkled and twinkled, but so what if the teeth he flashed were heart-stoppingly perfect? And, oh, those dimples—it was like being shot at close range, she would imagine, hit with both barrels.
His hands cupped her jaw. He pulled her closer.
‘You are beautiful. You are sexy. And you care. Not just about what you’re wearing. You care about important things. And you’ll fight for them. Even if it means putting yourself out there.’
He kissed her, and she felt that something open and deep and raw was suddenly a little more exposed. And it frightened her. Who did he think he was, analysing her? She pulled away.
‘That’s very kind of you, but let’s not start making stuff up to gild this particular lily. As I said, I really don’t need it.’
‘No—you need this.’
And as quickly as she’d pulled out of his grasp he’d pulled her back, turned her round and kissed her. Hard. And deep. And long.
She could fight or she could go with the flow. But after a single moment she knew that there was no real choice. A sigh as wild as the ocean breeze slid from mouth as she realised she could do nothing but answer his demands. He paced backwards, kissing her all the while, his mouth mastering her, his body hard and uncompromising and exactly what she’d never even known she needed.
‘Don’t you, Princess?’
He didn’t wait for a reply. He slid his hand over her breast and then hoisted up her skirt. She groaned into his mouth.
‘Payback begins now.’
With frenzied hands they ripped at each other’s clothes. Her mouth covered every inch of his body, greedily grabbing and kissing and licking, and then she was lying down on one of the banquettes, and he was inside her, thrusting with all his might as he brought her with him to the very edge of passion and beyond.
This time when he rolled over she rolled with him. Her head lay on his chest and he wrapped her in his arms. Neither spoke. Through the windows the lilac dawn turned pink and then blue and the day awoke properly.
‘What time do you think it is?’ she asked, drawing patterns over his smooth bronze skin, marvelling at his male beauty.
When he didn’t answer she cocked her head to look at him. He was staring straight up, unseeing.
‘Oh, I’d say about ten. Listen, I’ve been thinking...’
At that the pulsing beat of his phone sounded again.
Dante loosened his arm from under her and reached over.
‘Yep, right on cue,’ he said, looking at the screen before pressing the button to answer.
‘Good morning, Mother. It’s still early. Though not as early as your last call.’
Lucie lay still, acutely aware of her nakedness and of the low burr of the woman’s voice on the other end of the phone.
‘Yes, of course—go right ahead. I haven’t forgotten. I know how important this is for you—for all of us.’
He sat up, skilfully tucking two pillows behind him in a way that suggested he’d done it a thousand times before. A sharp sense of sadness suddenly struck her as she realised that, yes, he probably had—with a thousand different women in his bed.
So she had made a wonderful grand gesture to her mother, had she? She had shown her! Proved that she wasn’t her property—that she had a mind of her own.
Really?
Maybe all she’d done was prove that she was another statistic.
‘Yes, I was just about to sort it.’
She saw his fingers drum on the sheet as he shot her a quick glance. No, she mustn’t think like that—she mustn’t let all that mental chatter take her down the wrong path. She must think positively. She’d made a choice—she hadn’t just thrown herself at the first man available. She had decided to step out of her mother’s shade and into the light. Dante’s light. And she felt warmed by it—not ashamed.
‘Not at all, Mother.’
Lucie rolled round, pulled the sheet up to her chin and stared at the utterly perfect blue sky. Her mother would have made at least a dozen calls to Lucie’s drowned phone by now. The last time Lucie had been incommunicado it had almost led to the armed guard being called. Leaving one’s phone behind was the ultimate offence.
Calling was her mother’s way of salving her conscience. She couldn’t really care less what Lucie was up to, but she liked to be able to say with some certainty exactly where she was. And of course Lucie’s role, as far as her mother was concerned, was to talk her back from the ledge when her own anxiety levels soared.
Like in the early days of her parents’ separation, when her father had been entertaining new lady-friends and Lucie had been expected to file a daily report to her inconsolable mother. Yes, she was always expected to be available—so goodness knew what kind of reception waited for her when Lady Viv finally did track her down.
‘As soon as I know for sure I’ll tell you.’
On the other hand maybe she had been a bit rash to throw her phone away like that. Her mother might actually be worried about her. It would be the first time, but then she’d never given her cause for concern before. Apart from that time when she’d sat on her phone and smashed the screen... Oh! Who could forget the barrage of abuse she’d faced for that?
If she hadn’t let her bottom spread with all that horse-riding... If she’d been a bit more like Lady Viv in her day...
Lucie cringed, recalling that moment. She’d heard Badass and Simon laughing in the background after her mother’s, ‘You sat on it?’ had been repeated three times with increasing volume.
‘Today. Sure.’ Dante whistled.
She really didn’t want to be listening to his private call with his mother. She knew more than most how they could turn out. No—it was time to get off the boat, get back, and get on with the aftermath.
She sat up and reached for a second time for her clothes. The dress—minus another dozen or so buttons—lay at her feet, but she really had no other option and so began the arduous task of fastening it up again.
‘Yes, you know I will.’
Something about his tone made Lucie pause. She was trying to fasten the stupid ankle straps on her shoes, but why bother? She could just as easily leave them hanging out of their ridiculous diamante loops.
‘Give me five minutes. I’ll call you right back.’
Maybe she should be giving him privacy, she thought, standing up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. How utterly ridiculous she looked. While Dante, also now standing up, walking around the bed, the purest, most male, handsomest form imaginable, was even more attractive than he looked with his clothes on. How was that possible?
He was walking round to her.
‘Sorry about that—I had to take it.’
He hooked the phone against his neck as he smoothed one of the most engaging smiles she had ever seen all over his face. A double dimple. Wow.
‘Lucie, what are your plans for the day?’
She mentally groaned at the thought of all those people crawling over the yacht, dismantling the party paraphernalia, wanting to ask her questions, getting into her space. She really ought to be there—she really oughtn’t to have left. But she had and—damn it all—it had been so worth it.
‘And the weekend?’
Well, that was easy—she would be fielding calls from her mother. There would be, Where the hell have you been? and then, Who the hell were you with? and undoubtedly, Have I taught you nothing? Then some sort of symbolic wringing of the hands, and after about ten seconds it would be all about Lady Viv again.
Only if she let it, she reminded herself. She’d had a lovely evening, and the last thing she was going to do was let her mother spoil it by dissecting it. There were some things at least that she could keep private.
‘Only, if you’ve no particular plans I’d like you to come up to New York with me.’
He was moving about in that easy Hollywood way he had, as if the cameras were rolling, the director was in his chair and she was the starlet waiting to speak her lines. She narrowed her eyes.
‘New York?’
He nodded.
‘My mother is due to collect an award at the Woman of the Year Awards next weekend. There has been a lot of speculation in the press about it—I don’t know if you keep up with all that stuff? Anyway, we’ve all got to put on a show for Eleanor, and I need to take a date. Princess, I can’t think of anyone who would slip into the role better than you.’
She turned. She faced him. She could see herself in the mirror, with last night smeared all over her. And he’d just asked her out on a date? To an awards ceremony? With the rest of the Hermida family and the whole world watching?
‘It’s very flattering, but I don’t know if that is such a great idea.’
‘Why wouldn’t it be a great idea?’
Lucie tried not to look at her reflection. ‘Well, it would be public, I assume? If the press are all over it before it’s actually happened, they’re going to be even more interested when it does.’
She thought she heard him draw in a breath.
‘And the problem with it being public is...?’
Cameras. Photographers. Lady Vivienne Bond, she thought, wincing.
‘It’s just not my thing. You know that.’
‘I know that I’d like you to come with me.’
‘But there must be tons of girls who could go with you. Girls who would actually enjoy getting all dressed up in—’ she held out the skirts of the satin dress ‘—one of these.’
He laughed. ‘It’s not exactly torture, is it?’
She scowled, saw that blasted reflection again. ‘Look, it’s not my thing. And my mother would—’
‘Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? Your mother would...?’
He held her gaze—worse, he probed her gaze. She felt as if he were looking right inside her mind. She glanced away.
‘What would your mother do, Lucie? Disapprove? Are the aristocracy only supposed to date other aristocrats? Is that it?’ He took a step towards her, laughed. ‘Am I too low-rent for you, Princess?’
‘Oh, stop it! You know I was only kidding.’
‘Were you? Look, I don’t give a damn what your mother or anyone else thinks—I need a date for this event, that’s all. Someone who—gets it.’
‘Gets what?’
‘That it’s just a date. A no-strings-attached, short-term, all-you-can-eat buffet, and then—goodbye.’
‘Sounds...filling.’
He laughed. ‘You see—you get it. Plus, you know what cutlery to use. I don’t need to worry that you’ll use your fish knife to spread butter on your napkin, or any other crime of the century like that.’
‘It’s not exactly a hanging offence.’
‘Well, not to me and you—but to someone like my mother it’s on a par with genocide. “There are certain standards, Dante, and you know what they are...”’
The low, slow tones he used to mimic Eleanor Hermida made her instantly compare them to Lady Viv’s shrill staccato.
‘And, for all I normally don’t give a damn about melon forks and steak knives, this is her special day, and it would be very nice...’ his cheeks slid into two slight furrows and his eyes twinkled endearingly ‘...if you would come along and show us all how it’s done. It’s not you who’ll be in the spotlight. It’s my mother. You’ll just be there to make up the numbers.’
‘Gosh, you make it sound so tempting.’
‘Plus you get to seriously annoy your mother. Put another bit of emotional distance between you.’
‘We’re as emotionally distant as the two poles as it is. But I like your logic.’
‘So we have a deal?’
‘Let me go over this again. I come as your date on an all-inclusive, no-strings weekend and then we never meet again? And I do this because it will annoy my mother? It sounds childish.’
‘It sounds perfect. It demonstrates much more effectively than words that you are your own boss. That you make your own choices and are answerable to yourself. And it has the advantage of being very public. There’s no mistaking your intention.’
‘And the no-strings bit?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘That is non-negotiable.’
‘Absolutely! As long as we’re both clear.’
It was all very well to use a weekend with Dante to drive a long overdue wedge between herself and her mother. But there was no way she wanted to end up like her. Worrying over a playboy. Good grief, no!
‘Crystal,’ he said.
She stood in last night’s rags, with last night’s make-up gone and her hair flat and fallen. But this time when she looked at herself in the mirror she saw tomorrow’s woman. Something had happened overnight. Whatever her motivation—and she wasn’t entirely blind to the fact that of all the men in all the world she’d chosen the handsomest one to spend her first ever night with, and she wasn’t entirely deaf to the little alarm bell that had rung at ‘no strings’—she had taken a major step down a brand-new path. And she had liked it.
‘So I come to New York...? What are the rest of the details?’
‘We fly first to the Hamptons. There’s a business deal I’m considering there. I’ve been putting it off, but I need to make a decision before I head to Dubai.’
He spoke quietly, gravely, and she saw then that there was more—much more—to him than a polo-playing playboy.
‘Yes. We’ll go there, hang out for a couple of days, see some friends, and I’ll get this tied up. Then New York. With the family. But that’s it. No, Wouldn’t it be nice if...?—none of that. It’s these few days and then we split.’
As if she needed any clearer explanation, he lifted his arms and pointed with each finger in the opposite direction.
‘Look, I’m perfectly clear on that—you don’t need to worry. And, sorry if this comes as a shock, I have no intention whatsoever of pursuing a romance with you. You’re really not my type.’
‘Pardon me?’
Lucie couldn’t stifle a smirk.
‘What? Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before? You look as if I’ve just delivered the news that you’ve got two heads. Sorry, Dante, but you’re not my type. It’s that simple.’
He swiftly gathered himself together again, but there was no mistaking that it looked as if this was the first time in his life he’d ever been told Thanks, but no thanks by a woman. It certainly wouldn’t do him any harm.
‘What’s not “your type” about what we just did? I don’t recall you telling me that you’d had better.’
‘I don’t recall telling you that I’d had anything! There was no one before to compare you to.’
He was now pulling on jeans, fastening buttons, looking as if he had not a care in the world more than what shade of T-shirt he might choose. But she could taste a lick of tension in the air and see the edge of strain across his brow.
‘Sorry—that came out all wrong. What I mean is—what I mean is that I’ve been surrounded by playboys my whole life. My own father practically invented the word! I’ve seen at very close range the devastation that they bring. So, lovely as you are, the last thing on this earth I want to be is anywhere near you after this weekend.’
Grey T-shirt selected and pulled down over his perfect golden torso, hair flicked effortlessly back into place and beautiful one-dimple smile slipped on, Dante faced her.
‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up. I’d hate to think that those screaming orgasms you had were such a disappointment.’
Lucie smiled through the flush of shame that she felt creep warmly over her chest and neck. Would she ever be able to think again of those moments without feeling a stab, a shadow, an echo of how he’d made her feel? But there was no way she was letting him get away with thinking he held all the cards.
‘Ditto,’ she said tartly. ‘You seemed to be having a reasonable time yourself.’
At that he laughed. A proper laugh. His eyes sparkled and she hit the two-dimple jackpot.
‘You’re a match for me, Princess. That’s for sure. More than a match.’
‘And for the last time...’ she began.
‘You’re not a princess,’ he said. ‘I know. And I’ll drop it. Promise. So, we’ll go to the Hamptons? Then on to New York? We’ll dress up and go out and honour my mother. And we’ll tell your mother via the world’s press that her days of using you as therapist and whipping post are done. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ she said, smiling.
And all the while that tinkling little bell rang in her ears with a warning not to smile too broadly, or feel too happy, or fall too deeply. Because there was no one waiting to help her over these hurdles. There never had been. And wishes didn’t come true.