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And yet the only one feeling as if all of this was a punishment was her.
She hadn’t expected that bite to ignite something inside her. She hadn’t expected his mouth to be quite so soft or for him to taste quite so delicious, like dark chocolate, fine whisky and all the seven sins rolled up into one.
She hadn’t expected the way he’d looked at her naked body to make her feel as if she was going to burn to ash where she stood. Or that touching the hard length that pressed against the wool of his trousers would feel so astonishingly good.
She hadn’t expected the intense throb between her thighs to be quite so demanding either.
Damn him. This was supposed to be a strong moment for her, not one where she felt as though she were standing naked in the path of an oncoming storm with nothing to protect her.
You’ve only got yourself to blame.
It was true. Sadly. She’d been the one who’d decided to bite him, to kiss him, to get naked and touch him. And now here she was, sitting on top of him, completely at the mercy of the desire inside her that had gripped her by the throat and wouldn’t let go.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sexual desire was supposed to be another of the weaknesses she’d cut out of her life. And yet his bronze skin beneath her palms was so smooth, the muscle under that so very, very hard, and all she wanted to do was press harder, test his strength, spread her fingers out and soak in all his heat.
But the hidden glints of gold in his dark eyes held her completely hypnotised and she couldn’t look away.
‘Poor kitten.’ His voice was rough and deep, the rich amusement in it like a caress against her skin. ‘You don’t understand, do you? I’m not at your mercy. You’re at mine.’
It seemed a ridiculously arrogant thing to say, when he was the one on his back and cuffed to the bed. Yet...
He was fluid and powerful underneath her, and hard, like granite carved direct from a mountain. She could see that power beneath her hands, feel it in the tight coil of his muscles and in the heat running through his body. It was there in his eyes too, an arrogant certainty of his power that made her want to tremble.
She felt that certainty within herself, in the desire that wound through her, exposing her. In the way her breath came short and fast, and in the relentless throb of heat between her thighs. In the tightness of her skin and the acute awareness of every part of her that touched him and every part of her that didn’t. In the delicious, warm scent of him that made her mouth water and her heart beat faster.
You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.
Stella shoved the thought from her head. There was only one answer to that and that was simply to be stronger. She had to be if she was to overcome the insidious dragging need to surrender to him and the relentless pressure of her desire.
Dante Cardinali had seemed to be a simple man. A man driven by the single-minded pursuit of pleasure, a slave to any pretty face that came his way.
But it wasn’t him who was the slave. It was her.
‘No,’ she whispered, both to him and to herself. ‘I’m not at anyone’s mercy.’
‘Prove it, then.’ Deep in the velvet darkness of his eyes, golden fire burned. ‘Get off me and walk away. Put on your dress and leave this room.’ His hips lifted as he said the words, the hard length behind the wool of his trousers brushing up against the soft, sensitive tissues of her sex.
Pleasure bolted like lightning straight through her and she couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped.
‘Do it.’ His voice was rough with heat. ‘If you think you can.’
She could. Of course she could.
Except he was moving subtly against her and the rhythmic pressure against that aching place between her thighs was making her shiver with delight. She’d denied herself many things in the quest to become better and stronger than the girl who’d betrayed her own brother into prison, and that included physical pleasure. She hadn’t thought she’d missed out on anything, but...
Get off him. Walk out. Deny him. That’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?
Of course it was. And, yes, she would get off him. Right now.
Except...the heat of him, and the power of his body beneath her, and the gentle rocking of his hips were all mesmerizing and she didn’t want it to stop.
You have to do something.
He wasn’t expecting her to get off him. That was obvious. He was expecting her to stay, to be at his mercy, exactly as he’d said. And her body simply wasn’t going to let her leave. Which meant she was going to have to do something else to prove her strength.
She shifted back on him, shivering at the brush of the fabric of his trousers against her. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled at the buttons of his fly.
He stilled, his big, rangy body tensing beneath her. ‘Oh, kitten,’ he breathed. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
She ignored him, tugging down his zip and reaching inside his boxers. Her fingers closed around him and she blinked, her breath sticking in her throat at the feel of him in her hand. So long and hard and hot.
She pulled the fabric away from him, staring at the length she held in her hand, completely fascinated.
‘Stella.’ Her name this time, in a rough and hungry growl. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
But it was too late. Backing down was an impossibility. It would make this entire evening an even bigger disaster, not to mention reveal the depths of her weakness, and she’d already revealed more of that than she wanted to when she’d put down her gun.
She lifted her gaze to his, the molten heat in his dark eyes making lightning crackle in her blood. ‘What did you want me to prove again?’ It was another challenge and she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she lifted her hips and fitted that hard shaft of his against the entrance to her body. Then she lowered herself down on him.
The feel of him pushing inside her was exquisite. There was no pain, only a wonderful stretching sensation and a pressure that tore a groan from her throat.
His smile vanished, his mouth twisting into a snarl, a rough, masculine sound breaking from him as she slid down on him even further.
Then she had to move and she was helpless to stop herself, the urge overwhelming. Rising and falling on him, at first hesitant and uncertain, then finding a rhythm. He’d gone silent, his hips lifting with hers, the fierce hunger on his beautiful face holding her captive.
They stared at each other as pleasure began to unwind in a shining cord, wrapping around both of them and pulling tight. Getting tighter. Then tighter still.
Stella braced herself with her hands on his chest, the world narrowing down to the rock-hard body under hers and the astonishingly good push-pull of him inside her...to the coil of pleasure that was tightening and tightening and tightening.
Her skin felt raw and over-sensitive, the desperation inside her growing teeth. She hadn’t thought sex would be like this, that she’d be so feverish and hungry. That she’d be so desperate.
The room was cool and yet she’d broken out into a sweat, her palms damp on his chest. A moan escaped her, because somehow he was dictating the pace now, the movement of his hips faster, her body trying to catch up, chasing some kind of glory she didn’t understand and which agonisingly kept moving out of reach.
‘Touch yourself,’ he murmured, his rich voice rough with dark heat, no trace of the polished playboy in it now. ‘Do it now.’
And she found herself obeying him without hesitation, driven by her own hunger, moving her hand between her thighs and touching her own slick flesh. And as she did so he lifted his hips, thrusting up hard into her.
Pleasure suddenly detonated like a bomb, and she cried out, throwing back her head, feeling herself come apart in the most incredible blaze of light.
Dimly she felt his body tense, another roughened growl escaping him, but she couldn’t seem to focus on that, not when her whole body was busy being flooded with such sharp, intense ecstasy.
As it faded, she fell forward onto his hard chest and for a second or two simply relaxed there, her cheek against his hot skin, breathing in the delicious scent of sandalwood, salt and musk. It was like lying on a rock in the sun and she wanted to close her eyes and drift, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The sound was reassuring in some way, as powerful and enduring as the sea...
‘Kitten,’ Dante Cardinali said, his deep voice echoing through her.
The delicious warmth was fading, the feeling of reassurance going out like the tide, leaving her cold and shaking, and not in a good way.
Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up and met the darkness of his gaze staring back.
What have you done? You were supposed to kill him, not get into power games. And you definitely weren’t supposed to have sex with him.
Shame flooded through her, crushing her. This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
‘Stella,’ Dante said.
But she couldn’t stand being in this room a second longer, surrounded by the ruins of her mission and the evidence of her weakness.
She slid off him, pulling on her dress and underwear with shaking hands, pausing only to grab the little clutch she’d brought with her. Then she moved quickly to the door on legs that felt as if they might give way at any moment.
‘Stella,’ Dante repeated, more forcefully this time.
But she didn’t turn. She couldn’t bear to look at him.
She opened the door and fled, the sound of him roaring her name one last time ringing in her ears.
CHAPTER THREE (#uc22d45c2-aa2c-5f31-813b-f0b28d6eceff)
‘WHAT DO YOU THINK, Dante?’ Enzo asked. ‘Do we want to go with Tokyo on this one or stick with the New York office’s plans?’
Dante wasn’t listening, too busy restlessly pacing around in front of the windows of the boardroom in Cardinal Developments’ London office. Rain pelted against the glass, obscuring the view of the city below but, just as he wasn’t listening to his brother, he wasn’t paying much attention to the view either.
He was in England with Enzo to work out some of the details of a new project in the City, which had been hijacked by some disagreement between their people in New York and Tokyo, and quite frankly he didn’t have the patience for either thing right now.
Not when his head was full of Stella Montefiore.
It had been over a month since she’d left him cuffed to a bed in that hotel room in Monte Carlo, running out on him mere minutes after the most unexpectedly intense sexual experience of his life, and to say he was annoyed about it would be to understate things massively.
He wasn’t simply annoyed. He was furious.
And he wasn’t furious that she’d not only drugged him and cuffed him but then tried to kill him. No, he was furious firstly because she’d run out without even a thank you, and secondly because, try as he might, he simply could not stop thinking about her.
That brief moment of excitement and pleasure should have been more than enough for him. After all, there were a great many other lovely women in the world, so he shouldn’t be fixating or caring about one particular woman.
But for some reason he hadn’t been able to stop.
For weeks all he’d thought about was the feel of her tight, wet heat around him and the scent of her arousal, the unbelievable pleasure that had licked up his spine the moment she’d lowered herself down on him.
Of the challenging look in her beautiful eyes as her fingers had closed around him, upping the ante on their little game in a way he hadn’t expected. Or the way that look had turned to wonder as she’d lowered herself down on him and the heat and the pleasure between them had taken hold.
He’d never seen that look on a woman’s face in bed before and he’d been riveted. Caught too by the knowledge that she was experiencing this for the first time and he was the one who was giving it to her.
Maybe it was simply because she’d been trying to kill him that had heightened everything, including the pleasure.
Whatever it was, one thing had become very, very clear to him: given that she hadin fact been trying to kill him, and that he had no guarantee she wouldn’t try again, he couldn’t simply leave her to run around on the loose.
So for the past month he’d spent most of his efforts on investigating her and, more importantly, finding her. Efforts that had all ended up with frustrating dead ends.
Until now.
‘Dante, for God’s sake,’ Enzo said curtly. ‘You’re giving me a damn headache.’
Dante blinked then turned around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers. Enzo was leaning against the long, sleek black table that dominated the boardroom, his arms folded, his golden eyes disturbingly sharp.
‘Are you going to tell me what the matter is?’ he asked. ‘Or are you going to continue to pace around, pretending to be me?’
His brother wasn’t wrong. Pacing was definitely Enzo’s speciality, not Dante’s.
With an effort, Dante tried to relax. He didn’t want Enzo to know about Stella, not yet. His brother was happy for the first time in his life and Dante didn’t want anything to worry him, such as attempts on Dante’s life from enemies back in the old country.
Besides, Enzo would no doubt start taking charge of the operation if Dante did tell him, and there was no way Dante wanted him to do that. This was his problem and he was going to handle it his way.
Nothing at all to do with wanting Stella Montefiore in your bed again, naturally.
Naturally. He’d had her once. He didn’t need to have her again, no matter how beautiful she was or exciting he’d found her. He just wanted her found, any threat she presented negated.
‘There’s nothing the matter.’ Dante consciously tried to relax his tense muscles. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said and you’re pacing around like Simon does when he’s restless and wants to go outside and play.’
‘Though presumably with fewer tantrums,’ Dante muttered. He loved his nephew but, as Simon was only four, Dante didn’t much appreciate the comparison.
One of Enzo’s black brows rose. ‘Is that a comment on my son’s behaviour? Because if so—’
‘Of course not,’ Dante snapped, unaccountably irritable.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Enzo stared at him.
‘What?’ He stared back. ‘There’s no problem.’
‘And our father is alive and well and ruling peacefully at home,’ Enzo commented dryly. ‘Tell me. And it had better be work related. Simon starts school in a couple of months and the last thing he needs is one of his uncle’s scandals all through the media.’
Since Enzo had married Matilda six months ago, he’d got very protective of his little family. Annoyingly so, in Dante’s opinion. His brother had never minded his affairs before, but in the past few months he’d turned into a damn prude. It was irritating.
Dante had managed successfully to build a life that consisted entirely of seeing to his own comfort and he was more than happy with the present arrangement. He did not want anything to change it.
‘It’s nothing that need concern Cardinal Developments,’ he said, trying to find his usual casual smile. ‘Or Simon. It’s merely a distracting entanglement.’
Enzo frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound promising. She’s not married, is she?’
‘Brother, please. A married woman? It’s like you don’t know me at all.’ There, that sounded more like his usual self, didn’t it?
Enzo’s gaze narrowed, studying Dante in that sharp way he had. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not,’ Dante said with perfect truth.
‘She must be very distracting to get you tied up in knots like this.’
Enzo didn’t know the half of it, but Dante wasn’t going to enlighten him.
