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What was wrong with him? He never lost control like this. He’d spent years training himself to have absolute control over his feelings. To make sure that he didn’t turn into his father.
But there was something about Carenza Tonielli. Something that made all his rules just beg to be broken. He bent his head to hers and kissed her again, enjoying the way she responded so hotly to him. The way she opened her mouth beneath his, letting him deepen the kiss. The way her hands curved over his buttocks, pulling him closer.
When he broke the kiss, her eyes were fever-bright and her mouth looked utterly lush. ‘Why don’t you just take me home, Princess?’ he asked softly. ‘Come home with me and do me.’
Her mouth parted. Delectably. Tempting. Perfect, even white teeth; soft, perfect rosebud lips; and she made him ache. God, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember wanting anyone this much in his entire life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_fce04c55-39b9-5a77-ba1a-58ee96d8c445)
THEY walked back towards his place in silence. Dante’s head was telling him that this was a seriously bad plan, but his body was insistent that it was the best idea he’d had in years.
He realised that he was walking a bit too fast, given how high Carenza’s heels were, and slowed his pace a bit to accommodate her. She gave him a grateful look.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered. And he had to look away from her before he did something really stupid. Like pinning her against the nearest wall and kissing her until they were both dizzy. The way he was feeling right now, they’d end up getting arrested for public indecency.
What was it about Carenza Tonielli that made him lose control like this?
And that made her the worst possible person he could be with. Because losing control absolutely wasn’t an option for him. Not with his background. He couldn’t afford to take that risk.
He still hadn’t got himself completely back in control when she stopped him outside a pharmacy.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Supplies,’ she said. ‘Unless you already have some.’
Supplies? Then he realised what she meant. How the hell had that slipped his mind? ‘Uh. No. I haven’t. Wait here.’
He emerged with a pack of condoms in his pocket. It made him feel a bit like a schoolboy. Then he shook himself. This was simply getting rid of a distraction that was annoying both of them. Sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Once they’d got that out of the way, everything was going to be just fine. His head would be clear. So would hers. He’d help her fix her business and she’d be out of his life. No more complications.
The nearer they got to the restaurant, the more tense his muscles became.
Well, this had been his suggestion. Good or bad, he had to live with the consequences.
He went round to the side entrance and unlocked the door to let her in. It slammed behind them—and then everything bubbled over and his control snapped. He pinned her against the wall, kissing her hard. God, she was so soft, smelled so sweet …
And she was matching him kiss for kiss, bite for bite, hunger for hunger.
Dante wasn’t sure how or when he’d done it, but he’d lifted Carenza and her legs were wrapped round his waist. He rocked his pelvis against hers and she moaned against his mouth. He could feel the heat of her sex through her jeans, and he just couldn’t wait any more. He walked up the stairs with her still wrapped round him, not letting her go until he’d reached his bedroom; then slowly he let her slide to the floor, keeping her close to him so she’d be able to feel just how ready he was for her.
The next few moments were a blur. He had no idea who ripped whose clothes off, but at last they were naked. Skin to skin. As he’d wanted to be ever since she’d opened her mouth in the gelateria and let him feed her a spoonful of ice cream.
‘Loosen your hair,’ he said hoarsely.
She put one hand behind her head, took out the band holding her hair back, and shook her head so her hair fell over her shoulders.
‘Dio, you’re beautiful,’ he said, the words torn from him. She transfixed him. He cupped her face and kissed her very, very softly before letting his hands mould to her shape, stroking down over her shoulders, pausing to cup her breasts and feel their weight in his hands, then slowly discovering the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.
‘Dante, I …’ She licked her lower lip.
‘What, Princess?’ he asked softly.
Her breathing was fast and shallow, much like his own—and he could see it was an effort for her to speak. ‘Do it now,’ she begged. ‘Before I go crazy.’
‘Me, too,’ he whispered. He had just enough sense left to grab the box of condoms from his pocket and rip open one of the foil packets.
‘My job,’ she said, taking it from him and sliding the condom over his erection.
He nearly yelped when she touched him, it felt so good.
She clearly guessed, because her smile was pure satisfaction. Smug, that she could have that effect on him.
Ha. Considering she’d been the one to come apart under his touch last night …
He kissed her hard, burying his hands in her hair. She kissed him back and rocked her pelvis against him. Impatient? Yeah, he knew how that felt. He needed to be inside her. He needed that more than he’d ever needed anything in his entire life.
At last she was lying beneath him on his bed, her hair spread out on his pillow, and he was inside her. Hot and wet and … pure heaven. He stayed still for a moment, letting her body adjust to him, and then began to move. Taking it slow and easy. Letting it build.
Her fingernails were running down his back, just hard enough for pleasure.
He shifted so that he could push deeper inside her.
‘Oh, God, Dante, yes,’ she murmured. ‘More. More.’ She pushed against him, increasing the pace and the pressure.
He felt her body start to ripple round him, and it tipped him into his own release. When he came, it was like seeing stars. Everything seemed to sparkle in his head. When he opened his eyes, he could see his feelings reflected in her eyes, that same sense of wonder. The whole world felt as if it had shifted.
He rolled off her and lay there beside her, utterly stunned. He’d thought they’d be good together, but not this good. Especially the first time.
Unless you counted last night as the first time.
But through the whole thing he’d felt completely in tune with her—and that worried him. He walked to the beat of his own drum. Nobody else’s.
And then her hand found his; her fingers laced through his.
No, no, no. This was meant to be just sex. Not a relationship.
‘I’d better deal with the condom,’ he muttered, pulling his hand away from hers before he did something stupid. Like holding her hand right back.
When he came back from the bathroom, Carenza hadn’t moved, other than to pull the sheet over her up to her waist. She really was gorgeous; he could feel his body stirring again at the sight of her.
And he didn’t have a clue what to say. What she expected from him.
But then she smiled, shifted onto her side and patted the bed next to her.
Oh, hell. Now he knew exactly what she wanted. A cuddle. And to talk.
Well, he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to spill his guts to her. That wasn’t who he was.
‘Dante.’ Her voice was very soft. ‘You don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, do you?’ And in that split second she changed from princess to vamp.
Irresistible.
He climbed back onto the bed. ‘OK, Princess, I’m in your hands.’
A flicker of hurt passed over her face. ‘My friends call me Caz.’
‘We’re not exactly friends,’ he pointed out.
‘Let me rephrase that. People who are close to me.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘And I don’t think you can get much closer than you’ve just been.’
‘No.’ But physical closeness was where he drew the line. He didn’t want emotional closeness. Didn’t need it. He was fine just how he was, working hard and growing his business. Making his world secure. Emotional closeness was the quickest way to let the cracks grow and break that security. And no way was he ever going to let that happen.
‘Am I that scary?’ she asked.
‘How do you mean, scary?’
‘For a moment, there, you looked utterly terrified.’
Oh, hell. He always managed to mask his feelings. The fact that she could see right through him was worrying. In the extreme. ‘It must’ve been your imagination,’ he said coolly. ‘I’m scared of nothing.’ Not any more. His days of being scared were long behind him, left in the miseries of his childhood. ‘I was thinking, as you’re here I might as well feed you.’
‘You’re going to cook for me?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘When I have excellent chefs working for me downstairs? What’s the point?’
‘Oh.’ She looked slightly crestfallen; then she glanced over at the crumpled trail of clothes across his bedroom.
He took pity on her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to drag you down there.’
‘Actually, I’d like to see your restaurant.’
‘Not sitting with me, you won’t—I don’t want my staff talking about me.’ The words were out before he could stop them.
To his relief, she didn’t pick up on it. Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to explain to her why he hated people talking about him.
‘So what are you intending?’ she asked.
‘Room service. Kind of.’
She frowned. ‘Surely that’ll make them talk more?’
‘I’m having a business discussion with a colleague and it ran a bit late, so we decided to take a break for dinner. It happens.’
‘So what’s the difference between them knowing I’m up here and seeing me downstairs with you?’
All the difference in the world. ‘There just is, OK?’
‘Dante, you’re being completely illogical.’
He ignored her. ‘Is there anything you’re allergic to or hate eating, or shall we just have the special?’
‘Special?’
‘Dante’s menu is the same, regardless of where the restaurant is, but then the chef at each restaurant has a corner of the menu that’s just his or hers, a dish that’s a local speciality or what have you,’ he explained. ‘It changes whenever the chef feels like it. That way my chef gets to enjoy the creative side and feels that he or she has an input to the menu.’
‘Your staff really matter to you, don’t they?’ she asked.
‘This is a service industry. Without your staff, you’re nothing. You can produce the best food in the world, but if the service is poor the customer won’t come back. So it’s important that your staff feel they have a stake.’
She said nothing.
‘You know nothing about your staff, do you?’ he asked softly.
‘Not yet,’ she admitted.
‘You need to know who works for you and what their job involves. The best way to do that is to spend a few hours doing every single job in your business, so you know the challenges your staff face and can empathise with them.’
‘Is that what you did?’
He nodded. ‘I still do it, every so often. It keeps me in touch with the staff and the business, and they respect me for it.’
‘Every job?’ she tested.
‘Every job,’ he emphasised, ‘from waiting tables to pot-washing to cashing up last thing at night to peeling vegetables. And, yes, I clean toilets as well.’
‘Right.’ She looked utterly shocked.
Ha. He’d just bet she’d never cleaned a toilet in her life. And even when she’d been living in London, he was pretty sure that she hadn’t cleaned her own flat. She would’ve paid someone to do it. Princesses didn’t soil their hands.
‘The special will be fine, thank you.’ She paused. ‘Um, would it be OK for me to have a shower?’
‘Sure.’ Dante had to hold back the idea of joining her in there. ‘The bathroom’s next door. There are clean towels in the airing cupboard. Help yourself to what you need.’
‘Thank you.’
He scooped up his own crumpled clothes and headed for the kitchen to give her some privacy. While she was in the shower, he rang the restaurant and ordered the special.
He’d just switched the kettle on to make coffee when she walked in. She hadn’t pulled her hair back again and his heart skipped a beat; like this, she looked younger than her twenty-eight years, slightly vulnerable.
And the thought hardened his heart. She didn’t need his protection. She already had people looking out for her. Always had. Not like the way he’d been, half a lifetime ago.
‘I’ve ordered the special. It should be with us in twenty minutes.’
‘That’d be good. So does your chef recommend red or white?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea. I don’t drink.’
She blinked. ‘What, not ever? Not even on your birthday or at Christmas?’
He thought back to his childhood. Christmases, his father’s birthday. Grappa, followed by the anger and the pain and the tears. ‘Not ever.’ He forced himself to relax. It wasn’t her fault that his father had been a mean drunk. ‘But if you want wine, sure, I can order some.’
