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As if the last five years had disappeared, the same thoughts began to run through her head, the pictures replaying like an old black and white movie. Hold me. Touch me. Take me.
‘I don’t need anyone.’ Not any more. Her warm breath filled the air like a puffy cloud but her voice, icy and brittle, didn’t sound as if it belonged to her.
No words. He simply looked out towards the gardens where the cool mist lay like a thick veil, swirling as if beckoning its master back into the Cimmerian lair. And that air of danger seemed to thicken further still, become seductive in its intensity as Dante turned back and closed the short distance between them. Through the dim light she couldn’t make out his expression but the heat pouring from his body wreaked chaos on her senses.
‘It was a good speech, Eva,’ he said, his deep voice imbued with warm sincerity—a hint of the man she once knew. No, Eva, that man did not exist. ‘Your mother would be proud of you.’
Oh, God. Hold it together. Hold it together. ‘Thank you,’ she said, but it was a choked sound that tore from her soul and if he didn’t leave right now, she was going to...
He growled, long and low, as if he understood, and hauled her into his arms. And the past crashed into the present with heart-stopping brutality. No thought, no hesitation, she buried her face in Dante’s neck, drank in his expensive, darkly sensual cologne and luxuriated in the lashing strength of his arms around her, his long fingers fanning the bare skin on her back....yet he said nothing. He was just there. Where she needed him.
No. No! She didn’t need him. She didn’t need any man. Never had, never would. They let you down, left. Brought nothing but heartache and pain.
So pull away—you have to pull away.
Except...where once cold, she could now feel Dante’s hot breath caressing the underside of her ear, whispering over the highly sensitised skin of her neck and she trembled from tip to toe. Pull away, Eva—do it now. So why did she ignore the screaming in her head and answer the flaming shrill in her blood to sink her fingers into his gorgeous thick hair and pull him closer still?
Another husky, cursing groan rumbled up his hard chest, vibrating over her aching breasts, and her heart began to thrash against her ribcage. This was not good. It felt good but it was a bad, bad idea. He hated her, for Chrissakes. And hadn’t she already learned her lesson with this man?
Loosening her grip on his neck, she eased down from her tippy toes, her fingertips scoring down his sculpted shoulders, unfurling to push him away. But when her palms smoothed over red-hot silk and she felt the carved perfection of his body, heat splashed through her midriff, flooding her core, banishing all thought and she wanted... More.
Suddenly his lips were there, hovering over hers, and oh, the temptation to touch again, taste him, to see if he was just as thrillingly wonderful as she remembered, made her slide her lips across his in a gossamer-soft stroke...press a moist kiss to the corner of his full mouth...
Dante’s entire body hardened to iron ore....
A flare of electricity danced across her skin and, right then, she knew her mistake. His power had undergone a seismic shift and increased tenfold over the years. Which made him even more dangerous than she’d ever thought possible.
As if he heard her question the force of his dominance, his large hands curved around her waist and cinched vice-tight until she could barely breathe. Then he lifted her entire weight from the floor as if she weighed nothing more than a spool of French lace.
Crushing her body to his, he murmured in her ear, so dark, so quiet, she almost didn’t hear him. ‘You cannot help yourself, can you, Eva? What is it you want this time? Another night—or shall I just take you up against the wall?’
What? Oh, oh, God. Hot and sharp, a prick of hateful regret stabbed her throat. So when her words came they were laden with biting precision. ‘In your dreams, Dante.’
A loud throat-clearing from behind acted like a fist striking glass, shattering the moment. As soon as Dante slackened his grip she jolted back and slammed into the wall, wincing as rough stone bit into her skin.
Claire and her father stood at the top of the stone steps, just watching like a couple of bloody voyeurs.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Claire. ‘What have we here?’
Eva stabbed her palms with blunt nails. ‘Oh, I...’ What on earth was she supposed to say?
She risked a look at Dante. He stood like cast bronze. Just staring at Eva. Eyes hard, jaw so stiff she fancied his teeth ached. He was angry. No. He was furious. With her. Well, he wasn’t the only one!
‘I was just saying to Nick, here,’ Claire said, all innocence and light, catching Eva’s attention, ‘where has that gorgeous boy got to? I want to be the first to congratulate him.’
Eva felt Dante stiffen beside her and the air became so heavy she could feel it bearing down upon her shoulders.
Ohhh, something was not right. Anguish unravelled behind her breast and Eva knew in an instant that she was about to be very stupid. She was about to fall in the trap Claire was spinning for her. But she was missing something here and she didn’t like it one bit.
‘Congratulate him?’ Eva asked.
Claire’s ice-blue eyes glittered with venom. ‘Didn’t you know? Dante here is engaged to my old school chum, Rebecca Stanford.’
Eva blinked, sure she mustn’t have heard correctly. He was getting married again? ‘What?’
‘Yes,’ said Claire. ‘She came to see me yesterday after she flew in from Singapore.’
Eva sucked in air so quickly she almost lost her balance. This was not happening. But Claire hadn’t finished hammering the nails in her coffin yet.
‘We had a lovely lunch with Prudence West. I believe you’re designing her gown. Such an honour.’
Eva felt Dante’s gaze burning into her cheek. She couldn’t look at him. She hated him right now. Years of hard work, clawing her reputation back from the brink. Working eighteen hour days to build the Eva St George brand. And then one look at this devil incarnate and everything was tossed to hell!
‘I hope she forgives you, Eva. It’s not nice to poach someone else’s fiancé.’
Eva reached out for Claire’s arm, knowing the violent quiver of her hand betrayed her inner state but she was too far gone to care. ‘Listen, Claire, you’re taking this all the wrong way. Dante is my...’ What? Friend? Claire was too clever to fall for that blazing lie. And how much, if anything, had she heard? Brain reeling, Eva tried to think of their last words. Something about...oh, God—taking her against the wall! ‘There is nothing going on here.’
‘Didn’t look that way to me. Oh, don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Although I feel I should warn you.’
From the corner of her eye, Eva saw Dante shift his attention to the swell of her chest. Heard him groan in disgust.
But, before she had the chance to follow his gaze, Claire spoke. ‘You haven’t taken the microphone off your dress.’
CHAPTER TWO
DANTE’S HAND SHOT to the ruffled bodice of Eva’s gown and he curled his fingers around the small black mike, warm from her—or should he say their—body heat and tore it free.
He dropped the plastic shell to the frosted stone and crushed it beneath his heel in a satisfying crack.
‘Please tell me...’ she whispered, standing tall, lifting her chin in the face of adversity ‘...that what just happened didn’t really happen. I’m just in some nightmare. I mean, you are here, after all.’
Dante held up one flat palm to prevent another word until he’d at least shaved the edge off his volatile mood and figured out what the hell was going on.
Nick St George paused as his viper wife tried to tug him back into the ballroom and Dante fired the spineless man with the Vitale glare before they disappeared from view. How could he have stood there and let that bitch set Eva up for a fall? What she was hurtling into he had no idea, but he was determined to find out.
As for him...Cristo, he’d bet his Lamborghini that within five minutes Rebecca would hear of his apparent indiscretion. A shaft of unease fired through his gut, yet, as quickly as it flared, he thrust it away. Rebecca would be easily placated. The good old-fashioned way.
Eva smoothed her tight sheath over her curvaceous hips, brushing the wrinkles free. ‘I have to get out of here,’ she said. ‘I have to think.’ Head swiveling, she searched the floor. ‘There’s little point going back in there; Claire will have me hung, drawn and quartered by now.’ She spotted her bag leaning against the old stone wall and bent over to snatch it up.
Dante’s heart rate kicked up a few thousand beats per minute as the heart-shaped curve of her full derrière filled his vision and brought forth a multitude of sinful images.
Cristo, she was lethal.
He tore his eyes away as she straightened up and shimmied past him, heading for the stone steps. ‘Well done, Dante; you’ve most likely just ruined me. At the ball in honour of my mother!’
Dante blinked. ‘I have ruined you? Forty minutes I’ve been in your company and already you have wreaked havoc in my life.’ Every time. Dannazione, the woman never failed.
Pausing on the edge of the top step, she swung around, mouth agape. ‘What exactly have I done to you? Just tell Rebecca Stanford the truth. I was...upset. You came for Finn and you gave me a...a...brotherly hug.’
Brotherly? He still had an erection that minus two degrees couldn’t diminish. There was nothing fraternal about that!
‘Siblings do not kiss each other,’ he bit out.
He wished the lighting were better so he could see if the flush on her chest was real. Because he was sure the woman had just propositioned him. Again. She was no innocent. She knew where kisses led. Given another three minutes, he could have taken her up against the bloody wall.
Cristo, she was like a Venus flytrap. Luring, bewitching, with that sweet, grieving vulnerability, which she knew would beguile him. Because, in a once-in-a-lifetime moment of weakness—so she’d known she was not alone—he’d told her the brief details of burying his own mother. For two minutes of time he’d resurrected the fetid blend of conflicting emotions, only to bury them back into the depths. So the siren knew exactly how to play him.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘obviously, I was of unsound mind. Because I have no interest in you. Whatsoever. In fact, you can rest assured hell will freeze over before I touch you again. Give me some credit, for heaven’s sake, I’ve got some pride.’
Something close to affront clawed down his chest. It was as unsettling as it was idiotic.
‘Just tell Rebecca you hate me,’ she went on. ‘Nothing but the truth. I promise you within seconds your stunning fiancée will tumble back onto your well-frequented bed!’
Dante almost laughed. Almost. ‘My sleeping arrangements seem to bother you, Eva.’
Her head reared. ‘Hardly. I couldn’t care less what you do. But you could’ve told me you were getting married,’ she said, her husky voice fracturing with a heartfelt anguish that made him pause mid-step, frowning at the contradiction between her words and tone. ‘I was caught completely unawares. I could’ve at least come up with a better look than a shocked guppy for a retort.’
‘Because appearances are everything, of course.’ There was truth in that sarcastic inflexion and he knew it. She knew it. Any bad press would smash his deal to kingdom come if he didn’t play it carefully. And, as for Eva...
Clip clopping down the steep stone slabs in those ridiculously high, sexy-as-hell stilettos, she continued to chatter incessantly. ‘And now they’ll all think the worst. That you...and I...’ A husky groan poured from her mouth to wrap around his self-restraint and choke it near to death. ‘That I’m a fiancée-poacher. A marriage-wrecker! Not the best marketing ploy, wouldn’t you agree, Dante?’
‘Which is why we need to talk,’ he ground out. How could he take control of the situation if he didn’t know what was at stake? His brain was still having problems processing what his ears told him. ‘Is what Claire said correct? You make wedding gowns and you won the contract for the next Duchess?’
Screeching to a halt on the lower patio, she stood stock-still...then turned around eerily slowly, bristled and nigh on exploded in front of him, arms thrusting in the air. ‘Why are you so incredulous?’
Why, indeed?
‘Maybe I pictured you drinking yourself into oblivion and sleeping till noon. Partying yourself onto the front pages every day can be exhausting, so they say.’ He gave her an unaffected shrug that tore at his spleen. Because suddenly his memories veered from Eva splashed across the headlines to his mother. Stumbling through the door half-dressed. Slurring her words. Polluting the air with the stench of whisky and vomit. Invariably with another man in tow.
‘In all honesty,’ he continued, the unwelcome memories making his stomach revolt, his voice bitter, ‘I never thought you could manage a day’s work in your life. So I am surprised. That is all.’ Surprised? She might as well have stunned him with a laser gun. He did not like the feeling. It blasted his equilibrium to pieces.
Blinking, her stunned mouth worked around words. ‘Oh, just go away, Dante, and leave me be. Go seduce your bride. I hope you’ll both be very happy. Burning in hell.’
Then off she went, swerving around the cobbled stone path. Dante rocked on his heels, tempted to let her go. The more time he spent with her, the more frustration clawed his insides. She was the most disobedient, agitating woman he’d ever met. So why was he still standing here allowing the frost to travel up his limbs?
‘Bloody woman.’ With a growl, he caught up with her as she strutted beneath the ornate lamps illuminating the gardens, and the dim glow casting her body with a warm sheen.
Thought vanished. His guts pinched with a peculiar nip. ‘Cristo,’ he burst out, making her pause mid-step. ‘Your back!’
Unthinking, he reached out, dusting his fingertips across the raw, scraped flesh marring her beautiful almond skin...felt a shudder ripple down her vertebrae before she jerked away.
‘Don’t touch me.’
Dante set his jaw—she hadn’t said that ten minutes ago. Or five years ago. But he was not going there. ‘Your skin needs treating, Eva.’
She swirled around, scepticism widening her eyes. ‘What do you care? If you didn’t hear me the first time, I’ll tell you again. I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.’
She was right. She didn’t need his help. Eva St George, the Princess of the Press, knew exactly how to play the game. And let’s not forget, she’d just stood in front of hundreds of people and made a speech from her very soul about the mother she’d adored. That kind of emotional strength was not indicative of weakness.
‘Go home, Dante.’ Chin up, Eva thrust her shoulders back with a lofty flounce. ‘You’re fired!’
A humourless laugh burst from his lips. ‘Fired?’
‘Your job as brotherly stand-in is over. Quite frankly, you’ve been appalling. I hope I never lay eyes on you again.’
Fury bubbled in his blood. Why, he had no idea, because technically she was doing him a favour.
Dante stepped forward, close enough to make out the tiny freckles kissing her pert nose, and murmured, ‘That makes two of us, tesoro.’ And he meant it. The woman reminded him of cyanide. Troublesome. Deadly potent. She’d been toxic enough years ago and her seductive allure had somehow quadrupled with age.
‘Good,’ she said, stepping backward straight onto a patch of black ice.
Dante snatched at her arms, cupping her elbows to stem her fall.
Time stilled as he trailed his gaze over her exquisite face and, the chilly eve forgotten, he pictured laying her down on a bed of grass—the same lush colour as her eyes—curving his hands around her stunning body, feeling the weight of her heavy breasts in his palms, glorying in the sweet sinful taste of her skin. He wanted to cup her face. Take her breath away with his lips. He wanted to kiss her. Properly. No. He wanted to devour that impertinent mouth.
Dante swore he could hear her thunderous heartbeat echo his own. And he knew. Her entire body thrummed with a craving so intense she vibrated with the power of it. She had just lied to him outright. Of course she had. She still wanted him. More than ever.
His mouth twisted, even as he acknowledged the revelation. It was still there. Incomparable. Extraordinary. A ferocious desire that crackled the air with tiny fireworks and wreaked havoc on the exploding senses. His own control was barely leashed, his brain a fog...until she tore from his hold. ‘Get your hands off me!’
Dante’s jaw went slack. Cristo, the way she wielded her sexual power would render a lesser man witless.
‘Next time you want to play games, cara, I suggest you choose a man unaware of your technique. Despite my reputation, I am extremely particular when it comes to the women I take to my bed. And the hot and cold routine turns me off.’
Her lips parted with a stunned smack and for one second he thought she was going to hit him. And the bizarre thing was, he wished she would.
‘I wouldn’t sleep with you if the future of civilisation depended on it,’ she hurled back before she swivelled on her heel.
A noxious blend of rage, frustration and unadulterated desire swirled behind his ribs. ‘Eva, I’m not done with you. Do not walk away from me.’
She didn’t walk. She marched. He refused to bend to her will and go after her. He was in control. Always.
So instead he watched thick clumps of vaporous air swell in front of his face long after she’d disappeared from view. And, as the anger waned, unease flooded his psyche as he asked himself the very same question he’d asked Eva hours earlier...What will I wake to find tomorrow? I wonder.
* * *
Slivers of daylight shone through the slits of her duck-egg curtains and, with one last look at the Sunday morning headlines, Eva tugged the top edge of her quilt and watched the mountain of newspaper scatter upon the parquet floor. Pulling the blankets up over her head, she nestled further into the lavender-scented warmth and closed her eyes, trying to block out the bold script etched on her brain like the tombstone of what remained of her career.
Soon-To-Be Duchess Threatens to Give St George the Royal Snip.
Is Diva up to Her Old Tricks?
Watch Out, Brides! Eva’s on the Prowl.
‘Thank you, Dante Vitale.’ Writhing against the sheets, she kicked the blankets away from her over-warm skin, half-tempted to sue him for disclosure.
Then again, what on earth was she thinking kissing him in the first place? You would think the humiliation of five years ago had been enough to last her a lifetime. The only saving grace was that Dante’s scathing one-liner about taking her up against the wall didn’t appear in print!
Her pride was an ultra-fine thread stretched so taut it threatened to snap at any second.
