Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress. Carol Marinelli
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welcome to come over for—’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Matilda interrupted. ‘In fact, it’s probably better that I stay there…’ Blowing her fringe skyward, Matilda attempted the impossible but, ever direct, Dante beat her to it.
‘After what happened on Friday?’ He checked and despite a deep blush Matilda gave a wry smile.
‘I don’t think Katrina would approve somehow if she knew. She doesn’t even know that we had dinner, let alone…’
‘It’s none of Katrina’s business,’ Dante pointed out, but Matilda shook her head.
‘Oh, but she thinks it is.’
‘Matilda.’ His black eyes were boring into her, and she could only admire his boldness that he could actually look at her, unlike she, herself, who gave in after once glance, choosing instead to stare at her toes as he spoke. ‘I will tell you what I told Katrina. I have no interest in a relationship—any relationship. For now I grieve for what I have lost: a wife and the happiness of my daughter.’ Still she looked down, swallowing down the questions that were on the tip of her tongue. But either he could read her mind or he had used this speech many times before, because he answered each and every one of them with painful, brutal honesty, his silken, thick accent doing nothing to sweeten the bitterness of the message.
‘I like women—I like beautiful women,’ he drawled, wrapping the knife that stabbed her in velvet as he plunged it in. ‘And as you would have seen in the paper yesterday, sometimes I keep their company, but there is always concurrence, always there is an understanding that it can go nowhere. If I misled you on Friday, I apologise.’
‘You didn’t mislead me.’ Matilda croaked the words out then instantly regretted them. In that split second she understood what Dante was offering her, what this emotionally abstinent man was telling her—that she could have him for a short while, could share his bed, but not his heart. And all Matilda knew was that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t share his bed knowing she must walk away, that deadening his pain would only exacerbate hers. His hand reached out towards her, his fingers cupping her chin, lifting her face to his. Yet she still refused to look at him, knew that if her eyes met his then she’d be lost.
‘You didn’t mislead me, Dante, because it was just a kiss.’ Somehow she kept her voice even; somehow she managed to keep her cheeks from flaming as she lied through her teeth. ‘A kiss to end the evening. I certainly had no intention of taking things further, either then or now.’ She knew she hadn’t convinced him and from the slight narrowing of his eyes knew that he didn’t believe her. Taking a breath, she elaborated, determined to set the tone, and the boundaries in order to survive the next couple of weeks. She didn’t want to be one of Dante’s ships that passed in the night. ‘Since Edward and I broke up, I’ve been on a few dates, had a few kisses, but…’ Matilda gave a nervous shrug. ‘You know the saying: you have to kiss a lot of frogs…’ From his slightly startled look clearly he didn’t know it. ‘One kiss was enough for me, Dante.’
‘I see.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I think.’
‘It won’t be happening again,’ Matilda affirmed, hoping that if she said it enough she might even believe it herself.
‘I just wanted to clear things up.’
‘Good.’ Matilda forced a bright smile, relieved this torture was almost over. ‘I’m glad that you did.’
‘And I’m sorry that you did not enjoy the kiss.’ His words wiped the smile from her face, his eyes boring into her. She couldn’t be sure, but Matilda was positive he was teasing her, that he knew she was lying and, of course, she was. It had been the most breathtaking kiss of her life, her whole body was burning now just at the mere memory, but it was imperative Dante didn’t know. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in anything more than the most casual of casual flings, and that was the last thing she needed now—especially with a man like Dante. There was nothing casual about him, nothing casual about the feelings he evoked, and if she played with this particular fire, Matilda knew she’d end up seriously burnt. ‘Because I thought that—’
‘Could you show me where I’m staying, please?’ Matilda snapped, following Dante’s lead and refusing to be drawn somewhere she didn’t want to go. She turned abruptly to go, but in her haste to escape she forgot about the blackberries. Her leg caught on a branch, the thorn ripping into her bare calf, a yelp of pain escaping her lips.
‘Careful.’ Dante’s reflexes were like lightning. He pulled back the branch and held her elbow as Matilda stepped back and instinctively inspected the damage, tears of pain and embarrassment filling her eyes at the vivid red gash.
‘I’m fine,’ she breathed.
‘You’re bleeding.’
‘It’s just a scratch. If you can just show me where I’m staying…’ she said. She almost shouted it this time she so badly wanted out of there, wanted some privacy from his knowing eyes, but Dante was pulling out a neatly folded hanky and running it under the garden tap, before returning and dropping to his knees.
‘Please.’ Matilda was practically begging now, near to tears, not with pain but with embarrassment and want, the thought of him touching her exquisitely unbearable. But Dante wasn’t listening. One hand cupped her calf, the other pressed the cool silk into her stinging cut, and it was as soothing as it was disturbing—the ultimate pleasure-pain principle as his hands tended her, calming and arousing. Matilda bit so hard on her lip she thought she might draw blood there, too, her whole body tense, standing rigid as he pressed the handkerchief harder, her stomach a knot of nervous anticipation as she felt his breath against her thigh.
‘I’ll just press for a minute and stop the bleeding, then I’ll take you over to the summerhouse…’ Strange that his voice was completely normal, that his body was completely relaxed, while hers was spinning in wild orbit, stirred with naked lust, shameful, inappropriate thoughts filling her mind as he tended her. She couldn’t believe her own thought process as she stood there, gazing down. His fingers were pushed into her calf as the cool silk pressed on her warm skin, his breath on her leg as he spoke. And how she wanted to feel that delicious mouth again, but on her thigh this time, almost willing with her eyes for his fingers to creep higher, to quell the pulse that was leaping between her legs, to calm the heat with his cool, cool hand. ‘I think there’s a first-aid box…’
‘I’ll be OK.’ She shivered the words out.
‘Of course you will, it’s just a cut, but…’ His voice faded as he looked up at her, his eyes fixing on hers. And she stared back, trapped like a deer in the headlights, knowing he could feel it now, could see her treacherous arousal, could smell her excitement, knew that she had lied when she had said she didn’t want him.
The silence fizzed between them as he continued to stare, and for that moment the choice was entirely his—reason, logic, had gone the second he’d touched her. If Dante pulled her down now, they both knew that she wouldn’t even attempt to resist…
‘Matilda…’ His voice was thick with lust, his eyes blatantly desiring her. Thank God he spoke, thank God he broke the spell, gave her that tiny moment to stab at self-preservation and pull back her leg. Her face flaming she turned around, denied absolutely what was taking place, turning and heading for the gate, practically wrenching it open, just desperate for some space, some distance, a chance to think before her body betrayed her again.
There for the taking.
Those were the words he’d taunted her with on Friday night and those were the words that taunted her now as he led her over to the summerhouse and briefly showed her around.
As the door closed on Dante, not even looking at her surroundings, Matilda sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, cringing with shame, as sure as she could be that Dante had witnessed her arousal, had sensed her desire.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t even, according to Edward, supposed to like sex, yet here she was acting like some