Rising Stars. Maisey Yates
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Alessandro remembered he’d convinced a friend to offer her a job in New York. When he’d been in Mexico City, enduring night after night of hot dreams, he’d thought sending her three thousand miles away from San Francisco was the only sane thing to do. Now, he thought it the stupidest idea he’d ever conceived. His shoulders tightened. “Lilley—”
The doorbell rang, and as Bronson hesitantly came towards the door Alessandro grabbed Lilley’s hand. He pulled her out of the foyer, away from the hubbub of the party, leading her down a side hall.
“Where are we going?” she asked, not resisting him.
His hand tightened around hers. “Where we can be alone.”
Turning down a second hallway towards a quiet wing, Alessandro tried to ignore how right her hand felt in his own, tried not to feel the enticing warmth of her soft skin. But as he pulled her into the music room where he often hosted concerts and parties, the large room suddenly felt small, the temperature hot and stifling. As he walked around the grand piano and past the Picasso on the wall, his tie felt tight around his neck. He just kept walking through the music room. Opening the sliding glass doors, he pulled her into a small private garden.
Outside, the air was cool. The garden was green and stark, just a lawn, really, surrounded on three sides by a ten-foot privet hedge that separated them from the poolside terrace. On the other side of the hedge, he could hear muffled conversation and the clink of wineglasses as guests milled around the Olympic-size pool and terrace.
Alessandro realized he was still holding Lilley’s hand. He looked down at their intertwined fingers. She followed his gaze and he heard her intake of breath, felt her tremble.
Their eyes met in the rapidly deepening twilight. The sky above the villa was dark with threatening clouds, and he heard a distant rumble of thunder. He heard the wind howl through the trees. Lilley’s full cotton skirt swirled around her legs.
Electricity filled the air as the temperature seemed to drop five degrees around them. But Alessandro still felt hot, burning from the storm inside him. Desire arced though him, and with an intake of breath, he dropped her hand.
Lilley deserved better than a series of cheap one-night stands. For her sake, he couldn’t risk her loving him. And for his own sake … he couldn’t risk caring for her. He’d learned long ago to trust no one. Sex and money were real. Love was a lie.
He knew this, but his body shook with the effort of not touching her, from not putting his arms around her and sinking into her softness and warmth. He tightened his hands into fists.
“Why did you come?” he ground out.
Colorful fairy lights high in the trees swayed violently in the rising wind. A flash of lightning illuminated Lilley’s stricken face.
“You’re in love with Miss Bianchi, aren’t you?”
He set his jaw. “I told you. Marriage is a mutually beneficial alliance. Love has nothing to do with it.”
“But surely you wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your life without love.” Long tendrils of soft brown hair blew across her face as she searched his gaze. Her expression faltered. “Would you?”
Thunder crackled in the sky above. Alessandro heard gasps from the other side of the hedge as the first raindrops fell, and guests ran back inside the villa.
“Just tell me what you have to say, then leave,” he said tightly.
Lilley blinked, then looked down at the grass beneath her feet. “This is hard. Harder than I ever thought it would be.”
Rain began to fall more heavily. He watched a fat raindrop slide down her rounded cheek to her full, generous mouth. Her pink tongue unconsciously darted out to lick the thick drop of rain against her full, sweetly sensual lips, and he nearly groaned.
He had to get her out of here before he did something they’d both regret forever. Why had he ever allowed himself to take a single forbidden taste of what did not belong to him by right?
“It was a mistake for me to seduce you,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry I ever touched you.”
She looked up, her eyes bright with grief. “Was it so awful?”
Awful? A new ache filled his throat. He hated that for the first time in nineteen years, he’d found a heart he did not want to break, and here he was breaking it. “Your first time should have been special, with a man who loved you, who might someday marry you. Not a one-night stand with a man like me.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She tried to give him a smile. “It was two nights.”
He nearly shuddered with the memory of how good it had been between them. How she’d tasted. How she’d felt beneath him. He forced himself to say, “You will find someone else.”
She stared at him. “That’s why you’re sending me to New York.”
Thunder boomed over them. “You knew it was me?”
“Of course I knew.” She looked at him with a tremulous smile. She swallowed, then squared her shoulders. Rain was starting to soak her long brown hair, causing her tank top and cotton skirt to cling to her skin. “Thank you for arranging the internship. It was—very kind.”
Her generous spirit only made Alessandro feel more like a brute. His head was throbbing with pain. He tightened his hands into fists. “I wasn’t being kind, damn you. I was sending you away because I’m getting married. Not for love. Her father’s company will be an asset.” His hands tightened. “But when I speak vows, I will be faithful to them.”
Lilley searched his gaze. “And if I were an heiress like her?” she whispered. “Would you choose me as your bride instead?”
Looking at her, he held his breath. Then slowly, he shook his head. “You would never fit into my world.” His hand lifted. “It would destroy everything about you that I admire most. Everything that is cheerful and bright.”
He barely caught himself before he touched her cheek. Thunder cracked again above their heads, as loud and metallic as a baseball bat against the earth, and he dropped his hand. “Olivia will be my perfect bride.”
“I can’t let you marry her. Not without knowing what I, what I …” She licked her lips. “What I have to tell you.”
Alessandro’s suit was now completely wet. The two of them were alone in the emerald garden, below the black sky. The scent of rain washed over the leaves, over the earth, over the distant vineyards and the pink bougainvillea twisting up the stucco of his villa.
And looking at her beautiful, stricken brown eyes, he suddenly knew what she was going to say.
“Don’t,” he ground out. “Don’t say it.”
She hesitated, her lovely round face looking scared. Her hair and clothes were now stuck to her skin. He could see the full outline of her breasts and hard jut of her nipples beneath her thin cotton tank top. He could see the shape of her curvaceous legs beneath her skirt as lightning flashed above them. “Alessandro—”
“No, cara.” He put his hand to her lips, stroking the rain off her face with the pads of his thumbs. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not speak the words. Leave us that, at least. I can see your feelings on your face. I already know what is in your heart.”
Lilley looked up at him, her expression breathless. The rain began to fall more heavily and he realized he’d cupped her face in his hands. Her wet, full, pink lips were inches from his own, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He was hard and aching, his lips pulsing with the drive to kiss her. His body clamored for him to push her roughly against the hedge and claim her as his own.
Using every drop of willpower he possessed, Alessandro dropped his hands, stepping away. He said harshly, “Go to New York, Lilley.”
“Wait,” she choked out as he turned away. “You can’t go. Not until