Kitabı oku: «Hired: Mistress: Wanted: Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress», sayfa 3

‘And is there?’ Matilda asked, surprised at how much his answer mattered to her. ‘Is there a chance you might stay?’

‘My family is in Italy,’ Dante pointed out. ‘I have two brothers and three sisters, all living near Rome. Alex would have her nona, nono and endless cousins to play with, I would have more family support, instead of relying on Katrina and Hugh, but…’ He halted the conversation then, leaving her wanting to know more, wanting a deeper glimpse of him. Wondering what it was that kept him here, what it was that made him stay. But the subject was clearly closed. ‘It cannot be about me,’ Dante said instead, giving a tight shrug, and there was a finality to his words as he effectively ended the discussion. But Matilda, wanting more, attempted to carry it on.

‘What about your work?’

‘I am lucky.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘There is always someone getting into trouble, either here or in Italy—and being bilingual is a huge advantage. I can work in either country.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ Matilda asked, knowing that she was crossing a line, knowing the polite thing to do would be to leave well alone, but her curiosity was piqued, her delectable salmon forgotten, barely registering as the waiter filled her wine glass. ‘Defending those sorts of people, I mean.’

‘I believe in innocent until proven guilty.’

‘So do I,’ Matilda said, staring into that brooding emotionless face and wondering what, if anything, moved him. She’d never met anyone so confident in their own skin, so incredibly not out to impress. He clearly didn’t give a damn what people thought of him; he completely dispensed with the usual social niceties and yet somehow he managed to wear it, somehow it worked. ‘But you can’t sit there and tell me that that guy who killed—’

‘That guy,’ Dante broke in, ‘was proved innocent in a court of law.’

‘I know.’ Matilda nodded but it changed midway, her head shaking, incredulity sinking in. She certainly wasn’t a legal eagle, but you’d have to live in a cupboard not to know about some of the cases Dante Costello handled. They were Big, in italics and with a capital B. And even if that man she had read about really had been innocent, surely some of the people Dante had defended really were guilty. His job was so far removed from hers as to be unfathomable, and bewildered, she stared back at him. ‘Do you ever regret winning?’

‘No.’ Firmly he shook his head.

‘Never?’ Matilda asked, watching his lips tighten a touch, watching his eyes darken from dusk to midnight.

‘Never,’ Dante replied, his single word unequivocal. She felt a shiver, could almost see him in his robes and wig, could almost see that inscrutable face remaining unmoved, could see that full mouth curving into a sneer as he shredded seemingly irrefutable evidence. And anyone, everyone, would have left it there, would have conceded the argument, yet Matilda didn’t, green eyes crashing into his, jade waves rolling onto unmovable black granite.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I know I don’t,’ Matilda admitted. ‘Yet I still don’t believe you.’

And that should have been it. She should have got on with her meal, he should have resumed eating, made polite small talk to fill the appalling gap, but instead he pushed her now. As she reached for her fork he reached deep inside, his words stilling her, his hand seemingly clutching her heart. ‘You’ve been proud of everything you’ve done.’

‘Not everything,’ Matilda tentatively admitted. ‘But there’s certainly nothing big league. Anyway, what’s that got to do with it?’

‘It has everything to do with it,’ Dante said assuredly. ‘We all have our dark secrets, we all have things that, given our time again, we would have done differently. The difference between Mr or Ms Average and my clients is that their personal lives, their most intimate regrets are up for public scrutiny. Words uttered in anger are played back to haunt them, a moment of recklessness a couple of years back suddenly relived for everyone to hear. It can be enough to cloud the most objective jury.’

‘But surely, if they’ve done nothing wrong,’ Matilda protested, ‘they have nothing to fear.’

‘Not if I do my job correctly,’ Dante said. ‘But not everyone’s as good as me.’ Matilda blinked at his lack of modesty, but Dante made no apology. ‘I have to believe that my clients are innocent.’

She should have left it there, Matilda knew that, knew she had no chance against him, but she refused to be a pushover and refused to be swayed from her stance. She wasn’t in the witness box after all, just an adult having an interesting conversation. There was no need to be intimidated. Taking a breath, she gave him a very tight smile. ‘Even if they’re clearly not?’

‘Ah, Matilda.’ He flashed her an equally false smile. ‘You shouldn’t believe all you read in the newspapers.’

‘I don’t,’ Matilda flared. ‘I’m just saying that there’s no smoke without fire…’ She winced at the cliché and began to make a more eloquent argument, but Dante got there first.

‘There are no moments in your life that you’d dread coming out in court?’

‘Of course not!’

‘None at all?’

‘None,’ Matilda flushed. ‘I certainly haven’t done anything illegal, well, not really.’

‘Not really?’ Nothing in his expression changed, bar a tiny rise of one eyebrow.

‘I thought we were here to talk about your garden,’ she flared, but Dante just smiled.

‘You were the one who questioned me about my work,’ Dante pointed out. ‘It’s not my fault if you don’t like the answer. So, come on, tell me, what did you do?’

‘I’ve told you,’ Matilda insisted. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sorry if you find that disappointing or boring.’

‘I’m never disappointed,’ Dante said, his eyes burning into her, staring at her so directly it made her squirm. ‘And I know for a fact that you have your secret shame—everyone does.’

‘OK,’ Matilda breathed in indignation. ‘But if you’re expecting some dark, sordid story then you’re going to be sorely disappointed. It’s just a tiny, tiny thing that happened when I was a kid.’

‘Clearly not that tiny,’ Dante said, ‘if you can still blush just thinking about it.’

‘I’m not blushing,’ Matilda flared, but she knew it was useless, could feel the sting of heat on her cheeks. But it wasn’t the past that was making her blush, it was the present, the here and now, the presence of him, the feel of his eyes on her, the intimacy of revelation—any revelation.

‘Tell me,’ Dante said softly, dangerously, and it sounded like a dare. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘I stole some chocolate when I was on school camp,’ Matilda admitted. ‘Everyone did,’ she went on almost immediately.

‘And you thought that you’d look an idiot if you didn’t play along?’

‘Something like that,’ Matilda murmured, blushing furiously now, but with the shame and fear she had felt at the time, reliving again the pressure she had felt at that tender age to just blend in. She was surprised at the emotion such a distant memory could evoke.

‘So, instead of standing up for yourself, you just went right along with it, even though you knew it was wrong.’

‘I guess.’

‘And that’s the sum total of your depraved past?’ Dante checked.

‘That’s it.’ Matilda nodded. ‘Sorry if I disappointed you.’

‘You didn’t.’ Dante shook his head. ‘I find you can learn a lot about a person if you listen to their childhood memories. Our responses don’t change that much…’

‘Rubbish,’ Matilda scoffed. ‘I was ten years old. If something like that happened now—’

‘You’d do exactly the same,’ Dante broke in. ‘I’m not saying that you’d steal a bar of chocolate rather than draw attention to yourself, but you certainly don’t like confrontation, do you?’

Shocked at his insight, all she could do was stare back at him.

‘In fact,’ Dante continued, ‘you’d walk to the end of the earth to avoid it, steal a chocolate bar if it meant you could blend in, stay in a bad relationship to avoid a row…’ As she opened her mouth to deny it, Dante spoke over her. ‘Or, let’s take tonight for an example, you ran to the toilet the moment you thought you had upset me.’

‘Not quite that very moment.’ Matilda rolled her eyes and gave a watery smile, realising she was beaten. ‘I lasted two at least. But does anyone actually like confrontation?’

‘I do,’ Dante said. ‘It’s the best part of my job, making people confront their hidden truths.’ He gave her the benefit of a very bewitching smile, which momentarily knocked her off guard. ‘Though I guess if that’s the worst you can come up with, you really would have no problem with being cross-examined.’

‘I’d have no worries at all,’ Matilda said confidently.

‘You clearly know your own mind.’

‘I do.’ Matilda smiled back, happy things were under control.

‘Then may I?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just for the sake of curiosity.’ His smile was still in place. ‘May I ask you some questions?’

‘We’re supposed to be talking about your garden.’

He handed her a rolled-up wad of paper. ‘There are the plans, you can do whatever you wish—so that takes care of that.’

‘But why?’ Matilda asked.

‘I enjoy convincing people.’ Dante shrugged. ‘And I believe you are far from convinced. All you have to do is answer some questions honestly.’

The dessert menu was being offered to her and Matilda hesitated before taking it. She had the plans, and clearly Dante was in no mood to discuss foliage or water features, so the sensible thing would be to decline. She’d eaten her main course, she’d stayed to be polite, there was absolutely no reason to prolong things, no reason at all—except for the fact that she wanted to stay.

Wanted to prolong this evening.

With a tiny shiver Matilda accepted the truth.

She wanted to play his dangerous game.

‘They do a divine white chocolate and macadamia nut mousse,’ Dante prompted, ‘with hot raspberry sauce.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Matilda said, and as the waiter slipped silently away, her glittering eyes met Dante’s. A frisson of excitement ran down her spine as she faced him, as this encounter moved onto another level, and not for the first time today she wondered what it was about Dante Costello that moved her so.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU will answer me honestly?’

His smile had gone now, his deep, liquid voice low, and despite the full restaurant, despite the background noise of their fellow diners, it was as if they were the only two in the room.

His black eyes were working her face, appraising her, and she could almost imagine him walking towards her across the courtroom, circling her slowly, choosing the best method of attack. Fear did the strangest thing to Matilda, her lips twitching into a nervous smile as he again asked his question. ‘You swear to answer me honestly.’

‘I’m not on trial.’ Matilda gave a tiny nervous laugh, but he remained unmoved.

‘If we’re going to play, we play by the rules.’

‘Fine.’ Matilda nodded. ‘But I really think you’re—’

‘We’ve all got secrets,’ Dante broke in softly. ‘There’s a dark side to every single one of us, and splash it on a headline, layer it with innuendo and suddenly we’re all as guilty as hell. Take your ex—’

‘Edward’s got nothing to do—’

‘Location, location, location.’ He flashed a malevolent smile as Matilda’s hand tightened convulsively around her glass. ‘Just one more business dinner, just one more client to impress. Just one more garden to renovate and then, maybe then you’ll get his attention. Maybe one day—’

‘I don’t need this,’ Matilda said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re trying to get at, but can you please leave Edward out of this?’

‘Still too raw?’ He leant back in his chair, merciless eyes awaiting her response.

‘No,’ Matilda said tersely, leaning back into her own chair, forcing her tense shoulders to lower, forcing a smile onto her face. ‘Absolutely not. Edward and I finished a couple of months ago. I’m completely over it.’

‘Who ended it?’

‘I did,’ Matilda answered, but with renewed confidence now. She had been the one who had ended it, and that surely would thwart him, would rule out his image of a broken-hearted female who would go to any lengths to avoid confrontation.

‘Why?’ Dante asked bluntly, but Matilda gave a firm shake of her head.

‘I’m not prepared to answer that,’ she retorted coolly. ‘I had my reasons. And in case you’re wondering, no, there wasn’t anyone else involved.’ Confident she’d ended this line of questioning, sure he would try another tack, Matilda felt the fluttering butterflies in her stomach still a touch and her breathing slow down as she awaited his next question, determined to answer him with cool ease.

‘Did you ever wish him dead?’

‘What?’ Appalled, she confronted him with her eyes—stunned that he would even ask such a thing. ‘Of course not.’

‘Are you honestly stating that you never once said that you wished that he was dead?’

‘You’re either mad…’ Matilda let out an incredulous laugh ‘…or way too used to dealing with mad people! Of course I never said that I wished that he…’ Her voice faltered for just a fraction of second, a flash of forgotten conversation pinging into consciousness, and like a cobra he struck.

‘I’m calling your friend as a witness next—and I can assure you that her version of that night is completely different to yours…’

‘What night?’ Matilda scorned.

‘That night,’ Dante answered with absolute conviction, and Matilda felt her throat tighten as he spoke on. ‘In fact, your friend clearly recalls a conversation where you expressed a strong wish that Edward was dead.’ Dante’s words were so measured, so assured, so absolutely spot on that for a tiny second she almost believed him. For a flash of time she almost expected to look over her shoulder and see Judy sitting at the other table, as if she had stumbled into some macabre reality TV show, where all her secrets, all her failings were about to be exposed.

Stop it, Matilda scolded herself, reining in her over-reaction. Dante knew nothing about her. He was a skilled interrogator, that was all, used to finding people’s Achilles’ heels, and she wasn’t going to let him. She damn well wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

‘I still don’t know what night you’re talking about!’

‘Then let me refresh your memory. I’m referring to the night you said that you wished Edward was dead.’ And he didn’t even make it sound like an assumption, his features so immovable it was as if he’d surely been in the room that night, as if he’d actually witnessed her raw tears, had heard every word she’d sobbed that night, as if somehow he was privy to her soul. ‘And you did say that, didn’t you, Matilda?’

To deny it would be an outright lie. Suddenly she wasn’t sitting in a restaurant any more. Instead, she was back to where it had all ended two months ago, could feel the brutal slap of Edward’s words as surely as if she were hearing them for the first time.

‘Maybe if you weren’t so damn frigid, I wouldn’t have to look at other women to get my kicks.’

He’d taunted her, humiliated her, shamed her for her lack of sexual prowess, demeaned her with words so vicious, so brutal that by the time she’d run from his house, by the time she’d arrived at Judy’s home, she’d believed each and every word. Believed that their relationship had been in trouble because of her failings, believed that if only she’d been prettier, sexier, funnier, he wouldn’t have had to flirt so much, wouldn’t have needed to humiliate her quite so badly. And somehow Dante knew it, too.

‘You did say it, didn’t you?’ It was Dante’s voice dragging her out of her own private hell.

‘I just said it,’ Matilda breathed, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. ‘It was just one of those stupid things you say when you’re angry.’

‘And you were very angry, weren’t you?’

‘No,’ Matilda refuted. ‘I was upset and annoyed but angry is probably overstretching things.’

He swirled his wine around in the glass and Matilda’s eyes darted towards it, watching the pale fluid whirl around the bottom, grateful for the distraction, grateful for something to focus on other than those dark, piercing eyes.

‘So you were only upset and annoyed, yet you admit you wished him dead!’

‘OK,’ Matilda snapped, her head spinning as the barrage continued. ‘I was angry, furious, in fact. So would anyone have been if they’d been told…’ She choked her words down, refusing to drag up that shame and certainly not prepared to reveal it to Dante. Dragging in air, she halted her tirade, tried to remember to think before she spoke, to regain some of the control she’d so easily lost. ‘Yes, I said that I wished he was dead, but there’s a big difference between saying something and actually seeing it through.’ She felt dizzy, almost sick with the emotions he’d so easily conjured up, like some wicked magician pulling out her past, her secrets, clandestine feelings exposed, and she didn’t want it to continue, didn’t want to partake in this a moment longer.

‘Can we stop this now?’ Her voice was high and slightly breathless, a trickle of moisture running between her breasts as she eyed this savage man, wondering how the hell he knew, how he had known so readily what buttons to push to reduce her to this.

‘Any time you like.’ Dante smiled, his voice so soft it was almost a caress, but it did nothing to soothe her. ‘After all, it’s just a game!’

The dessert was divine, the sweet sugary mousse contrasting with the sharp raspberry sauce, but Matilda was too shaken to really enjoy it, her long dessert spoon unusually lethargic as she attempted just to get through it.

‘Is your dessert OK?’

‘It’s fine,’ Matilda said, then gave in, putting her spoon down. ‘Actually, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ll go home now…’

‘I’m sorry if I destroyed your appetite.’

God, he had a nerve!

‘No, you’re not.’ Matilda looked across the table at him and said it again. ‘No, Dante, you’re not. In fact I think that was exactly what you set out to do.’ Reaching for her bag, Matilda stood up and picked up the roll of plans.

‘I’ll be at your house on Sunday afternoon. I’ll look at the plans tomorrow but until I see the garden I really won’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘We’ve all said it.’ Dante’s smile bordered on the compassionate as she stood up to leave, and he didn’t bother to elaborate—they both knew what he was referring to. ‘And as you pointed out, there’s a big difference between saying it and following it through. I was just proving a point.’

‘Consider it proven,’ Matilda replied with a very tight smile. ‘Goodnight, Dante.’

Of course it took if not for ever then a good couple of minutes for the waiter to locate her jacket, giving Dante plenty of time to catch up with her. Rather than talk to him, she took a small after-dinner mint from the bowl on the desk, concentrating on unwrapping the thin gold foil as she prayed for the waiter to hurry up, popping the bitter chocolate into her mouth and biting into the sweet peppermint centre, then flushing as she sensed Dante watching her.

She’d said she wasn’t hungry just two minutes ago—well, just because he was so damned controlled, it didn’t mean that she had to be. What would a calculating man like Dante know about want rather than need? The man was utterly devoid of emotion, Matilda decided angrily. He probably peeled open his chest and pulled out his batteries at night, put them on charge ready to attack his next victim. Consoling herself that she could make a quick escape while he settled the bill, almost defiantly she took another chocolate, pathetically grateful when the waiter appeared with her jacket and helped her into it. She stepped outside into the night and closed her eyes as the cool night air hit her flaming cheeks.

‘How far do you have to go?’

She heard Dante’s footsteps as he came along behind her, recognised his heavily accented voice as he uttered the first syllable, his scent hitting her before he drew her aside, yet she’d known he was close long before, almost sensed his approach before he’d made himself known.

‘How did you…?’ She didn’t finish her question, didn’t want to be drawn into another conversation with him. She just marched swiftly on, her stilettos making a tinny sound as she clipped along the concrete pavement.

‘I eat regularly there. They send my account out once a month or so and my secretary deals with it.’

The one who’d dared to allow herself to get pregnant, Matilda wanted to point out, but chose not to, clutching the plans tighter under her arm and walking swiftly on.

‘Would you like a lift home?’

‘I have an apartment over the bridge.’ Matilda pointed to the a high-rise block on the other side of the river. ‘It’s just a five-minute walk.’

‘Then I’ll join you,’ Dante said. ‘You shouldn’t be walking alone across the bridge at this time of night.’

‘Really,’ Matilda flustered, ‘there’s absolutely no need—it’s just a hop and a skip.’

‘I’d rather walk if you don’t mind,’ Dante said, his face completely deadpan, but his dry humour didn’t even raise a smile from Matilda. Frankly, she’d rather take the chance of walking across the bridge alone than with the evil troll beside her.

‘I have an apartment near here also,’ Dante said, nodding backwards from whence they’d come, but despite the proximity to hers, Matilda was quite sure any city apartment Dante owned wouldn’t compare to her second-floor shoebox!

‘I didn’t somehow envisage you as having an apartment,’ Dante mused, and Matilda blinked, surprised he envisaged her at all. ‘I thought, given your work you would have a home with a garden.’

‘That’s the plan, actually,’ Matilda admitted. ‘I’ve just put it up for sale. I never really liked it.’

‘So why did you buy it?’

‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. And location-wise, for work it’s brilliant.’ She gave a low groan at the sound of her own voice. ‘Can you tell I spent the last couple of years dating a real estate agent?’ Matilda asked, glancing over to him and surprised to see that he was actually smiling.

‘At least you didn’t mention the stunning views and the abundance of natural light!’

‘Only because I’m on the second floor,’ Matilda quipped, amazed after the tension of only a few moments ago to find herself actually smiling back. ‘I guess the drive from Mount Eliza to the city each day would be a bit much,’ Matilda ventured, but again she got things wrong.

‘I don’t generally drive to work, I use a helicopter.’

‘Of course you do,’ Matilda sighed, rolling her eyes.

‘It is not my helicopter.’ She could hear the teasing note in his voice. ‘More like a taxi service. I would rather spend that hour or two at home than in the car. When we bought the place it was meant more as weekender, or retreat, but since the accident I have tried not to move Alex too much. It is better, I think that she is near the beach with lots of space rather than the city. A luxury high rise apartment isn’t exactly stimulating for a small child.’

Why did he always make her feel small?

‘I use the apartment a lot, though. I tend to stay there if I am involved in a difficult trial.’

‘I guess it would be quieter.’

‘A bit,’ Dante admitted. ‘I tend to get very absorbed in my cases. By the time they go to trial there is not much space left for anything else. But it is not just for that reason.’ They were walking quickly, too quickly for Matilda, who almost had to run to keep up with him, but she certainly wasn’t going to ask him to slow down. The sooner they got to her apartment block the sooner she could breathe again. ‘The press can be merciless at times. I prefer to keep it away from my family.’

They were safely over the bridge now, walking along the dark embankment on the other side of the river.

‘This is me,’ Matilda said as they neared her apartment block, and she rummaged in her bag for her keys. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

‘I’m sure that you would be,’ Dante said, ‘but you are my dinner guest and for that reason I will see you safely home.’

Why did he have to display manners now? Matilda wondered. He’d been nothing but rude since they’d met—it was a bit late for chivalry. But she was too drained to argue, just gave a resigned shrug, let herself into the entrance hall and headed for the stairwell, glad that she lived on the second floor and therefore wouldn’t have to squeeze into a lift with him again.

‘Home!’ Matilda said with false brightness.

‘Do you always take the stairs?’

‘Always,’ Matilda lied. ‘It’s good exercise.’ They were at her front door now. ‘Thank you for this evening. It’s been, er…pleasant.’

‘Really?’ Dante raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’

‘I was actually attempting to be polite,’ Matilda responded, ‘as you were by seeing me to my door.’ She was standing there, staring at him, willing him to just go, reluctant somehow to turn her back on him, not scared exactly, but on heightened alert as still he just stood there. Surely he didn’t expect her to ask him in for coffee?

Surely!

How the hell was she going to spend a fortnight in his company when one evening left her a gibbering wreck? She had to get a grip, had to bring things back to a safer footing, had to let him know that it was strictly business, pretend that he didn’t intimidate her, pretend that he didn’t move her so.

‘Thank you for bringing the plans, Dante. I’m looking forward to working on your garden.’ She offered her hand. Direct, businesslike, Matilda decided, that was how she’d be—a snappy end to a business dinner. But as his hand took hers, instantly she regretted it.

It was only the second time they had made physical contact. As his hand tightened around hers she was brutally reminded of that fact, despite the hours that had passed, despite a dinner shared and the emotions he had evoked, it was only the second time they had touched. And the result was as explosive as the first time, and many times more lethal. She could feel the heat of his flesh searing into hers, as his large hand coiled around hers, the pad of his index finger resting on her slender wrist, her radial pulse hammering against it. And this time the feel of his gold wedding band did nothing to soothe her, just reminded her of the depths of him, the pain that must surely exist behind those indecipherable eyes. Never had she found a person so difficult to read, never had she revealed so much of herself to someone and found out so very little in return.

But she wanted to know more.

‘You interest me, Matilda.’ It was such a curious thing to say, such a hazy, ambiguous statement, and her eyes involuntarily jerked to his like a reflex action, held by his gaze, stunned, startled, yet curiously reluctant to move, a heightened sexual awareness permeating her.

‘I thought perhaps I bored you.’

‘Oh, no.’ Slowly he shook his head and she started back, mesmerised, his sensuous but brutal features utterly captivating. ‘Why would you think such a thing?’

‘I just…’ Matilda’s voice trailed off. She didn’t know what to say because she didn’t know the answer, didn’t know if it was her destroyed self-confidence that made her vulnerable or the man who was staring at her now, the man who was pinning her to the wall with his eyes.

‘He really hurt you, didn’t he?’ It was as if he were staring into her very soul, not asking her but telling her how she felt. ‘He ground you down and down until you didn’t even know who you were any more, didn’t even know what it was that you wanted.’

How did he know? How could he read her so easily—was she that predictable? Was her pain, her self-doubt so visible? But Dante hadn’t finished with his insights, hadn’t finished peeling away the layers, exposing her raw, bruised core, and she wanted again to halt him, wanted to stop him from going further—wanted that mouth that was just inches from hers be silent, to kiss her…

‘And then, when he’d taken every last drop from you, he tossed you aside…’

She shook her head in denial, relieved that he’d got one thing wrong. ‘I was the one who ended it,’ Matilda reminded him, but it didn’t sway him for a second.

‘You just got there first.’ Dante delivered his knockout blow. ‘It was already over.’

He was right, of course, it had been over. She could still feel the bleak loneliness that had filled her that night and for many nights before the final one. The indifference had been so much more painful that the rows that had preceded it. She could still feel the raw shame of Edward’s intimate rejections.

‘I’m fine without him.’

‘Better than fine,’ Dante said softly, and she held her breath as that cruel, sensual mouth moved in towards hers. She still didn’t know what he was thinking. Lust rippled between them, yet his expression was completely unreadable. The same quiver of excitement that had gripped her in the restaurant shivered through her now, but with dangerous sexual undertones, and it was inevitable they would kiss. Matilda acknowledged it then. The foreplay she had so vehemently denied was taking place had started hours ago, long, long before they’d even reached the garden.

He gave her time to move away, ample time to halt things, to stop this now, and she should have.

Normally she would have.

Her mind flitted briefly to her recent attempts at dating where she’d dreaded this moment, had avoided it or gone along with a kiss for the sad sake of it, to prove to herself that she was desirable perhaps.

But there was no question here of merely going along with this kiss for the sake of it—logic, common sense, self-preservation told her that to end this night with a kiss was a foolish move, that for the sake of her sanity she should surely halt this now. But her body told her otherwise, every nerve prickling to delicious attention, drawn like a magnet to his beauty, anticipating the taste of him, the feel of him in a heady rush of need, of want.