He dragged his mouth over her breasts, her collarbone, to her shoulder, where he nipped with his teeth and then found her mouth, or perhaps she found his, hungry, desperate, aching for her. She arched her back and shouted his name into the room, her hair cascading like a fiery wave. He could only stare at the sight she made, at the beautiful, passionate, spirited woman she was.
He groaned then, because her explosion, her muscles squeezing so hard, was the tipping point for him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He held her tight as he came, the shockwaves rocking through both of them, pulling them apart even when they were as physically close as two people could ever be.
Charlotte’s smile was slow to spread, but it seemed to come from deep inside of her. Since the meeting with her father’s lawyers, she’d had a big ball of nerves in her belly, a stress and frustration that she just hadn’t been able to ease.
But Dante had known how.
Dante with his beautiful body that always seemed so perfectly in sync with hers.
She blinked down at him to find him staring hungrily at her—unapologetically—his eyes full of admiration, so her cheeks glowed with warmth.
‘Thank you,’ she said, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. ‘I needed that.’
He laughed. ‘That’s mutual.’
She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart. ‘I’m actually starting to think being your pretend wife could be kind of fun.’
His smile slipped a little, as if he’d forgotten all about their fake marriage. She wanted to ask why he hated marriage so much, what had happened with him and his ex-wife, but that would break one of their first cardinal rules—no serious stuff. So she pulled away from him instead, placing a quick kiss on his lips as she stood, her body tingling all over.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she murmured, grabbing her clothes and swishing her hips exaggeratedly as she left the room.
In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror, a fingertip tracing the pink patches his stubbly beard had left, and the dark purple bruising he’d pressed just to the side of her breast. Something fierce and strong arced inside of her, a pleasure that was like magma. So hot and animalistic, so ancient and prehistoric, it seemed to resonate from deep, deep within her.
Before Dante, Charlotte had seen a few guys. Never serious. Never more than a casual date, here and there. Sex, sometimes. She’d always pushed herself to stay in control, to know that no matter how much she enjoyed someone’s company, she could walk away any time. That she had that power.
Her finger pressed into the bruise mark and she frowned a little.
She wasn’t stupid.
Dante was dangerous.
Not himself, per se, but the connection they shared. While it was true that they didn’t have a lot in common, it was also true that the power of the sexual chemistry was deeply addictive. The kind of addiction that made it hard to imagine turning your back.
One day, it would lessen though. It would fade. It had to.
Until then, she just had to take great care to neatly compartmentalise how they were physically with the whole marriage concept. He was right about blurred lines and how problematic that could be. But Charlotte had had a lifetime of practice at keeping people at arm’s length. Dante might have been dangerous, but she was up for a challenge.
No matter what, once she had the Papandreo company, she would walk away from him, come what may—and then, Charlotte would have everything she’d really wanted in life. Her independence, and the destruction of her horrible, hateful father and brother.
Dante San Marino was a heck of a lot of fun, in the meantime. But beyond that, he was nothing to her. Nothing.
Chapter Five
It was nota call he relished making, which explained why he’d put it off for as long as he could.
In the two days since agreeing to marry Charlotte, Dante had had the prenuptial agreements drawn up and given notice of their intention to marry at the registry office, whereby setting the clock ticking on the twenty-nine-day waiting period until they were legally eligible to marry.
He hadn’t told his grandmother yet, but he’d arranged to visit her for a week and told her he wouldn’t be alone. The less she knew in advance, the better—he wouldn’t put it past her to turn up on his doorstep demanding answers if he informed her, ahead of time, that he was bringing a woman.
He’d done just about everything he needed to do and the wedding was now hurtling towards him like an asteroid from which there was no escape.
Not that he’d want to escape, anyway. He’d given Charlotte his word and he would never renege on that.
Which meant there was just one thing left to do, and it could no longer be put off. Not if there was a chance someone at the registry office might tip off the press about Dante San Marino’s impending marriage. As one of the richest men in the world, there was a not inconsequential amount of speculation surrounding his private life—something he’d guarded even more fiercely once he and Jamie had split.
Jamie.
His gut rolled with the complex emotions he felt whenever he thought of her, reaching for his phone and pressing her name before he could back out of this. The thought of Jamie hearing about his wedding from anyone but him sat inside him like a lead balloon. He’d already hurt her enough for ten lifetimes.
