She attempted to school her features, to push down her feelings the way she had spent years practicing, but Catarina found that she…couldn’t. Something had broken free inside her, something she could no longer suppress.
“What were you playing?” he asked, his voice so much gentler than she’d expected.
“Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp Minor,” she said, and she could hear that her voice was still tinged with the dizzying turmoil of the music that had started to untangle the mess of emotions knotted inside her. “It is said that the composer wrote it after a dream of his own death.”
“That was…stunning,” he said, and his eyes now seemed to be filled with open admiration.
Her breath caught in her throat as the knot tightened inside her once again. Would he simply talk to her like this, as if nothing had happened? Yesterday he had dangled a different kind of future in front of her, a future that included long evenings of food and conversation and unspeakable passion, and then, when the condom broke, he had so viciously yanked it away. And now he was complimenting her on something she held so dear. What was she supposed to do with this man?
“The piano holds no judgment of me for the times my thoughts are less palatable to those around me,” she replied, and her voice wavered with emotion. Why couldn’t she say this in the careful tone she had practiced her whole life? How could she have let herself get this out of control, exposing herself, making herself so vulnerable in a way that she could no longer take back?
She had meant her comment as a subtle reference to her less than generous feelings toward him, but if he understood this, he didn’t take offense. In fact, in his gaze she found something that looked like understanding. Real understanding. Maybe he was looking for a way forward, a way to talk through the possible consequences of the broken condom. The flicker of hope wasn’t nearly as strong inside, but it was still alive.
The room was quiet, and he said nothing, just gazed at her. And in that moment, a roller coaster of emotions raced through her, one that seemed to mirror what she saw in Massimo’s dark eyes. She saw hope. Fear. Joy. Frustration. And with every peak and valley was that insistent desire that never seemed to go away with Massimo. The air seemed to charge between them, but before she could think through this, he looked away.
“The storm seems to have abated,” he said, gesturing out the window. “I imagine I will be able to contact my helicopter soon, and we will return to Milan. I expect that things will be clearer then.”
She could hear the implication behind these words, that the moment she faced her father and the trappings of their lives again, she would soon bend to his will. Frustration took over, and Catarina looked away, trying to hide any traces of the sinking feeling that she had been mistaken. Even misled. This conversation, this connection, was simply a lead-up to the next step in his plan. And her job was to fall in line.
“I find that things look perfectly clear from here,” she said tartly as she tried to shut off every other complicated feeling that had been building inside her.
Both of them knew how much easier it would be if she simply gave in. This was why she had fled to her house on the edge of the vast fjord, wasn’t it? Because being in Milan in her father’s house, she felt the weight of her obligations to her parents and their vision of what her life should be.
Then Massimo had followed her here, and her private hideaway no longer eased this problem. Or maybe the safety of her mother’s mountain home had only been an illusion. The struggle lived inside her as it always had, but Massimo had triggered these long-simmering emotions to erupt, and the problem cut deeper than the expectations laid on her.She had chosento shape her life around these obligations. It was time for that to end. She took a deep breath. “I will return with you to Milan when the storm clears, but I will not marry you simply because there’s a chance I am pregnant.”
The unreadable expression on his face turned glacial. “Everyone has things that they need, Catarina,” he said, his voice a low, unmistakable warning. “Some of us want to preserve our family name and others want to please our fathers, for example. These can be powerful motivators, and I find that people go to great lengths to ensure those needs are met. These most basic drives are impossible to ignore.”
“Of course, you are speaking from experience,” she said.
“I am.”
Catarina found her temper flaring higher at the cold control in his voice, while her own wavered with emotion. Was he truly the same man who had lit up with passion, who had called out her name and looked at her like nothing in this world would pull him away? Yesterday must have been a lie, all of it. He had toyed with her emotions and satisfied his own desire. The only piece that she had to hold on to, the only thing undeniably real, was that desire. Catarina clung to the naked want she had seen as he moved over her, driving them both crazy with pleasure. If he was using his desire so recklessly, then she would use it, too.
Catarina stood and took a step toward him. Another. She caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes before the hardness returned, so she continued. He retreated, the wall now at his back, as his gaze traveled down her body. Awareness tingled in her breasts and between her legs. Just the brush of his gaze was enough to harden her sensitive nipples, and she felt the sensual scrape of her silk pajamas against them. His gaze momentarily fixed on her breasts, and she caught a flash of the heat that she had seen the day before.
Yes, this was the road forward. This was the only way she knew how to get through to him. She had tried to use her voice, and he was shutting her out, but she could use this, show him that he could not freeze her out, that he would not control her. Catarina took another step and another until she was almost flush with him. Her body exploded with heat, and her breaths were coming one on top of the other. There was no mistaking her intent, but he did not move. He had schooled his face back to that impenetrable mask, and yet passion flared in his eyes. Massimo had started this battle of wits, and he was waiting for her to back down. She would not. He had done this to her, made her vulnerable, opened this Pandora’s Box of her emotions. He had set them free, and now he would see the results.
“If things are as you say,” she whispered, letting him hear her desire. “If I will, indeed, give in and marry you on your terms once my father is at the negotiating table, then I see no reason to hold back right now.”
She lifted her hands to his cheeks. He had showered but not shaved, and the rough stubble contrasted with the soft fullness of his lips. She knew that she would lose herself soon again. That was inevitable. If he had entered her room this morning, she wouldn’t have turned him away. She desperately ached for this man, and he had given signs that he might ache for her just as desperately. At least this could be a place where they met on equal ground, she told herself as she urged his face closer to hers.
He gave no resistance. His gaze did not lose its hard edges, but he didn’t pull away. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart took off in soaring arpeggios, higher and higher. The ache between her legs throbbed insistently, and no amount of logical thinking could make it stop. Instead, it grew and grew into something too strong to control. So when his mouth neared hers, she parted her lips, welcoming him. And when his lips descended on hers, she lost her mind.
This kiss was a trap. Something had shifted in her. Her expression was different, new. Back in his room just moments ago, his temper had been fully reined in, and his purpose, clear and unshakable. Massimo would pursue the marriage he had bargained for with the same relentlessness as he had pursued everything else in his life.
Then he had heard the music, and he’d found himself opening the door, moving closer. Catarina was playing the piano, and the slow succession of minor chords was so haunting that it took his breath away. It was as if his inner torment had been embodied in a piece of music. He only had a passing interest in piano, but he knew enough to hear that this feeling was about more than simply the notes. It was just as much about the skill and passion of the musician who was bringing the piece to life.
Massimo’s thoughts jumped back to the image of Catarina the previous morning on the piano bench, sitting still, her face marked with traces of passion, and maybe even ecstasy. Something had twisted in his gut, something that he did not want to acknowledge.
And then the music was over. Massimo was conscious that he had descended the stairs, moving closer as she played. He’d tried to summon the righteous indignation that he had felt since he had left her room the night before, as he had built the story in his head, turning Catarina into his mother, but it didn’t come. He was struck with the uncomfortable knowledge that, with his anger stripped from him, a powerful want took over, relentless.
When Catarina finally turned to him, her hair was a wild tousle of waves, and her eyes flickered with unfiltered passion that he had seen as she fell apart in his arms the night before. He could sense the power inside her, growing and transforming. She was blooming, and he couldn’t bring himself to dislike it, even though she was turning this newfound power on him. Massimo was caught between the dual instincts to watch her break free of the cage that she kept herself in but also to pull her in so tightly that she would never escape. She was dangerously enchanting.
As she urged her lips closer, he reasoned that he could not turn away from this passion now unleashed inside her. If he resisted, would she turn this passion elsewhere when they returned to Milan? The question rattled him to the core, shaking every piece of the stony hardness that he had used to brace himself. As he felt the last of his resistance crumble, he could not bring himself to care, not when her lips were on his. He would make her his.
Satisfaction surged inside him as she seemed to soften to him. He no longer had to resist the maddening pull between them that had kept him awake all night. He brought his lips to her mouth, and the relief of touching her again was usurped by something far less tamed. She responded immediately, opening for him, kissing him with wild abandon. Her hands tangled in his hair as she drew him closer, taking from him greedily, stoking this fire that burned so brightly between them. Her lips were velvety soft as she kissed him with a desperation that spiraled so quickly out of control. He pulled her against him, his hard length meeting her softness. The moment their bodies connected, he left behind the notion of control and negotiation.
“I don’t have another condom,” he bit out roughly.
