‘Yes, I am positive…’ he snapped, his temper fraying, along with his self-control. Then he noticed the pulse pumping against the delicate well of her collarbone.
What would it feel like, to kiss her there? How would she react, if he feasted on the thin skin, and marked her as his for every other man to see?
‘And stop calling me Mr Lorenti, Tallulah,’ he added.
She stiffened at the harsh tone. He released her wrist and tried to gentle his voice.
‘We are supposed to be engaged, the press release went out hours ago,’ he managed, trying to contain the burst of temper, and the vision which had popped into his head unbidden and was only making matters in his pants even more pressing, literally. ‘You must call me Dario.’
‘Right, sorry, Mr Loren… I—I mean Dario.’ She dipped her chin to her chest, the blush highlighting her cheeks, making him feel like a brute. ‘I’m making a mess of this already.’
The defeated tone and the unnecessary apology finally pierced the haze of lust. His rampaging heartbeat slowed—slightly—as well as the fierce flow of blood charging beneath his belt.
Damn it, Dario. Stop behaving like an arsehole. None of this is her doing.
She did not even appear to realise the effect she was having on him.
‘There is no need to apologise,’ he managed.
He tucked a knuckle under her chin and raised her gaze to his. The feel of her skin was so soft, he had to force himself to drop his hand, instead of stroking her neck, and tracing a line through her cleavage, to circle the hard bud of her nipple pressing against the satin.
‘You have done nothing wrong.’
She nodded, although he could see the wary, guarded expression and knew she did not believe him.
Dio, what was happening to him? He prided himself on always keeping his emotional responses on lockdown, of being sophisticated, cynical and self-reliant. Heneverlet anyone see the side of him which had once struggled to contain those emotions. As a boy, he’d been far too needy, far too desperate for friendship and affection after his mother’s death. It was why he had attracted people like Sante, who were only too happy to exploit him. But it had always been remarkably easy not to care, not to need anyone after Sante’s betrayal…
Until this precise moment.
It is of no importance. This is lust, pure and simple. Something that will be easily contained—once it has been satisfied.
Because it was already obvious that his unprecedented reaction to this woman would have to be satisfied eventually. He’d never experienced such a strong physical connection to a woman. But he had no intention of satisfying it yet, not when he was so on edge—barely clinging onto the cast-iron control he had always relied on during his past relationships.
There was no doubt in his mind, he and Tallulah would sleep together—her lust-blown pupils, engorged nipples and catapulting pulse making it clear she was no more immune to this volatile chemistry than he was.
He had sensed it in Wiltshire but had tried to deny it. Partly because he had no desire to make this arrangement any more complicated than it had to be, but mostly because he had never been led around by his cock before.
He enjoyed sex. A lot. He always had. He was a workaholic and considered it a valuable—and time-efficient—way to relax. As a result, he considered himself a generous and accomplished lover. The women he dated had certainly never complained about the physical aspect of their relationships. Of course, he’d been accused of being cold, and insensitive to their emotional needs, but as soon as that became an issue, he considered it his cue to end the relationship. What some women had failed to believe, once he had dated them more than a few times, was that he genuinely had no desire for any kind of intimacy beyond the physical.
Unfortunately, though, dumping Tallulah once they had satisfied this hunger would not be so easy, because he had employed her to pretend to be madly in love with him…for a year.
Once they had burned out this firestorm of lust, he would end their private relationship, but ending their public one would be impossible—until he had persuaded the Westwick Trustees he had adhered to the terms of his father’s will. And knowing how damn contrary those old fools were, he doubted that would happen to his timetable.
All of which meant he would have to manage this situation, so that when he and his fake wifedidbecome intimate, Tallulah did not misconstrue their sexual connection for something more.
The possibility that their livewire chemistry might have contributed to his impulsive decision to employ her as his wife in the first place could not be discounted now. The lowering thought was sobering enough to give him some relief from the insistent heat building in his pants.
‘The car is waiting downstairs,’ he said, determined to get her out of the damn apartment before the respite evaporated.
But when he placed his hand on the small of her back, to direct her out of the apartment, her shiver of reaction echoed viciously in his groin.
As they travelled down in the apartment’s private elevator, with her looking subdued, and him straining to recapture his usual control, he grimaced at the thought of the night ahead…when he was going to be forced to watchLa traviatawith her in a private box and persuade everyone that they were already lovers, all while figuring out how to make her his lover for real, without screwing up the whole purpose of this relationship.
The brutal irony did not escape him.
But far worse was the challenge of pretending to be a besotted lover—already a stretch for a man like him, who did not have a romantic or flirtatious bone in his body—while unrequited desire was pounding in his groin like a jackhammer, and the scent of wildflowers which clung to her was threatening to send his senses into another tailspin. And that was without even factoring in the extremely tenuous hold he already had on his temper, as he imagined every single man in the Teatro alla Scala being treated to a virtually uninterrupted view of his new fiancée’s breasts.
As he watched the tiny skirt ride up even more of her thigh as she entered the waiting limo, he bit his tongue to contain the renewed wave of possessive fury—and raw hunger—and made himself a promise.
