Her wide-eyed gaze searched his face, the familiar blush turning her pale skin to a burning red.
‘Dario, please don’t,’ she whispered, for his ears alone. ‘I know we have to put on a show, but all this play-acting is… It’s making it hard for me to tell what’s real and what’s…’
He pressed his finger to her lips to silence her—strangely touched by her panicked request.
‘I am not acting, Tallulah.’ He banded his arms around her, to bring her flush against him, until her eyes widened even more—as her belly cradled the hard ridge of his growing erection. ‘We must change the terms of our agreement.’
She blinked, the sheen of compassion and understanding in her eyes something he knew he should reject, but he was too desperate to have her to even care about that anymore.
The resentment, the loneliness, the sense he was standing on the edge of a boiling vat of despair and would tumble into if he could not get back his usual control… He wanted all these wayward emotions to fuck off. And the only way to do it was to bury himself inside her at last.
‘How?’ she whispered.
Was she being coy? Angling for a better offer? His cynicism wanted to believe it, but somehow, he knew that was not who she was.
He forced himself to release her, made himself button his tux jacket over the strident evidence of his desire, aware of the people around them. While the other guests were probably too drunk, and too high on the joy of his sister’s wedding, to notice him and Tallulah, he did not wish to continue this conversation in public.
They needed to be alone. Because whatever happened next would not be for show—and was not for anyone’s benefit but their own.
‘Come.’ He clasped her hand, to lead her past the throngs of people clapping and cheering as Sante swung his new wife into a romantic dip. Dario barely glanced their way though, all his focus on the woman whose fingers were clutched in his. ‘Let us return to the summer house.’
‘But what about your sister and Sante? Shouldn’t we say goodbye?’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Before they leave on their honeymoon?’
He led her to the edge of the gardens, aware of the summer house on the other side of the citrus orchard, its lights like a beacon as the night closed in.
‘It is not necessary, I spoke to them both during the feast,’ he said, the tension in his gut building at the recollection of the awkward conversation. He had formally apologised to his old friend, but the distance between them had remained. He’d made sure of it. He could not go back. Whatever lies had been exposed, he would never feel comfortable having the level of trust he had once had in Sante with anyone again. His sister had watched him with a peculiar expression on her face… Not quite pity, but not quite anything else either—which had only made the conversation more excruciating.
But he had done the right thing. And now he wished to forget the events of today, tonight. To live in the moment…and finally feed this driving hunger.
At last, they reached the summer house, the night drawing in around them. He hauled Tallulah through the door, slamming it shut to close off the faint sounds of the festivities from the other side of the estate. He released her, to take off his jacket, and tear off the tie which was starting to strangle him.
His mouth had dried. His breathing was now ragged.
She stood, shivering, despite the warmth of the evening, her breath heaving, too.
He let his gaze coast over that damn gown again, the shimmering satin accentuating the fullness of her breasts. While it was more demure than the gown he had objected to over two weeks ago in Milan, it had the same devastating effect. He’d wanted to rip it off her the minute she had walked out of the dressing room earlier—and been ready to murder every man whose gaze had lingered on her during the wedding.
Surely that was why he felt so on edge?
Tendrils of hair hung down from an elaborate chignon to touch her neck. He fisted his fingers and shoved them into his pants pockets, resisting the urge to thrust his hands into the silky curls and lift those full lips to his, so he could devour them all over again.
First, he must change the terms of their agreement. He had arranged for them to be wed as soon as they returned to Milan—in a simple civil ceremony, witnessed by a small but exclusive gathering of his friends and associates to avoid any unnecessary press scrutiny. But to convince the Westwick Trustees the marriage was real, he had decided to celebrate the union in an extended, month-long honeymoon on Capri at the palazzo. The symbolism had seemed perfect, but he had come to realise—ever since their kiss—that there was no way he would be able to endure weeks of living there with Tallulah without consummating their fake marriage.
She needed to be aware of his intentions before they took this step. Because he also knew one time would not be enough, not now he had become so obsessed with her.
She watched him—the vivid awareness which had crucified him for days, though, ever since the first time he had touched her in the moonlight, was tempered by that brutal sheen of emotion. And concern.
‘How do you wish to change the terms of our agreement?’ she whispered again.
He stepped close, to cradle her cheek, then slide his hand around the back of her neck, the desperation to touch her impossible to deny any longer. ‘I think you know how, Tallulah,’ his said. ‘As it is not something I can hide.’
He stroked the rabbiting pulse in her neck, tugged her face up and brought his mouth so close to hers he felt her sharp gasp when the brutal erection pressed against her belly again through their clothing.
‘If you do not wish to feed this incessant hunger, now is the time to say so,’ he murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse, his fear of revealing too much obliterated by the brutal surge of desire. And desperation.
She stared at him, her lust-blown pupils dilating the blue to black, as he continued to stroke her neck… Waiting for her to admit what they both already knew, desperately holding the need in check to bargain with her if he had to. Already aware he would offer her anything she desired right now to have her.
But instead of demanding more or even asking for clarification of where this would leave their artificial relationship once their marriage became legal, she reached out and fisted trembling fingers in his shirt to draw him closer.
