Mistress To a Latin Lover: The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress / The Italian's Pregnant Mistress / The Italian's Mistress
“I’m sorry,” she said at length, tugging on the lapels of Maximos’s coat, cold despite the jacket’s protection. “I’ve behaved badly, and your poor family, having to suffer through this show Emilio and I’ve put on…” Her voice faded and she swallowed. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Maximos regarded her steadily. “I was surprised to see you here with him. I didn’t even know you two knew each other.”
“We met in April, just after—” She broke off, surprised at a new thought. Quickly she counted back. She’d met Emilio in April at an advertising awards dinner, a dinner held three days after the miscarriage. Three days.
Maybe their meeting hadn’t been by chance.
Maybe Emilio had found out about the miscarriage and intended for them to meet…
It was bizarre to think about, but made sense in an awful sort of way.
“I need to go,” she said, reaching for her purse and rising. “This is—was—the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t know what I was thinking, and you’ve every right to think I’ve gone completely mad. Maybe I have.”
Maximos rose, too. “I’ll take you back to the palazzo.”
“No.” She smiled quickly to soften her refusal. “I’ll get a cab. I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t send you back unchaperoned. I don’t trust Emilio and I don’t want you returning to the palazzo alone.”
“Maximos—”
“I saw the bruises on your arm. He hurt you earlier, didn’t he?”
Her mouth opened but no sound came out.
Maximos shook his head in disgust. “That’s why I wrapped you in my coat. I didn’t want anyone staring at the bruises. They were so dark. It was obvious you’d been hurt.”
Hot emotion rushed through her and she had to look away for a moment to keep from crying. “I thought you were ashamed of me appearing virtually naked at your sister’s dinner.”
“Ashamed of your body? Impossible.” He leaned toward her, kissed her temple. “But maybe it was a bit daring for my grandmother’s tastes.”
Cass smiled wanly. “I didn’t want to wear it.”
“I suspected as much.” He reached into his pocket for his car keys. “Let me just let Sophia know I’m leaving. I’ll be right back.”
In the car Cass stared out the window as Maximos drove. She watched the neighborhoods pass by, the yellow streetlights glowed like topaz at night, the old city dark and mysterious, the narrow streets nearly deserted as the car approached the Guiliano palazzo. “How long have you been seeing Sophia d’Santo?” she finally asked, gathering her courage.
“Emilio talked about her.” But it was a statement, not a question.
“He said she’d been your companion for years.”
Maximos didn’t immediately reply but Cass felt him tense. He didn’t like this subject.
“She is beautiful,” Cass added quietly, her insides feeling as if they were on fire. She didn’t know why she had to talk about Sophia now. Was it jealousy? Envy? Probably.
“Yes.” Maximos didn’t take his eyes from the road.
“And young.”
His dark brows pulled. A small muscle in his jaw tightened. “I’ve known her nearly thirteen years.”
Her chest squeezed, her heart aching. “Do you love her?”
“Cass—”
“I need to know, Maximos. I need to understand.”
“Understand what?”
Her shoulders lifted, fell. “Why you didn’t love me.”
“Christ,” he swore beneath his breath, palms pressing hard against the leather covered steering wheel. “Women. You’re all impossible.”
Cass folded her hands in her lap, nails dug into her skin. “Would you marry her?”
“Cass.”
“Is that why you only saw me part-time? Because the rest of the time you were with her?”
Maximos pulled over to the side of the road and turned in his seat to look at her, and even in the dim light of the interior his expression was fierce, forbidding. “I was not with her. I care about Sophia, but I do not love her and would not marry her.”
Cass looked at him, seeing the strong proud lines of his face in the shadowed light of the car interior. “So she’s never been your lover?”
“No!” His voice thundered in the car. “No. Any more questions?”
Cass looked away. “Not at the moment.”
“Good.” He started the car and resumed driving. The rest of the brief trip was finished in silence. But as Maximos pulled up in front of his family’s palazzo, the house having passed from one generation of Guilianos to the next for nearly five hundred years, Maximos broke the silence. “You’ve changed,” he said tersely. “You used to be strong. Optimistic. You’re so insecure now.”
Insecure. That was one way of putting it. “Things were different then,” she said.
“Not that different.”
Cass almost laughed out loud, thinking he was joking but as she caught sight of his face, she realized he wasn’t. “Things are very different, Maximos.”
“Think about it. You still have your job. You have your apartment, your work, your friends—”
“But not you.” How could he not get it? How could he value her love—relationships—so little? “You were everything to me.”
“I never wanted to be everything. I never asked to be everything—”
“Forget it. Let’s just drop it.” Cass swung the car door open. They’d been sitting in the driveway, the ornate lights from the plaza shining on the deserted square, turning the cathedral façade a yellow-gold, illuminating the elegant balconies fronting the Guiliano palazzo.
Maximos pursued her up the front steps. “I cared about you, Cass. I cared more than you know, but you know you’re responsible for your own happiness, just as you’re in charge of your own destiny. It’s the one thing we agreed on when we met, it’s what attracted me to you. You were strong and independent—”
“And I still am.” She took a breath. “Sort of.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Caring for you changed me. It made me want more—”
“But sometimes there just isn’t more.”
She pushed through the front door. “You say that—”
“And I mean it.” He caught her by the shoulder and turned her around, the dim light of the entry hall shadowing both of their faces. “You got what I could give you. I saw you when I could. And it wasn’t a lot. I know it. We were a weekend thing. Once a month, two weekends a month, just now and then.”
She closed her eyes, counted to five, tried to keep from losing her temper. “Yet I was available every weekend,” she said carefully, “free each evening.”
“You had your own life—”
“I had work,” she interrupted shortly, opening her eyes to look at him. “But outside of work you were my life.”
Maximos inhaled sharply. “Your mistake. Not mine.”
Heat and sensation exploded inside her. Cass shuddered at the brutal tug on her heart. How could she feel so much? How could she still hurt like this? The pain was so intense she had to smile to hold the tears back. Was this love? Was it hate? All she knew for certain was that this emotion held her in its thrall, had bewitched her mind, taken control of her senses.
What she wanted…needed…
She shook her head once, a short dazed shake, the same dazed sensation she’d had since meeting Maximos two and a half years ago. “As I said, let’s drop it. Let’s just call it a night. I can’t fight with you anymore, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t enjoy it.” She felt tears sting her eyes. Not when I like loving you so much better.
The butler appeared, formally greeting Maximos and after turning on lights for them, quietly disappeared.
“Your coat,” she said, peeling off Maximos’s dinner jacket and handing it back to him. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll see you up.”
“I can find my way.”
“I’m heading that way myself. It’s easy enough for me to walk you to your room.”
“Well, in that case, since you’re not going out of your way…” She was teasing him and smiling crookedly, he gestured to the marble-and-gilt staircase, where the white carerra marble had darkened to almost lavender with age.
At the top of the stairs, Maximos flicked on more lights brightening the second floor landing with its dark red paint and the profusion of oils by the Italian masters.
“This is a beautiful home.”
“I don’t come home as often as I should. My mother is always asking me to come visit.” He sighed and then laughed. “Seems I can’t make anybody happy. You never saw enough of me. My family doesn’t see enough of me—”
She shot him a swift glance, sizing him up, seeing all at once his magnificent profile, the dark thick fringe of eyelash, the sultry coloring contradicted by such fierce, masculine features. He was gorgeous. Glorious. Proud. Sicilian. And obviously not interested in a long-term, monogamous relationship. “Then who does?”
“Good question,” he answered, walking her to her room, again turning on lights for her, before crossing to the windows and drawing the heavy velvet curtains closed. “I suppose my staff sees quite a bit of me. Clients. Customers. Automotive engineers.”
“You’re introducing a new car in the new year?”
“It’s being unveiled soon.”
“Exciting.”
“Mmmm,” he said, noncommittal, before changing subjects. “The house is old, but it does have an intercom. My mother insisted on it when my father was ill several years ago. You can call the kitchen if you need anything to eat or drink, or if you require something from housekeeping.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking that just looking at him made her hurt. Just looking into his dark eyes made her want.
He’d discovered her turquoise gown on the bed. “What the hell happened to your dress?”
When she didn’t answer she saw him lift her ruined gown, the delicate fabric of the bodice in shreds. Maximos’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening. “Sobato did this.”
She didn’t have to say anything. Maximos knew, and he swore softly. “I should just kill him and be done with all of this.”
She took the gown from him, balling it up and tossing it into a chair in the corner. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” His tone turned savage. “He’s made my life a living hell for far too long.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, wanting to go to him, touch him but she didn’t dare. He was too angry and she was too unsure of herself. Once she knew how to please him but that seemed like light-years ago. “I shouldn’t have come here with him, shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have needed what I needed.”
“And that was?”
“Closure.”
“Right.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Closure.” He looked at her. “Is that possible? Having seen me, do you think you’ll have that…closure?”
No. Never. Because she’d never forget him, never stop loving him. It was impossible. He might as well be part of her. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER SIX
“THAT’S good,” he said, smiling thinly but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And at least Sobato’s gone. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. His things have been removed from his room. He won’t be back.”
Emilio was gone? Cass felt a wave of relief. “What do you mean?”
“He won’t be returning to the palazzo, or attending the wedding. I made sure of that before we left the restaurant tonight.”
She felt weak, her legs wobbly, and she didn’t even know why. “You can do that?”
“My security detail can.”
She moved to the window, touched one velvet panel, the velvet soft, warm, pliable beneath her fingertips. “I didn’t know you had security.”
“I don’t when I travel. But here at home when the family gathers at the palazzo, or when we host a party, particularly one like my sister’s wedding where we have many high profile guests attending, it’s wise to take precautions.”
“That’s how you knew Emilio was trying to break into your office?”
“We caught him on one of the security cameras.”
She glanced up, checked the ceiling and corners of the room for possible cameras. “You don’t have any in the bedrooms, do you?”
Maximos smiled faintly. “I believe that’s considered an invasion of privacy.”
“Good.” A little of her tension eased. “We agree on something at least.”
Maximos stepped toward her, adjusted the strap on her white slip dress, smoothing the fabric on her bare golden shoulder. The touch of his fingers on her skin made her shiver, body and nerves tingling. “We probably still agree on quite a bit.”
She shivered again as his fingertip traced the low neckline and the lace panel covering her breast. “Careful,” she murmured, voice low and husky.
His hand fell away. “Are you dating anyone?”
Was she dating anyone? What kind of question was that? Hadn’t he been listening to a single thing she’d said today? “I’m not dating.”
“Why not?”
Did he really mean to hurt her, or was he honestly so oblivious to the depth of her feelings? It took her a moment to manage a careless shrug. “I do get asked out.” Not that she ever said yes, but he didn’t have to know that. Since he clearly didn’t care.
“And do you go out?” he persisted.
“I haven’t been in the mood.” First there was the heartbreak, then the discovery of the pregnancy and then the miscarriage. Not exactly the right mind frame for meeting—or dating—new men.
“You’re too young not to go out, find real happiness.”
“Because with you it wasn’t real happiness?”
“I was never an option.”
She gritted her teeth, not understanding, not ever understanding why it was that he’d ruled himself out as a possibility, why he’d have her body but not her heart. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make decisions for me. Decide what it is I can or can’t have, what it is I need or don’t need.” The anger was building. Hot, terrible and fierce. “You might know what you need, Maximos, and you might know what you want. But you don’t know the first thing about me.” The emotion felt hot and strangled inside. “You never even tried.”
Silence stretched, a long uncomfortable silence that made the hair on her nape rise.
“And yet you let it continue for two years,” Maximos said finally, his voice a soft drawl.
She gritted her teeth, stifling the pain. “Stupid, isn’t it? If I were smart, I would have bailed early on.”
“If I were smart I would have moved on six months ago.”
Her heart did a painful lurch. “You haven’t moved on?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, mocking smile. “You’re surprisingly difficult to forget.”
“Maximos.” His name came out strangled, her voice strangled, everything inside her tightening up. What did he mean by that? And why had she ever loved him? Why him? There were so many men in the world, so many men who had been interested in her, fiercely devoted, but she’d never cared about any of them, never cared one way or the other until Maximos.
He now reached for her, his hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers curving, briefly tangling in her long hair before falling away. “So difficult, I find myself not wanting any other woman yet.”
“Yet?”
He ignored her comment. “And you should know that I never slept with any other woman while I was sleeping with you.”
Sleeping. Slept.
Her throat squeezed, constricting nearly as tight as her heart. It crossed her mind that she should stop talking now, that even though she had questions she probably wouldn’t want answers.
But she’d come too far. Waited too long. Common sense was a thing of the past. “So I was your only sexual partner?”
“Yes.”
“For the entire two years?”
She felt rather than saw him step closer, felt the sudden sizzle of energy, the electric sexual tension that always hummed between them. “Yes.”
Yes. Her heart did a double thump, hard, uneven, fast. Too fast. He was now standing too close. “And there’s been no one since?”
“Cass—”
“I have to know.”
“Why? What good will it do? If I had a one-night stand with some nameless woman, will it change anything between us?”
“Maybe. Possibly.” She gave him her most evil eye. “No.”
“So?”
“But did you?”
He made a hoarse sound, part exasperation, part amusement. “No.”
She breathed in, breathing in the achingly familiar scent of him, feeling his warmth, his sheer physical strength. Even without him touching her she could remember the caress of his hand, the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrapped around hers.
With him she’d known a life no one else had ever shown her. Known emotion, passion, a scope of feeling that had been everything she’d ever wanted—and more and the desire returned full force.
Her belly clenched. Her legs felt odd, and she kept crossing her legs, holding the emptiness in, fighting the ache as if desire could be so easily answered.
She wanted him.
She needed him to drag her to him, make her straddle his lap, sinking deeply into him.
She remembered it all, remembered the way he’d bury himself in her, remembered the way she’d wrap herself around him. Remembered how slowly he’d take her, love her, remembered how he’d drag the pleasure out.
She wanted him now. She wanted release. A reprieve.
But it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. Not with things so complicated between them now. “You should go back to the restaurant,” she said, trying to be practical, do the right thing. “Sophia’s waiting—”
“She’s not. She’s going home with her parents. Her family lives not far from here. Besides, as I told you, we’re not together, not the way you think.”
“But Emilio said—”
“And you believed him?”
She licked her bottom lip carefully. “I wasn’t sure what to believe.”
Maximos looked at her, no emotion anywhere in his dark eyes, on his face, and again the silence stretched, the tension growing. “You should have never come here.”
Cass swallowed the knot of desire burning in her throat, matching the fire in her lower belly. She ached all over, hot with want, hot with need. “You’re probably right.”
“Maybe you’re the one that should leave,” he added. “Maybe you should run.”
Run, she repeated silently, thinking it was the same word Emilio had used earlier on the palazzo’s front steps. Run.
Run to whom? There was no one to go to.
Run where? Back to Rome where she still lived and worked? Back to the luxurious, sprawling penthouse suite Maximos had bought for her three years ago when he’d wanted her more than life itself? When he’d been determined to have her—no matter the cost?
“Yes,” she agreed, knowing intellectually that she had to leave this place and never come back, never speak to Maximos again, never have contact with him because she’d never get over him, never recover from him, if she thought, hoped, believed she might still have a chance.
“This isn’t what we should be doing.” His voice was quiet, but she sensed the storm beneath the calm. “We shouldn’t be alone, not like this.”
“I know. I’m a wicked woman, and bad for your reputation.”
He grimaced. “That’s the problem. I like wicked women. And I don’t trust myself alone with you.”
It was what she wanted, what she needed to hear, and it should have made her feel victorious but it only made her afraid. If he made love to her now, he’d blame her. If he lost control, it would be because of lust, not love. And she wanted love, his love. She’d had his body but God help her, this time she wanted his heart.
“Then you better go now.” Her voice cracked. “Because I won’t be the bad girl anymore. I’m actually not that bad.”
“You want me to go?”
Yes. No.
No.
No.
Acid tears filled her eyes and she drew a breath that cut her from the inside out. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
He’d done this to her, she thought, struggling to nod even as she stared up into his hard beautiful face, losing herself in his dark silent eyes. He’d brought her to this. He knew her better than anyone—had made love to her—and still he’d cast her off.
She had to get over him, had to get rid of him. If she were smart she’d take his heart out.
But first she’d have to rip out her own.
The bitterest of emotions filled her and she looked away, precariously close to losing control.
Either he needed to go or she did, but this couldn’t continue, not a minute longer. She missed him—Maximos—the man she loved and that was the man she wanted, not this hard distant stranger.
Silence filled the room, and then the sound of footsteps, Maximos’s footsteps and then came the firm but distinct closing of the bedroom door.
Cass jerked around, turning swiftly toward the door, tears flooding her eyes.
But Maximos wasn’t gone. He was there, at the door, and he was turning the antiquated dead bolt, locking them in.
“What now?” he asked, watching her.
She shook her head, nervous. Overwhelmed. Even scared. She was defenseless when it came to Maximos and she bit her lip, biting so hard she tasted blood. Don’t get emotional, she told herself, don’t fall apart now. “You’re not making this easy,” she said.
His laugh was low, mocking. “You were the one that came to me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“No?”
“No.” Her lips trembled and she struggled to smile. “I don’t think I’ve had a choice since I met you. I knew…knew from the first time I saw you.” Her shoulders lifted, a slight shiver of cold and nerves. “I’ve always known when something big happens, I know it in my bones. Call it instinct. But I knew from the first moment I saw you, and when I saw you, I fell.”
“Fell.”
“Hard.” She wanted to laugh at herself but she couldn’t, not after spending the last six months caught somewhere between hell and purgatory. “I knew then you were it. Everything. You were what I wanted. Heart, body and soul.”
“And now?”
The tears filled her eyes, burning hotter than before but she fought to hold them back. “You’re the last thing I need, but I suppose I had to come here this weekend to see it for myself. Had to come and say goodbye my way.”
“You have a funny way of saying goodbye,” he said, walking slowly, deliberately toward her.
“Horrible, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Clasping the back of her neck, he brought her to him, drawing her close, so close that there was no space between them, just contact, sensation, from head to toe.
“Goodbyes like this are dangerous,” he added, tilting her head back with the pressure of his hand. His lips touched the wild pulse beating at the base of her throat. “They’re like fire.”
She shuddered, feeling feverish. “So I’m learning.”
She felt his lips return to the pulse, the sensation razor hot. Incredible. Excruciating.
“You’re usually a quick study, bella,” he said, his mouth moving with tormenting slowness across her throat. “Makes me think you want to be burned.”
Yes, she answered silently, shuddering at the feel of his body against hers.
Yes, she wanted fire, she wanted the burn if only to remember—relive—what it had once been like, how amazing it had felt to be taken by him.
He had to know she craved the feel of him, the weight of him on her, the hard, heavy pressure, the way he filled her, the way he stormed her world and made it his. She’d never known anything like the glorious sensation of being touched, possessed, and maybe it wasn’t love but it was heady, seductive, intoxicating.
And then his mouth covered hers and it was so fierce, so demanding that something inside her snapped and she felt close to breaking, felt as though she needed to throw a white flag, cry surrender.
His hands were wrapping around her arms, sliding up to her shoulders and then down, molding her through the thin white slipdress with his palms, shaping her breasts, her rib cage, her torso before one palm returned to her breast.
His kiss sucked the hiss of pleasure from between her lips, and as his fingers worked her breast, cupping, pressing hard against her nipple. The rhythmic kneading, squeezing, rippled through her, bringing memory and desire to life. She shifted, brushing her hips against his, her body blindly seeking what it had so desperately missed.