His Cinderella's One-Night Heir / Consequences Of A Hot Havana Night

CHAPTER THREE

‘WE’RE NOT GOING to discuss this any more,’ Belle told Dante heatedly as they were ushered through a crowded room of staring diners to a well-lit velvet-lined booth in the corner.

‘Don’t kid yourself. When you said we had to know stuff about each other, that is definitely something a man would need to know,’ Dante fielded grimly.

‘Not in our situation, it’s not,’ Belle argued. ‘We’re only faking it.’

‘What would you know about faking it?’ Dante enquired witheringly.

‘Stop it!’ Belle hissed between clenched teeth in a sharp aside before she took a seat. ‘If you don’t stop embarrassing me, I’ll look like a tomato all evening!’

‘You could’ve told me the truth upfront!’ Dante replied, still pointed in tone as he spread open the wine list, signalled the hovering maître d’ and ordered wines in fluent French.

Belle pressed the cool backs of her hands to her cheeks in an effort to ratchet down her inner heat source. ‘Why should I have told you?’

‘I feel short-changed and like I’m about to throw a baby into a snake pit!’ Dante groaned in frustration, wondering if he had chosen the wrong woman entirely for the role. ‘You are manifestly unsuited to pretending to be my sexy lover. How on earth are you going to pull that off?’

‘You don’t have to have sex to be sexy,’ Belle whispered vehemently across the table. ‘Not five minutes ago you were all over me!’

‘If I’d been all over you, we’d still have been in the limo and I wouldn’t be in need of a cold shower,’ Dante parried drily. ‘I kissed you. Let’s not get lost in virginal exaggeration.’

‘Just lose that word from your vocabulary!’ Belle tossed, taking refuge behind her menu and making hasty selections, desperate to change the subject. ‘It embarrasses me. I wish I’d lied now.’

Dante ordered the food and lounged back in his chair, narrowed sardonic dark eyes welding to her still-flushed face. ‘So, tell me why... Religious scruples?’

‘My grandparents didn’t encourage me to go out and about when I was younger because we lived in a rough area and they were worried about my safety. Then I was restricted by having to stay home as a carer. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but lack of opportunity is certainly part of it,’ Belle acknowledged, gratefully sipping the water poured for her, soothing her tight vocal cords. ‘And that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject.’

‘I’m still not satisfied,’ Dante admitted, tasting the wine and indicating that it could be poured.

‘It’s absolutely none of your business,’ she told him quietly when they were alone again.

‘You made it my business when you made me want you,’ Dante contradicted ruefully. ‘Now it seems clear that you’re one of those women who decides to stay as pure as the driven snow until she marries.’

‘I didn’t say that I was saving myself for marriage,’ Belle pointed out. ‘And I’m not. But I only want intimacy if it comes with a serious relationship.’

‘I won’t offer you a serious relationship.’

‘Of course not,’ Belle conceded. ‘Anyway, I’m working for you, so there won’t be anything of that nature to worry about.’

Dante reminded himself that he too had believed at the outset of their agreement that there was no room for sex in it. But from the minute he had touched her, something had indisputably changed for him. He had acknowledged that he wanted her, and all his reservations had vanished at the same moment, which he supposed made him a fairly typical male, driven by his libido. He didn’t want her to be out of reach, he didn’t want to hear that she would only share a bed with a man if she was in a serious relationship and he was still wondering how she would stand up to Krystal, who oozed sex appeal.

‘I’m just waiting to meet the right person,’ Belle extended quietly, hoping to defuse the tension with that admission.

‘And what is that right person going to be like?’ Dante asked with helpless curiosity.

‘Someone who matches me. Look, I don’t want to talk about this any more. It’s too private and personal,’ Belle told him abruptly. ‘Subject closed.’

Frustration gusted through Dante. ‘I suppose you mean someone crazy about dogs.’

‘That wouldn’t be the most important thing, no,’ she countered uncomfortably. ‘I accept that I’ll have to compromise, and that one person can’t possibly meet all my expectations.’

‘I suppose you have a list drawn up for that too,’ Dante guessed. ‘A shopping list of requirements.’

‘I’m not shopping.’ Belle lifted her chin.

Silence fell. The first course arrived and they ate. By the arrival of the next, Belle had relaxed again, refusing to think about what Dante thought of her because it wasn’t important. Like a shooting star, he would only be in her life for a very short space of time and it would be foolish to start worrying about his opinion of her because ultimately it didn’t matter, she told herself firmly. No doubt she sounded old-fashioned and naïve to him, but she knew what she wanted and needed and she wasn’t about to apologise for it.

‘You haven’t told me a thing about yourself yet,’ she reminded him quietly.

‘Background...’ Dante shifted a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. ‘I’m twenty-eight. My family made their fortune in banking. My father married my mother because she is the daughter of a prince and he was born a prince. They set a very high value on their titles even though the Italian Republic no longer recognises those titles. They had two children because they wanted a son to inherit the title—the heir and the spare. I was the spare,’ Dante explained tightly, his sensual mouth twisting at the designation. ‘There was a lot of pressure on my brother, Cristiano, to be exactly what my parents wanted him to be. So he went into the bank because they demanded it of him even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life.’

‘And what about you?’ Belle whispered. ‘What did they want from you?’

‘They barely took notice of my existence. I was simply insurance in case anything ever happened to my older brother,’ Dante admitted. ‘And tragically, the worst happened. Cristiano messed up an investment fund at the bank. Instead of coming to me for advice and help, and feeling unable to face our parents’ criticism, he took an overdose...and then he was gone.’

Belle had paled. His pain at that admission had tightened every muscle in his lean, darkly handsome face and his strain was painfully evident. ‘I’m so sorry, Dante.’

‘Do you know what my parents said to me at his funeral?’ Dante breathed in a raw undertone. ‘That he was never meant to be the elder son, that he was utterly unsuited to the responsibility and that I would be much stronger in the role. They didn’t grieve for him because as far as they were concerned he was a social embarrassment and a screw-up.’

‘That’s awful,’ Belle murmured urgently, reaching for his hand, which had clenched into a fist on the tabletop, and smoothing her fingers gently over his. ‘They can’t possibly have meant it!’

‘Oh, they meant it all right,’ Dante contradicted with hard conviction as he pushed his plate away with his free hand. ‘I wasn’t surprised but I’ll never get over the guilt because I could’ve saved him.’

‘How?’ she exclaimed in surprise at the claim.

‘I could have stepped in and taken over at the bank. I was better qualified. I could have made the socially acceptable marriage and provided the next generation. Instead I did what I wanted to do and left him to sink or swim. The best advice I had to offer was for him to walk away but he didn’t have the heart to do that because he was desperate, always desperate, for our parents’ approval,’ he completed gruffly.

‘That’s not your fault. He did what he had to do, and you did what you had to do. Whatever happened, one of you was going to be unhappy, and as your older brother he chose to take the hit,’ she reasoned ruefully.

‘Let’s move on to something less contentious,’ Dante murmured, taken aback that he had told her so much and disconcerted by the shimmer of sympathetic tears in her big violet eyes. She was the touchy-feely type just as Cristiano had been and being that way inclined, being vulnerable, was like sticking your head up above the parapet to invite a punch in the face.

‘Yes, tell me about where you went to school...and I suppose you went to university,’ Belle said, unsurprised by his nod of confirmation. ‘We’ll just stick to easy facts, the sort of stuff I should know about you.’

The rest of the meal went surprisingly well and by the time they were climbing back into the limo, Belle felt calm enough to ignore the single lingering paparazzo with a camera, who stole another shot of them together.

‘Your favourite colour?’ she pressed Dante again.

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Everyone has one.’

‘Blue... You dressed in blue,’ Dante said teasingly, highly amused by her interest in trivia like his birthdate, his favourite foods and sports, none of which he considered remotely important or likely to be of use to her. ‘Blue brings out your eyes. I’m going to have to buy you some jewellery. Don’t men who live with women buy them jewellery as gifts?’

Belle wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, don’t spend any more, for goodness’ sake! I’ll only be leaving it behind me. I couldn’t possibly accept jewellery as part of the deal...unless you could buy fakes,’ she suggested, looking at him with sudden hope. ‘There are very good fakes around now.’

‘I’m not putting you in fakes!’ Dante told her, studying her with incredulous dark golden eyes. ‘Madre di Dio... You haven’t got the sense you were born with, have you?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Because a woman wanting to feather her nest would never ever suggest that I buy her fake diamonds. She would want and expect the real thing, even if it was just to sell it at a later date,’ he pointed out drily.

‘But I’m not out to feather my own nest,’ Belle argued, her colour heightening. ‘I’ll be more than content to be paid at the end of this. Anything more than giving me the means to go home and get my life started again would be excessive.’

‘Allow me to decide what is excessive.’ Dante surveyed her with mounting hunger, his attention lingering on the smooth satiny skin below her throat while he imagined putting his mouth there before toying at his leisure with the sultry curve to her lower lip. He marvelled at how misleading that pouty pink sultriness was.

She was a sensual, sexy woman in denial of her nature and she was saving herself up for some no doubt imaginary and perfect hero, who would disappoint her. The idea of Belle being disappointed galled Dante and he asked himself why when he deemed disappointment to be one of life’s certainties. Like his current desire for her, he ruminated sardonically. He imagined that once he had her, he would no longer want her. And wasn’t that exactly why he should leave her alone and untouched? He frowned because that little moral question reminded him very much of his brother, who had always been kinder and less ruthless than Dante. When had he ever had anything in common with Cristiano apart from the blood in their veins?

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’M PLANNING TO have a drink,’ Dante announced when they walked back into the hotel suite. ‘Do you want one?’

‘No, thanks.’ Belle wandered restively round the room. ‘I wonder how Charlie’s doing.’

‘He’s doing fine. I got a text and a photo earlier. He’s eaten and settled in for the night. I meant to mention it,’ Dante asserted, tugging out his phone.

Belle darted over to him and stared down at the photo of Charlie in what looked like a very comfortable dog run. He was snuggled up, nose to tail, in a well-padded dog bed. ‘He looks sad,’ she sighed. ‘Have you any photos of your brother’s dogs?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Why didn’t you try to find them a new home?’ Belle asked ruefully.

‘Cristiano left me a letter. He wanted me to keep them.’

‘Yes, but he probably assumed you’d keep them at home with you,’ Belle pointed out and then winced. ‘Sorry, forget I said that. It was totally tactless.’

‘But spot on,’ Dante fielded, pouring himself what he imagined would only be his first hard drink of the night. ‘Go to bed. I feel like drowning my sorrows.’

‘I can’t leave you down here alone when you’re feeling bad!’ Belle protested with a troubled look in her eyes.

‘Of course, you can,’ Dante asserted. ‘I’m not a child you have to worry about.’

She wondered if he had ever got to be a child secure in the love of his parents. They hadn’t sounded very loving towards him and his brother. It made her look back on all the years that she had felt sorry for herself because she had neither a father nor a mother who loved her. Yet all along she had had her grandparents loving and supporting her, making up in every way they could for her parents’ lack of interest.

‘From what you’ve said about him, I don’t think your brother would’ve wanted you feeling this way,’ she murmured uncertainly, fearful of intruding too much.

‘And what would you know about it?’ Dante derided.

‘Nothing,’ she agreed apologetically. ‘But if he was a kind person, he wouldn’t have wanted you beating yourself up about what can’t be changed.’

And that was perfectly true, Dante acknowledged grudgingly. Cristiano had always been an optimist who hated dwelling on the darker elements of life. He had made the best of situations, had even tried to make the best he could of the parents he had been born to, tolerating and forgiving their biting scorn and continual demands.

Dante strode forward. ‘Stop looking at me with those big sad eyes,’ he breathed hoarsely.

‘I’m not sad. I just wanted to make you feel better.’ Belle sighed.

‘Come to bed with me, then. That would be guaranteed to make me feel better, amante,’ Dante growled soft and low, the dark roughened vowel sounds in his voice snaking down her spine like a rough caress.

Belle clashed in consternation with glittering dark golden eyes that made the breath hitch in her tight throat. ‘No, that would be a bad idea.’

‘Not to my mind,’ Dante intoned, catching both her hands in his and tugging her closer. ‘You should’ve got away while you had the chance.’

Her face flamed because she knew that she hadn’t wanted to leave him alone. He tempted her as no one ever had and his confession about his brother had made him seem treacherously human and vulnerable, chipping away at her original dislike. It had taught her a lesson too, taught her not to make assumptions about people and assume that wealth cushioned them from the tragedies of life. Going straight to bed, steering clear of spending more time with Dante Lucarelli, would have been the sensible thing to do, but seeing him standing by the windows with a drink in his hand and looking so very alone had bothered her even though there was nothing she could do or say to change anything.

Belle lifted her chin and looked up at him. ‘I know you’ll let me go if I ask you to.’

‘And you won’t ask me because you don’t want me to let you go,’ Dante murmured in silken challenge as he trailed a reproving fingertip across a pink cheek, down to the incredibly inviting lush pink of her mouth. ‘Well, don’t say you weren’t warned...’

He leant down and captured her mouth with his, driving her lips apart with the power of his hungry kiss, and she shivered as heat darted through her chilled body, warming every inch of her. She wanted more, she knew she wanted more, knowing that if nothing else when she made no objection to being scooped off her feet and carried over to an armchair where he draped her across his lap without once freeing her mouth again. A quivering intensity of response gripped her as his tongue stroked between her lips to explore.

‘The taste of you is sublime,’ Dante husked against her throat, his breath see-sawing in and out of his chest. ‘But it is also dangerously addictive.’

Belle was amazingly aware of his hand on her thigh, his fingers smoothing below the hem of her dress and moving higher, and she had never wanted anything quite as much as she craved his touch because, even with every muscle in her body taut with denial, a subversive ache between her legs betrayed her with every plundering delve of his tongue. As he skimmed the taut stretch of her panties aside, her fingers speared into his black hair. She didn’t know what she was doing, and she didn’t care at that moment. Indeed, her only recognisable fear was that he would stop.

And then he touched her, a mere roll of a fingertip against the taut little bud below her mound and her body went haywire, her hips rising in a languorous roll, sweet and frighteningly strong sensation piercing her in a stormy wave. He sat her up and she uttered a little sound of complaint at that moment of disconnection as he unzipped her dress and pulled it down, the unclipped her bra with wicked dexterity so that her unbound breasts tumbled taut and full into his hands.

With a hungry groan, Dante caught a straining pink nipple in his mouth, bending her back over his arm to ravage the bounty he had uncovered. He was fiercely aroused and dimly amused at himself for playing around like a teenager instead of moving single-mindedly from A to Z to extract his own satisfaction as fast as possible. But there was, he was discovering, a shocking satisfaction to be found in her inexperienced responses, in the little gasping sounds she made low in her throat and the increasingly frantic grip of her fingers in his hair. He teased the damp flesh at the heart of her, tracing her body in a caress that almost sent her up in flames in his arms, and then gently exploring to learn that she was even tighter than he had expected.

Belle arched and panted into his mouth, helpless in his arms, her hips rocking instinctively as the pressure in her pelvis built higher and tightened like a band of steel inside her. She was reaching for that perfect moment, blind, deaf, utterly mindless when with one skilful flick of a finger he sent her flying into the sun. She shuddered and cried out, aftershocks of reaction convulsing her as he curved her up to him to taste her mouth one last time. And for timeless moments she lay there in his arms, ostensibly relaxed by the release of all tension but with her brain already leaping back to life to leave her deeply shaken by what she had allowed to happen.

In an instant she was off his lap, gazing down at him, connecting with brilliant dark, glittering eyes.

‘The third time you’re in my arms, I will be taking you to bed,’ Dante murmured slumberously. ‘Just putting that warning out there...’

‘You know that’s not what I want,’ Belle began awkwardly, her face burning because she was painfully aware that her behaviour with him was hard to defend.

‘You may be a contrary woman, but you want me,’ Dante incised with complete assurance.

And he was right, shamelessly, mortifyingly right to the extent that Belle didn’t bother staying around to argue with that statement. Her head as high as she could still hold it, she went up to her bedroom and shut the door, a sudden empty hollow feeling assailing her because Dante was still downstairs and every wanton cell in her body wanted him with her. She was learning that nothing was as black and white as she had believed it to be. Desire didn’t simply switch off because she didn’t want to feel it and desire was a much more significant temptation than she had realised. When Dante kissed her, when Dante held her close, she turned weak and dizzy with longing. Yet longing for and downright craving a man who would want nothing more from her than the fleeting pleasure her body could offer him could only lead to her unhappiness.

Even so, for the first time she was questioning that she had to love and care for a man before she would have sex with him. Obviously, Dante had no deep feelings for her, and the sense of being close to him that his honesty about his brother’s death had awakened in her was dangerously misleading. Was that what had happened to her? Had her sympathy bled over into some strange desire to comfort him that had somehow turned into a sexual invitation? She hadn’t meant that to happen and was annoyed that she had failed to call a halt.