One Night In…

There were more of them than he’d thought. But he could still pick out Felicity Hanson-Brooks without even having to try. It would have been much harder to ignore her presence, as his eyes seemed to be irresistibly drawn to her as she swayed and writhed to the hypnotic beat of the music.

So his instinct had been right and his private bet had been a winner. She was a spoiled little society princess who stayed in one of the best rooms at the Paradis and came down here to play at eco-warriors between social engagements. The smile that curved his lips in the darkness was one of triumph mixed with disdain.

Her money and status no doubt made her more of a dangerous adversary, but in many ways it made his position much simpler. So much easier to bring her to heel now he had lost all respect for her.

Swiftly he bent and unlaced his shoes, then took them off and tossed them into the back of the car. His socks followed, joining the dinner jacket and black silk tie he had discarded on the journey here, as he had followed the taxi.

‘You want me to wait, sir?’ The chauffeur’s voice was entirely expressionless. ‘Will you be going back to the hotel tonight?’

Angelo considered for a moment. ‘No. Ask Paulo to prepare the yacht and send the tender down to the far end of the beach in—’ he glanced at his watch, calculating ‘—half an hour.’

‘The far end of the beach, sir?’

‘Yes. Down there, where the forest slopes down to the water.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Slamming the door, Angelo rolled up his exquisitely tailored trousers and set off at a run.

The music was loud, pulsing, good.

Anna scooped her hair up from her hot neck and held it loosely on the top of her head while the breeze cooled her skin. She was hot, she was tired, but she didn’t want to stop dancing. As long as she kept moving she could deal with the torrent of emotions that raged within her. The torrent of desire.

It hadn’t subsided. If anything, the music had intensified it, so that with every flick of her hips, every snaky undulation of her spine she could almost feel invisible hands upon her, holding her as she longed to be held. Every so often one of the boys would sway against her and the sheer nearness of another human being was like a spark on the dry tinder of her longing. But none of them even came close to providing what she needed.

She felt as if she were burning from the inside, and threw her head back to gasp for air. The music slowed, seguing seamlessly into Nina Simone, singing ‘I Put a Spell on You'.

Anna shuddered with need and frustration and longing, sliding her hands through the tangle of her hair and arching backwards as two hands slid around her waist.

Strong hands, slipping down to her hips. She felt them writhe sinuously beneath their touch. Eyes closed, she leaned back against him as an image of Angelo Emiliani’s beautiful hands swam into her head. Helplessly she found herself imagining that the hands that were now resting on the flat of her belly were his hands, that it was his strong thumb which was slowly caressing her quivering flesh.

A shot of pure molten desire shuddered through her.

With a low groan of anguish she wrenched herself away, but those hands pulled her back. Her eyes flew open and for a second she found herself staring into the narrow gleaming eyes that had haunted her all evening.

Her overwhelming feeling was of relief. He had found her. He had picked up the desperate signals her body had been sending out to his and responded. Thank God. Thank God. He was here. There was nothing more to do than give in to it. This was her passion. The white-heat generated by the friction between their bodies as they danced, his chest hard against her shoulders, his hands moving across her midriff, spanning her ribs, cupping her breasts—that was what she lived for.

She couldn’t have said how long they danced like that, his body curved around hers in a way that was simultaneously passionate and protective and possessive. It was everything she wanted, but at the same time it wasn’t enough. Her hands were raised above her head, knotted around his neck, her fingers exploring the hardness at its nape and the little dip at the base of his skull, then matting themselves into his hair. She loved the feel of him, but she needed more. She needed to see him.

To taste him.

With a smooth flick of her hips, she spun round so she was facing him, her eyes level with the hollow at the base of his throat. Her hands were still locked loosely around his neck and despite the pain in her ankle she found herself rising up on her tiptoes so that her pelvis was level with his. For long moments they swayed together like that—their hips meeting and grinding together in mutual hunger as the music wrapped itself around them in the darkness. Their eyes met, and held. It was like looking into a furnace.

His hands were on her waist now, their warmth and strength radiating through the thin fabric of the dress. His fingers slid downwards and for a second she registered the question in his eyes as they encountered the heavy denim top of her tiny shorts, low on her hips.

Slowly, without taking her eyes off his face, she crossed her arms and, taking hold of the hem of the dress, peeled it upwards over her head. Tossing it aside, she looked defiantly up at him.

Angelo let his gaze travel slowly over her.

Madre di dio, she was glorious, he thought grimly as his eyes swept downwards over the perfect breasts, barely concealed beneath a small white bikini top, and flat, narrow stomach, in the centre of which glittered a diamond piercing.

He felt liquid fire lick through his veins.

In a split second she was transformed from high-maintenance It-girl to rebellious grunge-chick but, Gesù, he liked it. Reaching out, he trailed a finger from the valley between her breasts down to her midriff, gently circling the silver stud above her navel.

His physical response to the feel of her skin was instantaneous. And uncomfortably strong.

The music gathered pace and intensity. He felt the shiver that vibrated through her at his touch and watched her face intently as she let her head fall back, her half-closed eyes proclaiming her desire.

It had started as a cynical ploy to find out what she was up to, but Angelo realised his actions were no longer motivated by business. Sliding his hands around to the small of her back, he pulled her towards him, bending his head to brush his lips across the exposed column of her throat.

This was pleasure. Pure, wicked pleasure, he thought, trailing the tip of his tongue slowly upwards to her jaw before their mouths met in ferocious mutual hunger.

And then suddenly his long fingers were in her hair, his hands cupping her head, so that the sound of the music and the sea were drowned out by the roaring of the blood in Anna’s ears. Their bodies didn’t touch, but she was aware of his height as he bent his head to hers, the strength and power that radiated from him like a physical force. Their open mouths devoured each other, desperately seeking, exploring, plundering until their teeth clashed and Anna tasted the iron-tang of blood.

Breathlessly she pulled away, then, catching sight of the expression of dark arousal on his perfect face, helplessly reached for him again. This time their bodies met too, as the music swept them up in its hypnotic beat. She was aware of her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his arms but was powerless to let go.

It was as if a dam had burst inside her and all the frustration, the anger, the loneliness and longing of the last ten years had come bursting out in a boiling tide of all-consuming lust. Like a volcano. She had always been too scared of intimacy, too frightened of rejection to give herself to a man, but suddenly all of those fears were simply swept away by the strength and simplicity of her need.

It didn’t matter any more who she was. This was who she was.

The music had changed, become more upbeat, and people were drifting apart, going in search of another drink, as the spell of sensuality that had captured them all dissipated. But in their midst Anna and Angelo remained oblivious, until someone started clapping, drawing attention to them.

‘Hey, Anna! Get a room!’

Dazed, she opened her eyes. Angelo’s face was very close to hers, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

‘Anna?’ he murmured sardonically. ‘I think we have some talking to do, don’t you? Smile nicely at your friends, sweetheart, and let’s walk.’

His fingers were like steel bands around her upper arm, but she was grateful. Without him holding her up, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand. Behind them there were a few scattered whoops and catcalls as they stumbled away from the group in the firelight and felt the velvet darkness envelop them. The rhythmic swish of the sea grew louder as the music receded slightly and for a few moments they walked side by side in silence.

When he eventually spoke his voice was soft, but edged with menace.

‘So, Anna, don’t tell me—that was a staff party for the London office of Arundel-Ducasse. A team-building exercise?’

She tugged her arm free of his grip and took a couple of stumbling steps away from him, raising her chin as she spoke. ‘I’m not an estate agent. I made that up. But I’m not ashamed of what I am.’

He stopped, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking down, as if looking at her was somehow distasteful.

‘And what is that, Anna?’

‘A member of GreenPlanet. Someone who’s prepared to stand up for what they believe in and fight what they know is wrong.’

He sighed deeply and started walking again. ‘Yawn, yawn, yawn. And what is so very wrong about me buying Château Belle-Eden, may I ask?’

The GreenPlanet group was far behind now and the sand beneath their feet was no longer soft and shifting but firm and damp, indicating that they were being inexorably drawn down towards the water’s edge. Ahead of them she watched unseeingly as a small motor boat skimmed over the waves and came to a halt near the shore.

‘Apart from the fact that you intend to cause environmental havoc by destroying most of the pinewoods for a landing strip?’

‘You have done your homework.’ He gave a small snort of cynical laughter. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll arrange a decent relocation package for every displaced squirrel in the area.’

‘Don’t be flippant,’ she snapped, then paused, watching his face intently in the darkness. This was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. ‘We don’t like the sound of Grafton-Tarrant’s involvement.’

That had him worried, she thought with a flash of triumph. He was suddenly very still, but in the silvery moonlight she could just make out a muscle flickering in the taut plane of his cheek.

‘You interest me, Anna—?’

She hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘Field. Anna Field.’

‘You obviously have a great passion for your cause.’ His voice was like a caress in the warm night air. He took a step closer to her and caught hold of the ends of her slender sequinned scarf. ‘But, Anna Field, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I have a great deal of passion for this project. Which means that one of us will end up being hurt. And—’ he lifted his hand and stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek ‘—I think it’s only fair to warn you that I don’t do failure.’

Oh, I do, thought Anna savagely as a shudder of pleasure ricocheted through her at his touch. Failure and I are old friends.

She took a step backwards and was caught off balance for a second as her foot sank into the wet sand. At that moment a bigger wave rolled in, lapping over her feet and making her gasp at the sudden chill.

He caught her before she fell, scooping her up in his arms as if she were no heavier than a child. On the dark beach the intimacy of his nearness stole her breath away and banished every rational thought from her head. The cold water had spread goosebumps over her quivering flesh.

He radiated warmth.

And strength.

And sex.

His smile stopped her heart and stole her soul—and along with it her powers of resistance. ‘I’ve got you now.’

‘Put me—’ She tried to struggle but knew the movement her body made was a desperate wriggle of invitation. His lips came down on to hers, silencing her and concentrating all her thoughts on the sensation of being in his arms, clasped against his chest, while he waded powerfully through the water.

She should feel scared. Angry. Indignant. But she didn’t.

She felt cherished.

And so aroused she couldn’t think straight.

Dazedly she opened her eyes as he stopped. The boat she had seen from further down the beach was right in front of them, and the man inside it stood as they approached.

‘Wh—what the—? What are you—?’

‘Shh.’

Effortlessly he lifted her in and vaulted over the side to take his place on the seat beside her.

‘Grazie, Gianni.’

Anna looked around her with wild eyes as the speedboat engine started up with a roar. Her hair whipped her cheeks as it spun round and accelerated away, seeming to fly across the water away from the shore. ‘What are you doing? Where are we going? I didn’t ask—’

Gently he placed a long brown finger on her lips, then, as her words died away, trailed it down her throat and into the deep V between the triangles of her bikini. His eyes burned into hers.

‘Not in so many words, carissima, but you can’t deny that you want this as much as I do.’

‘What?’

‘Privacy. I don’t doubt your friends are all very open-minded and liberal, but I prefer not to have an audience.’

She gasped in outrage. ‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

He slid his hand beneath one of the triangles of fabric. Lazily he moved his palm downwards so that he was cupping her breast, and with exquisite, agonizing gentleness brushed his thumb across her hard nipple.

She couldn’t restrain the cry that escaped her.

‘Yes.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘With good reason, I’d say.’

With a barely there touch like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings, his lips brushed hers, then he dipped his head and murmured against her neck, ‘If you want to go back to the shore say so now. Gianni will turn round. But—’ he nuzzled her earlobe ‘—I can assure you, you’re quite safe. I’m a property developer, not a mass murderer.’

The blood was pounding in her ears, matching beat for beat the pulse that throbbed between her legs. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, trying to clear it, but instead arching her neck backwards and offering it to the caress of his mouth.

‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know anything about you …’ she groaned.

‘Exactly. That’s what I intend to remedy. Give me the chance to show you that I’m not the complete philistine you imagine.’

This was madness. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, in the sensitive curve at the base of her neck, sending cascades of shooting stars through her, so she couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond the growing need inside her.

‘Tesoro? Do you want to go back to the shore?’ he whispered, his thumb tracing delicate circles beneath her ear.

‘No.’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘MAKE yourself at home. I need to go and have a quick word with the captain, if you’ll excuse me.’

Stepping out of the tender on to the deck of a yacht, Anna glanced round at her sleek surroundings and tried desperately to look as if she were the sort of person who had been making herself at home on luxury super-yachts all her life.

‘No problem. Where do I go?’

He gestured up a flight of steel steps. ‘Why don’t you go up to the top deck? I’ll join you there in a moment.’

So this was Angelo Emiliani’s natural habitat, she thought dazedly as she reached the top of the stairs and emerged into a breathtaking space. The deck stretched away from her in both directions—one end housing a seating area with huge white cushions and a steel-topped bar, while at the other a softly lit spa pool glowed azure-blue in the darkness.

She wandered over to the pool and sat on its tiled edge, trailing her fingers in the water. She’d expected it to be cool, but it was warm. Blood-warm. She withdrew her hand sharply and stood up again, scared of the sudden image she had of herself and Angelo in its silky embrace.

God, her senses were on such high alert she’d be getting turned on by her own shadow in a minute. It was as if her brain had been rewired, so that every thought brought her back on to the same tormenting loop of desire. She looked out across the dark stretch of water to the shore. On the beach the party continued, the bass thud of the music drifting across to her, the glow of the fire illuminating the pine forests on the cliff top and throwing the silhouettes of the dancers into dark relief.

They seemed a million miles away, like strangers rather than the people she lived with and had come to regard as a substitute family.

She’d got to know Gavin and the rest of the group when they had camped on the edge of the parkland at Ifford while they’d carried out a protest against a proposed motorway extension nearby. She had been at home recovering from the operation on her ankle at the time, facing a future without dancing. But it was the truth she had found out just before the operation—when the doctors had been investigating a possible genetic cause of the bone weakness from which she suffered—that had shattered her the most. That was why she had been ready to rebel against everything she had been brought up to stand for. Because all of it had been based on a shameful lie.

GreenPlanet had offered her an escape, a purpose and a very convenient way to get back at her father. But she could see now that it had never offered her anything deeper. At the time that had been enough.

Angelo stood at the top of the stairs, watching her for a moment. She was leaning on the deck rail, her face turned towards the bright point on the beach where the party was still in full swing. In the soft glow cast by the discreet lighting on deck he could see a wistfulness in her expression.

Taking a bottle of champagne from the chiller, he walked quietly towards her.

‘Are you wishing you were still at the party?’

Startled, she spun round, a hand pressed to her chest as a small cry escaped her. ‘I didn’t hear you!’

He smiled, tearing the foil off the bottle. ‘I know. You looked …’ he paused, choosing the word carefully ‘… sad. I wondered if you were wishing you were back on the shore with your friends.’

She met his gaze steadily. ‘No. I’m not. I’m glad I’m here.’

Her honesty surprised him. And excited him. He’d expected more of a show of resistance, though from the white-heat that had almost devoured them both back there on the beach he had known it would only be token. That was what most of the girls he knew would have done—made a great show of being uncertain or shy, and then stormed off in high drama when he wasn’t interested enough to play along with persuading them.

‘It was a good party,’ he said gravely, easing the cork out of the bottle with his thumbs. Feeling the release of pressure as it came free and a plume of froth spilled over his hand. Coveting it.

‘Yes.’ It was little more than a harsh whisper.

He paused.

‘Great dancing.’

He watched her close her eyes. Heard her drag in a ragged breath.

‘Yes.’

Benedetto Gesù, this thing could easily spin out of control if he wasn’t careful. His hand was perfectly steady as he poured the champagne into two slim flutes, but he was all too aware of the painful ache in his groin and cursed himself for it. Last night he’d had an actress in his bed whose blonde perfection had earned her the tabloid title ‘cinematic icon’ and had found himself struggling to go through the motions. So why, when faced with this rebellious stranger, was he suddenly like a walking advertisement for Viagra?

He handed the glass to her. For a moment neither of them spoke. She held his gaze bravely, though he could see that she was shaking violently.

‘You’re cold.’

Her chin lifted a fraction but her gaze didn’t waver. ‘No, I’m not cold.’ She drew in a desperate breath.

I’m burning.

How could he stand there looking so bloody relaxed? she thought in anguish. What was it that Fliss had called him? The Ice Prince. It was a singularly appropriate name—obviously thought up by someone who had felt the polar chill of his detachment in the same way she was feeling it now. The passion that had threatened to engulf them both on the beach still raged within her, but he had obviously had second thoughts.

And then she felt him gently take the glass from her hand and put it down on a low table.

Her heart leapt and her stomach tightened.

‘Bedtime, I think.’

His hand stroked down the length of her arm, sending an explosion of tiny sparks along her nerve-endings. Lacing his fingers though hers, he turned and she had no choice but to follow him, back down the steps up which she had come, down on to a lower deck with a huge dining table set out before a wide sliding glass screen. In the doorway he hesitated, looking down at her. The amusement and mockery that she had come to recognize in his blue eyes had gone, leaving in its place a brooding darkness that made her want to scream with longing.

‘This way.’

His long brown fingers were still loosely entwined with hers and, looking hazily down at them, she allowed herself a dizzying moment of fantasy about the pleasure they were about to bring her. He stopped outside a polished wooden door in a discreetly lit corridor and held it open for her.

Walking over to the bed, she felt a lifetime of anticipation flutter like a cloud of butterflies in her stomach. This was what she had longed for. This, had she but known it at the time, was the logical conclusion of all those girlhood wedding fantasies. She sat primly on the edge of the huge bed—or as primly as she could, given that she was wearing only the briefest bikini top, behind which her nipples were all too clearly visible—and forced herself to look up at Angelo. It was a little like looking into the sun.

He was dazzling.

Tall, broad, effortlessly and stomach-meltingly gorgeous, he stood in front of her, towering over her. But his face was emotionless. With a thrill of dark excitement she wondered if he was going to ask her to strip.

‘You should have everything you need. The bathroom is through there. Just pick up the phone if you need anything and one of the crew will bring it to you.’

Anna felt as if the world were tilting beneath her as the full horror of his words hit her. A whimper of shame and panic rose in her throat and she concentrated every ounce of self-control she possessed on swallowing it.

How could I have got it so wrong? How could I have made such a pitiful fool of myself?

It was pride that enabled her to raise her head and look him in the eye. Muster a small brittle smile. Say a polite, hollow thank you.

But when the door finally shut behind him she threw herself on to the bed and, seizing a pillow, howled out her fury and humiliation into the muffling layers of finest Siberian goose down.

Walking away wasn’t easy, but returning to the upper deck, Angelo grimly congratulated himself.

Whatever he had felt on the beach, she was business, not pleasure.

He wasn’t a man who was overly troubled by conscience. Life had not showered a steady stream of blessings upon him, so he worked on the principle that if he wanted something he had to get it himself. That had made him ruthless.

Reckless.

With money. With rules. With people.

And tonight he had wanted her, but something had stopped him. Some sort of hitherto undiscovered sense of chivalry, which had prevented him from taking her just because he could.