A Reputation to Uphold (14 page)

‘Explosives. Dangerous. We’re ignoring this bit, remember?’

Except now he was doing that nuzzling thing that turned her brain to a cotton puff ball. That delicious, delirious, nuzzling thing, where he brushed up the side of her face with his roughened jaw and the erotic friction made everything go maddeningly wild inside her.

Breathe, Eva, breathe.

‘I’ve had enough of ignoring it,’ he growled. ‘It makes me angry.’ He licked the sensitive skin beneath her ear and inched his way down her neck, tasting her skin with delicious, dewy, open-mouthed kisses, and the sensory overload sparked the need to thrust her fingers in his hair and hold him to her. So tight. So close.

His big hands curved around her waist and moulded to her bum before he yanked her tight against him and slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss of seduction and fire. And,
oh boy
, she could feel him, hard against her stomach, and she rolled her hips against the thick ridge of his erection, desperate now, mewling against his lips.

His answering groan coalesced, fogging the air with a carnal cloud. ‘
Cristo
, I
must
have you, Eva.’

The thought that she was in the jungle, being ravished by the king of all predators, should have had her scrambling up the nearest tree but,
oh boy
, she’d never felt so alive. He really, truly, seriously wanted her. And she wanted him to take her, devour her. With all that dark, delicious, smouldering power.
Just this once.

Her heart wasn’t at risk. She wasn’t that girl any more. As long as he didn’t stop; she couldn’t bear it if he stopped again.

‘You kiss like a flaming siren, you know that?’

She did? Ah, well, it didn’t take a genius to work out what he’d expected. A siren to drag down, down, down into his inferno. Such heat, she would surely burn.

Eva. A siren. If she wasn’t on the scorching cusp of the mother of all orgasms she would laugh. Because surely she would disappoint him again. Of course she would.
Oh, boy
, what was she
thinking
?

‘Dante, I...should go pack. I leave early and...’
I’m scared. In case I can’t be the woman you want.

But this is your last chance, Eva, your only chance to have him. Inside you. To know what passion truly feels like. To know what Dante Vitale feels like.

His grip tightened with a sharp possessive nip as he thrust one hand into the hair at her nape, curled the other underneath her bottom and lifted her into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist until her lace knickers snuggled against his hard, thick length and a helpless plea poured from her throat.

‘The only place you are destined to be,
cara
, is in my bed.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

U
P THE SWEEPING
grand staircase they went, while Eva snatched kisses, nibbling, biting her way across the scimitar curves of his hard cheekbones and jaw. When she thrust her hands in the hair at his nape and tugged at the silky strands, Dante sucked air between his teeth, his low baritone a sonorous boom, ‘
Cristo
, Eva.’

Stumbling awkwardly, Dante paused on the first landing and crushed her against the wall to deepen the kiss and press hard up against her.
Yes, kiss me. Kiss me. So I can’t think. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

The notion that it would be quicker to let her walk filtered through her lust-deranged mind but thankfully he seemed to share her urgency because off they went once more, down the wide picture gallery hallway to their suites, lips locked, banging into the walls, first one side—knocking a priceless painting off its perch, the clatter caroming around the cavernous space—then the other, time and time again.

Slam
went her bedroom door against mink plaster, then
slam
back it went, before Dante loosened his grip and Eva slithered down his body, luxuriating in every wickedly hard inch of him.

Lungs screaming for air, their lips tore apart but the onslaught never stopped, not for one second.

For a seamstress, her fingers were failing miserably, fumbling with his shirt buttons and after a good five seconds she tore it wide.

‘Hungry,
cara
?’ he rasped.

‘Famished.’ She could do this. Definitely. Be everything he expected and more. Hadn’t she read enough steamy books in her time? Of course she had. Hadn’t she been Oscar-worthy this week? Of course she had. With any luck, enthusiasm would more than make up for the fact that she was about as practised as a nun. Because there was no way on earth she was disappointing him again.

Eva smoothed her palms over his chest, the thin dusting of hair over his honed pecs, her palms burning. ‘You’re so hot.’ Feverish.

‘Always for you,’ he said. Injecting her bravado with another shot of intensity.

Snap went the button on his trousers and Dante kicked them to the floor—
don’t look down, don’t look down, you’re bound to blush like a gauche fool
—before he curved his big hands around her waist, stopping at the small of her back to whip down the zip of her skirt.

Eva felt the cool fabric swish down her legs, his fingers curl under the waistband of her knickers, and fought another bout of antsiness that she was nothing,
nothing
like his skinny other women by crushing his mouth with hers, tangling with his tongue in a raging sensual dance of wills. Thrust, parry, back and forth, heads slanting for a deeper connection that spoke to her very heart.

‘Next time we go slow,
sì
? I’ve waited for you too long,’ he said, unsteady hands back at her stomach, fumbling with the thin belt of her blouse. ‘
Cristo
, it feels like an eternity. I want you, Eva. In my arms. In my bed.’

Eternity? Eva closed her eyes, knowing he didn’t mean it, but it sounded so wonderful she took every word, locked them in her mind. Just as she’d used to all those years ago. Little meaningless things he’d said to her or the way he’d said her name. She’d store them all. Knowing it was wrong, bad for her soul.

‘It’s okay,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Whatever you want.’ Because the way he wanted her, with such desperation, drowned out the voices, warning, whispering.

He whipped off her belt and unsnapped the tiny hooks down the centre of her blouse, opening the material wide and smoothing his hands to ease it over her shoulders until she stood only in her white lace bra.

Before he could even think about taking it off, she lunged back to his mouth, lips clashing with a hunger he returned tenfold.

Dante backed her towards the bed, his hands around her back, reaching for her bra clasp and, dammit, she felt her shoulders stiffen, her stomach pull with a fear she’d never been able to understand. But it was so strong, she undulated her torso, rolled her shoulders to dislodge his hands.

Thank God he didn’t seem to notice and they plunged atop the bed, Dante’s glorious weight pushing her deep into the sumptuous, luxurious swathes of satin and silk.

‘Eva, what the hell do you do to me?
Cristo
, I cannot think.’

His hands were everywhere. In her hair, fisting. At her waist, gripping. At her thigh, lifting her leg high over his hip. Wildfire trailing. Skimming over her bottom. Then she felt him. Hot and,
ohh boy
, he was huge and thick, and she widened her legs, hoping...hoping...

But then his hand followed the dip of her waist to cup her breast and her insides chilled, grew taut. No.
No
! She tried, she really tried to breathe, to relax, but at that moment she realised her mistake. She should’ve told him. Told him everything. And that realisation made her tense even more. Because he would never have believed her. Never.

Too late. Too late, she knew.

Lips locked, he groaned into her mouth, his huge body flexing and then
slam
, he drove inside of her with one powerful thrust.

Her insides tore as if wrenched with a red-hot darning needle as he embedded himself so deep she’d swear he crushed her heart. Arching her spine, she couldn’t stop the high-pitched cry spilling from her lips, pouring over his tongue.

Blackness hovered at the edges of her mind, dancing around with her vision, skewing her pulse. And she tore her mouth free. Dragged air into her lungs. Gasping. Gasping.
Don’t you dare pass out, Eva, don’t you dare.
Breathe. Breathe.
In and out. Slow and even.

Glimmers of warm sensation—like dust motes—fluttered inside her. A heady feeling of rightness—blissful, halcyon rightness—seeping, easing, until she grew lax and smoothed her hands over Dante’s shoulders.

Shoulders that were locked. His honed body the epitome of a cast bronze god.

Eva prised her eyes open, eased back, looked up...

And her heart stopped. Dead.

Horrified. He was utterly mortified. ‘Dante?’ she whispered, hating the tremble in her voice.

‘No,’ he choked before cursing thickly, words slurred by his heavy accent, ‘
No
! Impossible.’ His damp dark hair clung to his temples as he shook his head, lifting his weight, his warmth, his protection, from her body.

‘Stop!’ This man was
not
doing this to her again. ‘Dante,
please
. Don’t do this.’

The past slammed into her, throwing her back five long years, and there she was, lying on the sofa in the pool-house, clothes torn in haste—
Stay with me, just tonight.
If not to give her the night she’d always dreamed of, then just to hold her. Tell her everything was going to be okay. That the pain would diminish somehow. And he’d stood up. Left. Walked away. And she’d lost him too. Leaving her so alone, so lost, she’d drifted mindlessly for months, years.

A tear slipped, unchecked, trickled down the side of her cheek into her hair. ‘Please don’t go.’

Same look on his face—stupefied, stunned, blinking as if waking. As if someone or something else had taken over his body and he was fighting it. Fighting it with all his might. Struggling. Struggling for control.

‘I...
Maledizione,
Eva, I cannot.’ Same words, same darkness falling into his beautiful eyes as he withdrew, disappeared into the black of night. Never to be seen again.

Palms flat, Eva pushed his chest. ‘Just go, Dante,’ she said. ‘Just...go.’

* * *

A deluge of feeling, as if he’d been doused, plunged into a thick, turbulent whirlpool of emotion, had Dante yanking at the mocha satin sheet and draping it delicately over her body as she buried her face in the pillow and curled onto her side in a defensive ball.

Scrunching his eyes shut, his guts twisted so hard the muscles in his stomach gave way. Abs crunching, he flinched.

Cristo
, he’d hurt her.

Control obliterated, he’d been riding on the atavistic need to take her, make her his, stamp every other man from her mind. Mindless, desperate, he hadn’t even removed her bra and he’d taken her with the civilised finesse of a savage barbarian.

Dante tore his eyes from her, whipped his hipsters up his legs and took another swift punch in the gut when he saw pale red smear the white cotton.

An innocent.
Maledizione
!

Another swirl of thick black emotion curled in the pit of his belly, one he’d never known, and it made him feel sick and his heart ache.

He stalked through to the en suite bathroom, bent over the tub and twisted the gold taps until water gushed, hot and steamy, pooling generously at the base. Tearing through the mirrored wall cabinets, he found the bath soak he’d ordered especially for her, tried one squirt, gained ten little bubbles, so he tore off the lid and upended the entire bottle with a satisfying squelch.

Plumes of neroli flower and gardenia wisped in the air and Dante strode back into the bedroom, around the side of the huge bed, sank his arms underneath her prone form, swept her up in his arms, holding her tight, so tight to his chest as he carried her through.

‘Dante?’ she breathed, tensing, struggling for a few heart-tripping seconds until she burrowed into him, curled her arms about his neck. ‘Wh...what are you doing?’

Slowly, inexorably, he eased her into the water, wincing inwardly as he waited for her pained cry. Yet she just looked at him. Green eyes sparkling with
amazement
?

She’d expected him to walk away. To leave her. As if he cared nothing for her.

Rubbing over his chest with the palm of his hand, he asked himself: could he really blame her for thinking such a thing?
You’re cold, Dante, hard, just like your father, how can anyone love you?

Brow lined with pain, Dante watched her lift her knees and hug them to her chest. And it was right then he noticed the soaked white straps...

‘
Dannazione
,
cara
, your bra, I forgot.’

‘Oh, it’s okay,’ she said, her attention drifting to the mass of scented bubbles rising around her. ‘I have another one.’

‘Here,’ he said, bending over the roll-top to reach her back. ‘Take it off.’

‘No!’ Jerking her shoulders to stop him. Dante swallowed hard. She didn’t want him touching her and could he blame her for that either?

‘
Cristo
, Eva, why didn’t you tell me?’

She shook her head in a sweet, naive kind of sadness and the ground gave a peculiar tilt. It was like looking at young Eva. As if the clock had been turned backward. As if the last five years had never happened.

‘I thought you wouldn’t believe me,’ she said.

And that feeling came back. Made him want to do strange things. Like get in that bath. Snuggle up behind her and hold her and rock her and wash away the blood, the pain. But she didn’t want his touch, did she? No. So he rooted his feet to the floor, knowing he didn’t deserve to assuage his own needs, and stood firm, his every muscle aching, burning under the pressure.

‘I’m okay. Honest. It was just a flash...at first. It was almost gone.’

‘It was?’ he said, releasing a breath he was unaware he held.