CHAPTER FOUR
L ARK BADLY WANTED to tell Cesare Donati where he could put his stupid agreement.
He’d handed it to her the moment they’d got on his luxurious private plane—how he’d managed to have it drawn up in the time it took for them to go from his palazzo to the private airport where he kept the Donati jet she didn’t know, but she’d spent all the taxi and taking off time going over it.
She wasn’t a lawyer, but she’d had to deal with various legal documents while being Mr Ravenswood personal assistant, so it wasn’t a difficult read. In fact it was unfortunately very clear. She almost wished it wasn’t, just so she could keep on arguing about it with him.
She badly wanted to keep on arguing with him full stop.
Deciding to fly with him instead of flying commercial had been a mistake, but there had been no seats available on any flights to London out of Rome that night, and since she wasn’t going to let him get to London ahead of her—she didn’t want him seeing Maya without her present and given the arrogance of the man, that was something he might insist on to spite her—she hadn’t had much option but to take up his offer of a flight.
Which meant that now she had to spend the next couple of hours in the company of the man who’d casually informed her that she’d been a virgin when they’d spent the night together. The night she had no memory of.
She’d had no idea what to say to that, not that he’d given her any time to respond since by then he’d taken his phone out of his pocket and had started arranging seemingly the entire world, leaving her to be carried along in his wake.
The next couple of hours had been spent fuming about his arrogance since that was easier than contemplating the ice that sat in her gut as they’d dropped by her hotel to pick up her stuff before carrying on to the airport.
Now she was sitting in one of the plush white leather seats of his private jet, trying to find her usual good humour and failing miserably.
She was furious and afraid, and she didn’t know what to do with either of those emotions, since she’d always tried very hard not to dwell on negative feelings.
Anger was better than fear though, so she gripped hard to it, thinking about how he’d casually pointed out her virginity to her, as if that was something she’d forgotten too. Because no, of course, she hadn’t forgotten. In fact, that was another thing she’d lost in the aftermath of that night, her first sexual experience. The memory of that was gone, there was no going back, and she didn’t need him pointing that out to her.
Damn Cesare Donati. Damn him to hell.
Anger doesn’t help, remember?
Yet knowing that didn’t ease the hot, bright stinging emotion that sat inside her. When she’d been a child, her mother’s fragility would sometimes weigh on her. The feeling of having to always be the one who was happy and strong, of never being allowed to be angry or sad in case that would push her mother into another downward spiral. As if she was the mother and her mother was the daughter who had to be protected and kept safe.
It had been hard at times, so she used to take herself off and bury her head in a book, a distraction from all that sharp-edged, hot emotion, and most of the time that had worked. The emotion usually faded.
But there were no books here and the thing currently making her angry was right in her face, pacing up and down the plane’s small aisle as he talked on his phone in rapid, musical Italian.
He didn’t seem to be a man who knew what stillness was, his presence a relentless kinetic energy that had her tensing in her seat every time he strode past.
She wished he’d sit down, because it was starting to get to her.
You like it. You find it attractive.
Lark gritted her teeth, trying to drag her attention back to the stupid agreement she’d insisted he draw up, but she kept getting distracted by him walking up and down, brushing past her in a delicious cloud of cedar and heat. Making her achingly aware of his physicality, of the way he moved, purposefully and with an athletic, masculine grace that made her pulse race.
Her gaze drifted from the words in front of her up to his tall figure coming to the end of the aisle and then pacing back.
Had he been like that in bed, when they’d slept together? Had he been this purposeful and powerful? Had she let it overwhelm her? Had she let him seduce her?
You’ll never know now, will you?
She didn’t understand why that made her ache with a hollow kind of loss.
Her mother had warned her about men and all the ways they could hurt a woman, about how they could take advantage and manipulate. Lark had to be careful, she said. They might seem nice on the outside, wine and dine you and make you feel like a princess. But only once they’d caught you would their true colours become apparent, and that’s when it became dangerous.
Lark’s father hadn’t been abusive until about a year into their marriage and by then Grace had been living in a country where she didn’t speak the language and had no friends. She’d been isolated, cut off from her support networks, and then Lark had been born, making it impossible for Grace to leave.
It was your fault, you know that right? If you hadn’t been born—
Lark shoved that thought from her head. It was a negative, depressing one and she didn’t want it there.
Regardless, she’d taken to heart her mother’s lessons on men and she couldn’t think how Cesare Donati, arrogance personified and red flags from here to Australia, had managed to get under her defences.
He’d told her that they’d talked and talked for a long time. About what though? She couldn’t imagine talking to him about anything, let alone for hours and hours. Then letting him seduce her, take her virginity... What had she been thinking?
It was true that she’d gone to Rome because she’d been grieving her mother. She’d just moved to England and escaping into a book wasn’t enough this time to keep the dark thoughts at bay. She’d needed to get out of the cold, wet grey London, and had settled on Rome. Bright and sunny, with lots of history. Perfect, she’d thought.
Men had been the very last thing on her mind.
The first few days had been great, wandering the ancient streets and sightseeing, but then she’d been in a tour group at the Colosseum and had seen a family talking excitedly together. The man had hoisted a little girl on his shoulders while his wife had smiled and said something that had made all three of them laugh.
For some reason that had made her ache. She’d never had that. Never been part of a family laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It had only ever been her and her mother, and her mother’s relentless anxiety. They’d never gone on holiday, never even had a fun day out, not when Grace was constantly worried about the risk of discovery. It had been a tough childhood in many ways, though even thinking about it in those terms made Lark feel disloyal.
Her mother wouldn’t have even been in that position if she hadn’t had Lark.
Lark had felt...lonely. Then she’d had her handbag stolen, which hadn’t helped, and then...she remembered nothing after that until the hospital. But in that blank space between realising her handbag had gone and waking up in the hospital bed, she’d met him. And he’d helped her, taken her out for dinner, taken her back to his house, and they’d...slept together.
He strode past her once again, keeping up a stream of Italian, and she watched him despite herself. Tall, powerful, authoritative. In total command of himself and the rarefied world he inhabited. Who was he talking to now? The prime minister of some country? The CEO of a huge multinational? The ruler of a nation?
She knew nothing about him beyond what was in the media, but he knew something of her and perhaps more than something. What had they talked about together? What had she told him? How had they connected so strongly that she’d given him her body?
Lark shut her eyes and tried to force her thoughts away from him. Thinking about him would only bring back her own feelings of dread about what had happened that night. About all the questions she didn’t have answers to. It would undo all the work she’d done with the psychologist and the peace she’d come to with her lack of memories, and she didn’t want that.
She had to look forward not back; that’s what she had to keep telling herself. No matter how attractive he was or the current of excitement that hummed just beneath her skin, the unfamiliar ache of craving a touch she didn’t remember.
Finally, the stream of Italian ceased as he stopped in the middle of the aisle and put his phone away. Then he turned and paced back to where she sat, pausing beside her seat.
‘You have finished reading?’ he asked. ‘Is it acceptable?’
She badly wished there had been something she could nitpick, but she hadn’t been able to find a single thing. Everything he’d promised was in there, even the apology for the kiss.
‘Yes,’ she said with very bad grace.
Without a word, he produced a pen, made her sign it then signed it himself with a flourish. Then he picked up the paper and like magic a stewardess appeared, taking the document from his outstretched hand and disappearing up the front of the plane.
‘Does that always happen?’ Lark asked.
He’d taken his phone out again and was staring at the screen. ‘Does what always happen?’
‘Someone appears out of nowhere to do your bidding without you even asking?’
‘Generally, yes.’ He put his phone back in his pocket, stared down at her for a moment. Then much to her discomfort, he deposited himself in the seat directly opposite hers, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘Is that supposed to be another comment on my arrogance?’
She needed to find her smile again, find the good humour and optimism that had helped her mother through so many tough times, because she didn’t like this anger that sat like a burning coal inside her. It was as if he’d ignited a fire inside her that now refused to go out and nothing she could do would get rid of it.
‘No, of course not.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Please forget I said it.’
He stared at her silently, his blue gaze laser-like in its focus. ‘You have a pretty smile, little bird,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I think I prefer your anger. That at least isn’t fake.’
The coal inside her glowed hot and no matter how hard she tried to resist, she couldn’t stop herself from snapping, ‘It’s not fake.’
‘Yes, it is. You’re very angry with me so why bother smiling?’
‘Because I’m trying to be polite,’ she said tightly.
He tilted his head, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘Well, aside from the fact that you’re a complete stranger, you’re also a potential client of Mr Ravenswood.’ She was aware she was clutching the armrests of her seat far too hard, her knuckles white. ‘Not to mention that you’re also a very powerful—’
‘Yes, yes, a banker, a Donati heir, etcetera,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘But you didn’t seem to find all those such an issue the night we spent together, so why are they now?’
‘Because first you threatened to take my child from me and wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ she shot back. ‘Then you told me casually that the night we slept together, the night I remember nothing about, I was a virgin.’
‘Yes,’ he said without a single shred of shame. ‘What of it?’
Lark took her hands off the arms of her seat and leaned forward. ‘You don’t think that I might be angry about any of that? That my child means nothing to me? That I might be horrified at the thought of my first time being with a man I’m liking less and less with each passing second, and who doesn’t seem to care that I have no memory of being with him? Of losing my virginity to him?’
He tilted his head, studying her, and she could hear the anger and the thread of fear in her voice ringing uncomfortably loud in the interior of the plane. It seemed to be even louder than the engines.
Shame gripped her. Giving in to her anger was a mistake, no matter how afraid she was. There had been that time when she’d been ten years old and they’d stayed a couple of months in some tiny town in South Australia. She’d made a friend, the first one she’d had for years, and she’d been starting to think that maybe this time they might stay. That her father had stopped looking and finally they were safe.
Then something had happened to make her mother scared and she’d come home from school to find everything packed and Grace trying to get her into the car because they were leaving. She’d screamed at her mother then, an eruption of rage bursting out of her, that no she wasn’t going and how could her mother do this to her when Lark finally had a best friend? She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay there.
Grace hadn’t got angry. She hadn’t screamed back. No, what she’d done then had been worse. She’d burst into tears, sobbing and sobbing, making Lark feel like the worst person in the world.
‘Please, Lark. I’m just trying to protect you,’ Grace had wept. ‘I’m just trying to keep us both safe. Don’t you want us to be safe?’
Of course she did. And things were already hard. She didn’t need to make them worse by upsetting her mother even more than she already had. So she’d swallowed her anger, done what Grace had asked and got into the car, and they’d left that small town, her mother silently crying all the way.
Anger hurt people. Yet Cesare Donati didn’t look hurt or upset, or even annoyed. He just sat there looking smug, as if her anger hadn’t touched him, and she had to admit that saying all those things to him in a fury had definitely felt...freeing.
‘If you’re waiting for me to apologise for that,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’
Signor Donati’s blue gaze had become smoky, glittering as he studied her. ‘Apologise for what?’ His voice was deep and dark. ‘You can say anything you like to me.’ He was looking at her now as if he was hungry, as if she was a meal set before him and he was starving. ‘You’re pretty when you smile, little bird, but I think you’re beautiful when you’re angry.’
The excitement humming just beneath her skin crackled, her heart squeezing in her chest. No one had ever called her beautiful before and definitely not after she’d shouted in a temper.
‘Don’t say that,’ she said huskily.
‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s true. And all those things you said were true too. You have every right to be upset about your child, and as for your virginity... Well.’ His gaze roamed over her as if he couldn’t get enough of the sight of her. ‘Let’s just say you gave me a precious gift and I treated it as such.’
Her mouth was dry, her pulse still racing. ‘I already told you, I only have your word for that.’
‘And I am a man of my word.’ One dark brow rose. ‘If you doubt me, perhaps you need another reminder.’
The hot coal inside her flared, a burning ember, and this time she didn’t know whether it was anger or something else, something hotter, something that matched the hunger in his eyes. Making her feel restless, making her ache.
He was turning her inside out, damn him. Making her feel as if she was a different person, someone angry and snappy and shrill. And no matter how freeing that might feel, she didn’t like it.
‘No, thank you.’ She tried very hard to ignore that hot coal. ‘I’m certain once was enough.’
Signor Donati said nothing, but his mouth curved and she found herself staring at the perfectly carved, full shape of his lower lip, the only thing that was soft about him. Everywhere else he seemed...hard. Certainly his chest had been hard when she’d reached up to push him, the muscles beneath the wool of his jacket like iron.
And that smile... There was a sensuality to it, a heat. A knowledge that taunted her, tugged at her. A knowledge echoed in the wicked glint of his blue eyes.
Her breath caught.
He was so devastatingly attractive and at the same time so completely smug, it was enraging.
He knows and you don’t, so why continue to let him have that power?
A very good question. She’d been telling herself for two years she didn’t want to know what had happened that night. She had Maya and she had to look to the future, not keep going over the past. But now Cesare Donati had come into her life and had casually upended it, and now she was questioning everything.
She didn’t like his certainty or how he had this knowledge of her that she didn’t herself. It made her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t want to feel vulnerable, not around a man like him.
She was also tired of not knowing. Tired of questioning. Tired of having no answers.
Perhaps now was the time to get those answers, take a little power back for herself.
‘What exactly did we talk about that night?’ she asked, for the first time not caring how demanding she sounded.
One of his perfectly arched, soot-black brows rose, that glint in his eyes becoming more pronounced. ‘Are you sure it’s our conversation you want to know about?’
Lark took another silent breath, the ache inside her intensifying. If she was honest with herself, although she did want to know what they’d talked about it, it was the other stuff she kept thinking about.
Other stuff? Such as how exactly you ended up in his bed and what you did there?
A flush crept into her cheeks. She wished she could deny those thoughts too, yet she couldn’t. Her brain couldn’t stop thinking about them. No, she needed to know. He was here and he could tell her, and she would be a fool to let the opportunity pass.
‘I want to know everything,’ she said. ‘Everything we did.’
‘Everything hmmm?’ He studied her in that unnerving way a moment more, then leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his gaze on hers. ‘Well, first we talked. About books and movies. About the media and world events. About politics and scientific advances.’ He paused. ‘We also talked about our lives.’
Oh, God. What on earth had she told him about herself? ‘What about our lives?’
‘You told me about your mother and your years on the run spent hiding from your father in Australia. About what a wonderful mother she’d been to you, yet how fragile, and how you had to take care of her because of her mental health.’
Oh, no. It was worse than she’d thought. She’d literally spilled her guts to him. What had he done to make her trust him that way? She didn’t understand. She might have understood if she’d met him after the accident, because then she could explain her apparent openness with him as a side effect of the brain injury. But not before.
‘Why on earth would I have told you any of that?’ she asked.
‘We’d had a cognac or two and you told me you were in Rome because you’d just lost your mother and had wanted a holiday to get away. So I told you that I too had just lost my aunt.’
That did not make her feel any better.
She’d shared everything of herself with him and he still remembered. Yet while he might have shared with her, she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten everything. Tension gripped her.
‘I was drunk?’ She didn’t want to ask, but she made herself. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No.’ His gaze very direct. ‘You weren’t drunk. I wouldn’t have taken you to bed if you had been, please believe that.’
She had no reason at all to believe that, yet there was no doubting the look in his eyes. He meant what he said.
A small thread of relief wound through her. ‘Okay, so if I wasn’t drunk, why would I have told you all of that?’
‘Because you were lonely and wanted someone to talk to, and we had a common experience.’
Lark shifted uncomfortably in her seat, remembering the family she’d seen at the Colosseum and how lonely that had made her feel. How the realisation had settled down in her that now that her mother was gone, she was essentially alone in the world. She didn’t have any siblings and since her mother’s parents were dead, the only other family she had was her father. But she had no desire whatsoever to connect with him.
For some reason, though, the person she’d chosen to connect with was sitting across from her now, in the shape of this arrogant, maddening, devastatingly attractive man.
‘Why on earth would I chose you?’ she asked.
‘Let me remind you.’ That smoky glint in his eyes glittered and he reached to take her hand where it lay on the armrest, holding it in his and turning it palm up.
He moved so quickly she had no time to protest and then at the feel of his fingers on her skin, she found she couldn’t speak anyway. It was as if the humming static of his touch had deprived her of speech.
‘I had just told you that I lost the aunt who’d brought me up,’ he murmured, holding her hand in his much bigger one, his fingers long and blunt and capable. ‘And you leaned forward and took my hand just like this.’
His touch was warm and he cradled her hand gently in his, stopping her breath. And she knew she should pull away, but for some reason she could only sit there as he brushed his thumb over her palm. The contact sent a burst of sensual electricity crackling over her skin and every thought flew straight out of her head.
She swallowed, staring into the vivid blue of his eyes.
‘We stared at each other,’ he went. ‘Just like this. With our hands touching.’
‘And then what happened?’ she heard herself ask.
‘And then?’ The hungry glitter in his eyes was the only warning she got. ‘Then I did this.’
And before she could move, he pulled her out of her chair and into his lap.
Cesare was playing with fire and he knew it. Yet he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d been exquisitely aware of her presence since the moment they’d boarded the plane. She’d been sitting bolt upright in her seat, studying the agreement he’d drawn up with fierce attention, and he knew that sitting near her would be a mistake. That he might try something ill-advised, something that he shouldn’t do such as reminding her again of their night together.
He shouldn’t, not when it was easier all round if those memories stayed forgotten. Yet there was a part of him—and no prizes for guessing which part—that desperately wanted her to remember every single second of the night she’d spent in his bed.
So he’d paced up and down the aisle of the plane, talking to various people, including his closest friend, Aristophanes Katsaros, renowned mathematical genius and self-made billionaire owner of one of the biggest finance companies on the planet.
Aristophanes, who rarely paid much attention to anything that wasn’t equations or financial algorithms and had long made it known that he wasn’t interested in having a family of his own, had been congratulatory about Cesare’s new fatherhood status. But also dismissive of Cesare’s self-control when it came to Lark.
‘What does it matter if you have her again?’ he’d said in his usual bored way. ‘It means nothing, not if you don’t want it to. Sleep with her or don’t, another woman will come along in a couple of days anyway.’
Aristophanes was famous for having his assistants choose and manage his lovers, including putting them into his schedule, since he was far too busy to manage them himself. Cesare had asked him on more than one occasion what he did if his assistants chose someone he wasn’t attracted to and Aristophanes had merely shrugged and told him that was impossible, since his assistants rigorously followed the checklist Aristophanes had given them.
Cesare still didn’t understand, but then he didn’t expect Aristophanes to understand why he was reluctant to have another night with Lark.
He barely understood himself. That night had been special, yet his doubts about repeating it had only made it even more so and he couldn’t allow that.
Aristophanes was right about one thing: a repeat performance meant nothing, only that he’d enjoyed the sex and wanted to do it again. So really, did it matter if he wanted to sit down close to her? If he wanted to talk to her about that night? If he wanted to touch her?
More wisps of honey-gold hair had come out of her ponytail and the pink roses on her blouse made her pale skin even pinker, highlighting the blush that stained her cheeks whenever he looked at her. Those sea-green eyes of hers had flashed with annoyance and it satisfied him unreasonably that her annoyance was because of him.
He’d liked that he affected her and he’d liked it even more when she’d started asking him what they’d talked about that night and getting angry. He knew that anger was because she thought she didn’t want to know and yet hadn’t been able to stop herself from asking.
He’d also been conscious of the way she’d watched him as he’d paced up and down the jet’s aisle while talking to Aristophanes. She hadn’t wanted to do that either, yet her gaze kept being drawn to him all the same.
She wanted him.
He remembered that light in her eyes, how the flecks of blue in her green eyes had glittered bright and hot when he’d pulled her into his arms. The same way they’d glittered when he’d kissed her a couple of hours back in his palazzo, and when he’d put his hand over hers just before.
The same way they were glittering now.
She was breathing very fast, her body a soft warm weight in his lap, her vanilla scent winding around him, making him relive that night all over again.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, eyes wide.
‘You wanted to know what happened,’ he said. ‘I’m telling you.’
‘I don’t recall asking for a demonstration.’
Her cheeks were deeply flushed, the pulse at the base of her throat beating fast. Her golden ponytail was draped over his shoulder, golden strands catching in the dark blue wool, and he felt a sudden and deep possessiveness grip him, making him tighten his hold.
‘You really don’t want to remember this?’ he asked. ‘You came into my lap that night without a protest, just the way you did now. And then you wound your arms around my neck and kissed me as if you hadn’t been able to think of anything else except the way I’d taste.’
Her throat moved, her gaze locked with his. She’d softened against him, making all the blood in his veins rush below his belt. The pressure of her lovely rear against his groin making him ache.
He wanted her, he couldn’t deny it. That morning when he’d returned to his villa and found his bed empty, he’d told himself he was glad. He hadn’t wanted another night. He’d been there, done that, and trying to track her down was a fool’s game.
He didn’t chase women, not ever, and he wasn’t going to change his habits just for her.
So he’d pushed her out of his thoughts, made himself forget.
But he hadn’t forgotten. That night had imprinted itself on his memory and for the past two years, he hadn’t been able to stop measuring every other woman he’d slept with against her. And it didn’t matter how lovely or passionate or sexually inventive those women had been, something about them always came up short.
He’d told himself it wasn’t because they weren’t her, of course not. That night had been different because of his complicated feelings around the death of his aunt, leaving him the last Donati, nothing else. They weren’t because she was special or different.
Yet looking down into her eyes now, he had to accept that perhaps she had been different. That the night they’d spent together had been special. And that he did want to revisit it after all.
It wouldn’t be the same. She had no memory of their connection and while he did, he couldn’t forget that she was the mother of his child.
You really want to complicate that with sex? Especially when she’s clearly angry with you?
She might be angry with him, but she still wanted him; he could see the desire flickering in her eyes. And after all, what was complicated about sex? For the past couple of months, he hadn’t found himself a lover, telling himself that he was too busy. But he knew deep down that he hadn’t found himself a lover because he was still searching for the experience he’d had that night, of Lark in his arms and the pleasure he’d found with her.
Now it was all he could think about.
Here she was and what they’d had that night, they could have again. Or if not that, then something similar. Where would be the harm? It could even be a good thing. Once those test results came back and Maya was revealed as his daughter, they would end up having to deal with things like custody and living arrangements, and he already had a couple of ideas about how he’d like to manage that.
In fact, he’d been thinking about it almost exclusively since he’d arranged for this little agreement to be drawn up and for the jet to be prepared.
‘I might have done then,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care how you taste right now.’
‘No?’ He raised a brow. ‘Then why are you staring at my mouth?’
She flushed an even deeper pink, her gaze instantly lifting, her chin getting very set. ‘I wasn’t looking—’
‘Would it be the worst thing in the world to admit that you want me?’ he interrupted, tired of her denials all of a sudden. ‘You had no problem letting me know that night. In fact, you didn’t want to leave my bed.’
‘Will you stop talking about that night?’
‘Why? Does it make you feel things you don’t want to feel?’
‘I don’t—’
Cesare laid a finger over her soft mouth, silencing her.
Her eyes narrowed, but she made no move to get off him. Instead, she opened her mouth and bit the tip of his finger.
A knife of sensation slid through him, white-hot and intense. Pure animal desire. The softness of her lips and the sharp edge of her teeth against his skin. And before he knew what he was doing, he’d taken his finger away, bent and covered that soft mouth of hers with his own.
She made a low, angry sound, but her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers digging in, holding him to her and her mouth opened, letting him in, the heat and sweet taste of her filling him.
He was hard instantly, desire gripping him by the throat. A desire he hadn’t felt since that night two years ago. And he knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many other women he’d tried to bury that memory with, he’d never be able to bury it. That the only real answer was to relive it. Perhaps if he did, he’d be able to let it go once and for all.
Her mouth was so hot and so sweet and she was kissing him back the way she’d kissed him two years ago in Rome, as if she was starving for him. And he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t want to. He slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring, tasting, devouring her like the sweet treat she was, and this time the sound that escaped her was a sigh, a whimper of need.
Dio , he remembered that sound. When he’d first kissed her and then when he’d slid his hand beneath her shirt, touching her satiny skin. She’d arched into his palm that night, desperate for his touch, just as she was arching against him now, pressing her breasts against his chest, clearly wanting him just as much as he wanted her.
Her arms slid around his neck, her mouth hungry as she began to kiss him back, hesitant at first and then getting more needy, her tongue touching his, tasting him, exploring him.
His world began to narrow, hunger taking over, and it didn’t matter that they were on his private jet that would be landing very soon, or that he wanted to see the daughter he’d never known he’d had—after all, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a woman on his jet.
It would be so easy. He could push up the little skirt she wore, slip her underwear aside, and then he could take her in his lap. They wouldn’t even have to break this mind-blowing kiss.
And then what? She’s already furious with you, do you really want to make it worse? Especially when it’s likely you’ll have to talk to her about custody once your paternity has been confirmed. Also, have you ever thought that she might be frightened? Having no memory of a sexual experience that made her pregnant mustn’t be easy.
Dio , that was all true. Anger, he liked, but he didn’t want her afraid.
He broke the kiss and pulled back, staring down at her.
Her head was on his shoulder, her cheeks deeply flushed, her mouth full and red. Her eyes were as dark as a winter sea.
‘Do not be afraid of me, Lark,’ he said roughly. ‘I know you don’t trust me, but please trust this if nothing else. I did not hurt you that night and I will not hurt you now. You are safe with me.’
There it was again, the flicker of her temper. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’
‘Good.’ He took a breath that wasn’t quite as steady as it should have been. ‘Because I want you. Right here. Right now.’