CHAPTER FIVE
T HE PIERCING BLUE of Cesare’s gaze had gone dark with desire.
For her.
Lark’s heart was thundering in her ears, her skin tight, an aching pressure between her thighs. Her mouth felt full and swollen, the stunning effect of his kiss ringing through her.
One minute she’d been sitting there, fighting her anger. The next she was in his lap, surrounded by all that hard muscle and the astonishing heat of his body, his hungry gaze on hers.
She’d thought of making some protest or pushing at him the way she’d done in his palazzo, but something about the way he’d looked at her, his heat and the scent of his aftershave had made all her muscles feel heavy and slow. Then his grip had tightened, as if he hadn’t wanted to let her go, and the really terrible thing, the terrible truth that had settled down in her, was that she hadn’t wanted him to.
She hadn’t wanted to admit to the sense of familiarity and recognition as he’d touched her either. The part of her that remembered what it had felt like to be in his arms, to be held by him, to have him close, his mouth on hers. That had felt safe with him, that knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and wasn’t afraid.
The part of her that wanted to remember. That wanted more. That was angry that her first sexual experience had been taken from her by the car that had knocked her down.
And it must have been good experience too, judging from the way he kissed you.
It wasn’t fair that had been taken from her, it just wasn’t, and as she’d thought just before, she was tired of not knowing. Tired of fighting herself too, because shouldn’t she know? She’d talked to him, fine, but what about afterwards? When he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back, and then he’d taken her to bed?
What had it been like? She’d experienced his kiss and to feel his mouth on hers had been so...good. But what about his touch? His hands on her bare skin? She wanted more and it was time to admit that.
He knew all these things about her and she knew nothing, and that was wrong. Yes, that gave him power and she was tired of him having all of it. Because it wasn’t only the memory of that night he had, but a family legacy that went back centuries, massive wealth, and looks good enough to tempt an angel into sin. He also had authority and arrogance, and all she had was...what?
She had her child and a decent job, it was true. The flat she lived in was okay, but it was slightly run-down and there was no garden. Certainly it couldn’t compare to his palazzo.
It’s not just getting answers to your questions that will give you power. He wants you and that gives you power too.
The thought wound through her like champagne fizzing in her blood.
Looking up at him, she could see the need in his eyes. The hunger. Yes, he wanted her. Right now, right here, he’d said.
They’d had one night two years ago and this powerful man, this man who had everything, hadn’t been able to forget her.
There was power in that. Power over him.
Power and knowledge and him.
She might not ever get the memories of that night back, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t create new ones. She could give herself that couldn’t she? Especially if he could make her feel as good as she suspected he could. As good as she had the night she didn’t remember.
The admission eased something tight inside her, as if she’d been holding herself contained since the moment she’d met him, and now she didn’t have to.
Now she could take what she wanted too.
But she wouldn’t let him have it all his own way. She’d exert some of that newfound power of hers, see how that would affect him. Chip away at his arrogance. Make him wait. Make him sweat. Make him desperate.
Why not? There was also a power in not remembering too, because while she might not know the details, her body remembered. And she didn’t feel nervous or unsure, because she’d already done this once. She knew he wanted her, that he hadn’t been able to forget the one night he’d had with her. Which meant it had been good. Very good.
He’d buried the fingers of one hand in her hair, closing them into a fist, holding her tight, and she could feel his desperation in the strength of his grip. For the first time since they’d met, a sense of satisfaction filled her.
‘Now?’ she asked huskily. ‘This is hardly private.’
‘I’ll tell my staff to stay up the front of the plane. They won’t bother us.’
She lifted a hand and touched his cheekbone experimentally, her heart racing, feeling the warm satin of his skin and the faint prickle of whiskers. It felt thrilling, almost illicit to touch him like this.
Nipping his finger when he’d touched her mouth had been an automatic reaction, and she hadn’t known where the urge had come from. Perhaps that was another thing to come out of that night. Whatever, now that she’d had a taste of his skin, all salty and masculine, she wanted more.
She’d never been kissed—or at least not that she remembered—and after hearing her mother talk about how terrible men were, she’d decided she never wanted to go there herself. But now, here she was in the arms of a man who wanted her, and she didn’t feel threatened.
No, she felt powerful.
She let her fingers trail down his cheekbone and along his strong jaw, loving the prickle of stubble against her fingertips. Loving, too, the way his gaze flared as she touched him, blue darkening into twilight shadows.
She touched his mouth, tracing the line of his lower lip, the curve of it. It felt soft even though nothing else about him was, and it had felt soft too when he’d kissed her. Yet also firm, masterful...
He’d gone very still, making no move as she touched him, her fingers trailing where they would, his gaze fixed to hers. She traced the proud line of his nose then up to those sooty black brows with their arrogant arch, and back down again to his other cheekbone.
‘Little bird.’ His hold in her hair tightened. ‘I’m getting impatient. Yes or no. Give me an answer.’
She liked that he asked her. She liked that despite him pulling her into his lap and kissing her, he’d waited for her to respond before he did anything more. Her mother had always told her that men took what they wanted, took what they thought was theirs, yet despite his obvious power and wealth, he was waiting for her to give him permission.
Maybe this was a glimpse of the man she’d met that night two years ago. The man whom she’d wanted enough to give him her virginity in spite of all the warnings about men her mother had given her.
‘I’m thinking,’ she said, flexing that power a little, wanting to see how far she could push him. ‘I’m also trying to remember.’ She stroked her fingers down the side of his strong neck to the knot of his tie, then pulled at it, the silk loosening, baring his throat. His pulse beat there, strong and steady beneath her fingertips, his skin warm.
She heard his breath catch at her touch, saw his eyes darken even further.
‘Shall I tell you what happened after you kissed me?’ he asked softly. ‘After you wound your arms around my neck?’
Her own breathing was getting faster, the ache between her thighs a growing pressure.
‘Yes,’ she said, her mouth dry.
Blue flames leapt in his eyes. ‘I did this.’ He dropped one hand to the buttons of her blouse. ‘I opened the shirt you were wearing.’ He flicked the top button open. ‘One button at a time.’ Another one. ‘I went slowly, because I didn’t want to scare you.’ A third button. ‘And also, because I wanted to tantalise you.’ A fourth.
Her heart beat like thunder in her head, her skin sensitised. She couldn’t stop looking at his face, at the hunger etched in stark lines there, and all for her.
Cool air whispered over her skin as the fabric parted, making her shiver.
‘And then,’ he went on, undoing the last button so her blouse was entirely open. ‘I spread out the fabric so I could see you.’ He pushed the two halves of her blouse wide, baring the white lace of her bra. ‘Your nipples were hard. Just like they are now, and I touched them. Like this.’ His fingertips grazed over the peaks of her breasts, first one and then the other, and sensation crackled through her, a knife of pleasure that tore a gasp from her throat.
She felt half hypnotised by his touch and by the deep roughened sound of his voice. By the pressure between her thighs that made her want to shift restlessly beneath his touch.
‘After that,’ he murmured, ‘since your bra had a front clasp just like this one, I did this...’ With a twist of his fingers, he flicked open her bra and the material fell away, the air cool on her sensitised nipples.
Lark took a sharp breath as he gazed down at her, desire glittering in his eyes. ‘You were so beautiful that night,’ he continued. ‘As beautiful as you are now, and so I touched you just like this...’ He cupped one breast in his hot palm, squeezing her gently, teasing her nipple with his thumb and drawing a shudder from her. ‘Then I had to taste you, because you looked so delicious.’
He bent, his tongue touching her aching nipple and making her gasp aloud. Then he drew it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure, and she groaned.
This wasn’t going as she’d planned. She’d wanted to push him further, flex her power even more, but she’d become a victim of her own hunger and now she didn’t want him to stop. Not when it felt so good. Familiar, too, though her memory of that night was still a black hole. Her body knew, though. Her body was greeting him as if it had been starved for his touch, aching for him. Desperate for him.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her world narrowing to the heat of his mouth on her breast, his fingers in her hair holding her exactly where he wanted her, his hard thighs beneath her, surrounded by his powerful body.
God, she loved it.
Weren’t you supposed to the one making him desperate?
Oh, but did that really matter now? She didn’t care about power games, not in this moment. In this moment all she wanted was him.
She groaned and arched her back, pressing herself into his mouth. Her fingers slid into his hair, the strands feeling like raw silk, soft yet with a delicious roughness to it.
‘Do you remember, little bird?’ he whispered against her heated skin. ‘Do you remember me doing this to you?’
‘No,’ she replied, breathless. ‘But keep going. What else did we do?’
He raised his head, the shadows in his eyes darkening into midnight. ‘You have to say yes, Lark. I’m not going to show you anything more until you do.’
You were supposed to make him beg...
The thought drifted through her pleasure-fogged brain, but she couldn’t remember why she’d wanted that. And anyway, all she had to say was yes and she couldn’t think of a single reason to refuse him.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Yes, Signor Donati. Right here. Right now.’
His beautiful mouth curved, amusement warring with the satisfaction glinting in his eyes. ‘I like Signor Donati, believe me. But that night you called me Cesare.’
‘Cesare,’ she echoed, his name sounding like music. ‘Yes, Cesare.’
The amusement vanished, heat flaring hot and bright in his eyes. ‘One moment,’ he said, then shifted, getting his phone from his pocket. He hit a couple of buttons then issued an order in clipped Italian before throwing the phone down in the seat next to them.
‘I’ve instructed my staff to not to bother us,’ he said. ‘We have privacy.’ His gaze took on an intent look. ‘Now, little bird. Why don’t you take the rest of your clothes off for me?’
Lark shivered all over, her mouth going dry. ‘Is that what I did that night?’ she asked in a hoarse voice. ‘After you t-touched me?’
Slowly he shook his head. ‘I undressed you that night. But I wished I’d had the patience to watch you undress for me.’
She wanted to. She wanted to see more of that hunger etched on his face, more of his desire for her as she took her clothes off, baring herself for him. She’d missed out that night and she didn’t want to miss out again.
So she slid off his lap and stood in front of his seat, reaching for the zip on her skirt and pulling it down. She felt no hesitation, no embarrassment. He’d seen her naked before and he’d liked it—he’d already told her so and anyway, there was nothing but heat in his eyes now. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was already loving what he saw.
She slid her skirt down, taking her knickers with it, then stepped out of the fabric, kicking off her little heels. She eased her blouse off and her bra, until finally she stood naked before him.
He sat back in his seat and let out a long breath, staring at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. ‘Come here,’ he ordered, soft and rough.
But now she could feel it, that power. He might have called the shots just before, but this—all of it—lived and died by her will and only hers.
Lark gave him a slow smile then stepped forward, easing herself into his lap, sitting astride him so she faced him. Making sure she took it slow and easy, watching as the fire in his eyes leapt, his hunger burning bright as she settled herself on him.
‘Ah, Dio ...’ he breathed, his gaze dropping down her naked body then returning to her face. ‘I remember this. So beautiful...’ He lifted his hands, cupping her breasts and she sighed, arching into his palms, wanting more of his touch. ‘Say my name,’ he said, demanding. ‘Tell me how much you want me.’
‘Cesare...’ She caressed every syllable, loving how it made the fire in his eyes burn bright. ‘I want you...’ There was power in this too, in admitting her hunger for him, because that fuelled his, she could see it in his beautiful face.
It made her want to goad him even more. She reached down between them, her hand sliding over the fly of his suit trousers, finding him hot and hard beneath her, and lord...he was impressive.
He groaned as she squeezed him experimentally and she loved the sound, loved that she could draw it out of him.
‘Lark,’ he said roughly. ‘If you continue doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next.’
‘What does happen next?’ The words were breathless as she squeezed him again. ‘I can’t quite remember.’
‘Witch,’ he growled and lifted both hands, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her in for a kiss, devouring her like a man starved.
He tasted like heaven. Like brandy or some other wickedly alcoholic sweet drink and it went straight to her head. Her arms lifted and she was twining them around his neck and arching against him, pressing her exquisitely sensitive nipples against the wool of his jacket.
There was something unbearably erotic in being naked while he was still fully dressed. It didn’t make her feel weak. It made her feel as if she was the powerful one, using her sexuality and his own desire against him, bringing him to his knees.
‘Say my name,’ she whispered against his mouth, consciously imitating him. ‘Tell me how much you want me.’
‘Lark,’ he murmured, the word rough and bitten off. ‘And how about I show you instead.’ Then he pulled her hands away from his fly and freed himself from his trousers. From somewhere he produced a condom packet that he ripped open with practiced ease. Then he sheathed himself before sliding one hand between her thighs, stroking her hot wet flesh, making her cry out as a flood of pleasure nearly overwhelmed her.
Then without another word, he positioned himself and thrust inside her.
She gasped, her head falling back, pleasure flooding her at the delicious stretch and burn of him inside her. She heard the sound of his harshly indrawn breath and he went still. His hand in her hair tightened and he pulled her mouth to his, kissing her with a hunger and passion that drove the last shreds of thought from her head.
She kissed him back desperately as he began to move, deep and slow, a rhythm that had her shifting on him, trying to match it. He dropped a hand to her bare hip, his palm burning against her skin, showing her the way, and then she found it. A rise and fall that was gentle at first and slow, then gaining pace.
Lark moaned against his mouth, as the pleasure became more and more intense, his hand on her hip pressing hard, his fingertips digging into her bare flesh even as his fist in her hair tightened still further, holding her still.
She put her palms flat to his chest, her nails against his skin, kissing him back hungrily as the pleasure rose in an agonising wave inside her. They moved faster, his thrusts harder, and then he slipped a hand between her thighs, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves there and she came apart, crying his name as the climax took her and swept her away.
It was the sound of his name, hoarse and full of breathless pleasure, that catapulted him over the edge. As Lark sagged against him, he drove himself harder and faster inside her, both hands now on her hips to keep her still and then, long before he was ready for it, the orgasm hit him with all the force of a freight train, and he pulled her mouth to his as it took him, muffling the sound of his own release with her lips.
Afterwards he couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe. She was a warm weight on him, her small, curvy body leaning against his chest, her face pressed to his shoulder. His fingers were wound in her hair, the strands soft and silky against his skin and he could smell her vanilla scent tinged with sweet feminine musk and sex.
Dio. He hadn’t expected that to happen so fast. But tasting her mouth and then her pretty breasts, and then watching her as she’d taken off her clothes for him before sitting naked in his lap, her sea-green eyes dark with desire...
It had been a long time without sex for him and every other woman he’d been with since that night had been somehow...unsatisfying. Not that the problem lay with them. He was the issue and he knew it. Or rather, the issue was her.
Her and what had happened between them that night. The lovers he’d had previously had all been skilled and he’d had pleasure from them. But sex had always been a selfish thing. He could give a woman pleasure, but nothing more, and that was the beginning and end of it.
Not with Lark, though. Lark had been unpractised, a virgin, and so what an experienced woman would understand without a word being said, she wouldn’t know. And she wouldn’t understand. He’d had to be clear with her what he could give her and what he couldn’t, and so he’d expected her to give nothing of herself to him, the way his other lovers had.
Yet she hadn’t. That night in his arms she’d given him everything. She’d been so generous, giving him her complete and utter trust. He’d never had that before from anyone. He’d never felt as if he held someone’s soul in his hands and never wanted to.
He was as his parents had made him, as selfish and self-serving as they were. Unlike them though, he owned it. He didn’t pretend. They’d used him in their private war against each other, telling him that they cared about him, that they were doing this for him, but they weren’t. He was the weapon they aimed at each other and when that weapon no longer had the power to hurt, they’d discarded him.
Everything he did, his every action was on them. He’d been going to tear apart their precious Donati legacy and plough any leftover ashes into the ground, take his revenge for how his father had locked him away for months in order to punish his mother. How his mother had then tried to kill him in order to hurt his father. She’d failed at that luckily, but not before his father had shot her and then himself.
Really, the whole thing had been almost farcical in its drama, so was it any wonder he’d turned out the way he had?
Of course, now he had an heir, things were different and he’d changed his mind about his revenge, but that still didn’t mean he could be trusted with anyone’s soul. He didn’t want to be trusted anyway, and he was glad that this time Lark hadn’t been so emotionally honest. She’d been angry and guarded with him since the moment she’d got on the plane, and he suspected the passion she’d let out to play hadn’t been so much about him as about herself.
He wasn’t complaining, though. He was familiar with the heat that lay beneath the surface of her cheerful smiles, and when she’d slid her hand down over the front of his trousers, desire darkening the green of her eyes, he’d felt nothing but pure satisfaction that she was giving in to it. She hadn’t hesitated in touching him, her boldness gripping him by the throat and not letting go.
She’d pushed him, demanding he repeat the same words he’d ordered from her, and he had, without protest. Perhaps he shouldn’t have allowed her that power, yet her response had been so very gratifying....
She shifted in his lap, but he tightened his arms around her, keeping her where she was.
He wanted to hold her a bit longer, his brain already running through plans about how he could have this again, keep her naked like this and in his arms. Not for ever, naturally, but for enough time that he didn’t feel this nagging need. That he could finally look at other women and feel desire for them the way he used to instead of being consumed by thoughts of Lark.
And why couldn’t he have this again? What was stopping them from sleeping with each other when the need arose? They had significant chemistry and gave each other great pleasure. She could hardly say no to that.
Her fingers spread on his chest, pressing herself away and this time he reluctantly released his hold. She lifted her head, her cheeks pink, her hair coming out of its ponytail, all mussed by the grip of his hands. She looked thoroughly and totally ravished, the mere sight of her making him hard.
‘I think,’ she began in a husky voice. ‘That that was a mist—’
‘No,’ he interrupted abruptly. ‘No, it was not a mistake.’ He lifted his hands and cupped her face, her skin like silk against his palms. ‘It was perfect, little bird. Just as the night we spent together was perfect.’
She flushed. ‘It can’t happen again.’
‘Why not?’
A breath escaped her and she pulled away, sliding out of his lap and reaching for her discarded clothing. ‘Because I don’t want it to.’ She turned and began to dress. ‘What I wanted was to remember that night or at least what it felt like to have sex with you. I still don’t remember, but at least now I’ve had sex with you. I don’t need another demonstration and especially not when we still have the issue of this stupid paternity test to deal with.’
She kept her face turned resolutely away, a thread of emotion in her voice that made him want to reach for her, turn her so he could look into her eyes and see what it was.
But that wasn’t keeping it just about sex. That was engaging and he didn’t want to engage, especially not with anything resembling emotion.
If she didn’t want to sleep with him again, that was fine. It didn’t matter and why would it? When he could get pleasure from anyone? He only had to crook a finger and women came running, so this one’s refusal shouldn’t affect him at all.
Yet he couldn’t deny that something like frustration coiled like a snake inside him. Frustration at being denied. Frustration because he wanted more, wanted her and only her. No one else would do.
If she hadn’t been so passionate with him then he’d have accepted that no and never thought of her again. But she had been passionate with him. She’d come apart so beautifully in his arms, crying his name, and she was fooling herself if she thought she didn’t want him again. Still Maya was a legitimate reason for her not to want anything more from him, and even though it was to his detriment, he admired her for putting her daughter ahead of her own desires. Unlike his mother, who’d fed him poison purely to punish his father.
Perhaps Lark would think differently once she’d accepted that he was Maya’s father. Whatever the case, he certainly wasn’t going to chase her. No, he wanted her to come to him. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t weigh the dice in his favour.
‘Once on a plane is not really enough to know what sex with me is like,’ he said, watching her dress, unable to take his gaze off her. It felt like a loss when she covered up all that pretty bare skin.
She gave him a sidelong look as she put on her bra then began to do up the buttons of her blouse. ‘Did I mention how arrogant you are?’
He ignored that, leisurely dealing with the condom and his own clothes, not missing how she kept glancing at the movement of his hands as if she too couldn’t keep her eyes off him. ‘I’d reserve judgement until we have a bed if I were you.’
‘But you’re not me and my judgement is just fine, thank you very much.’
Cesare studied her, noting her pink her cheeks and the slight tremble of her hands. Remembering the way she’d clutched at him and how she’d cried his name as she came.
She’d wanted him very much and he suspected she still did, but she didn’t want to admit it.
‘Why is it so hard to admit you still want me, little bird?’ he asked idly. ‘I still want you.’
Her flush deepened. ‘Because I don’t. I was curious to see what sex with you was like and now I know. Curiosity satisfied.’
‘Really? We had a whole night before. This was a mere fifteen minutes. Barely enough time to even get started.’
‘It was enough for me.’ She smoothed down her skirt and then sat opposite him, lifting her hands to deal with her hair, her lashes veiling her gaze.
And Cesare’s frustration pulled tight inside him. She was lying or at the very least hiding something and no matter what he’d told himself about not engaging, he wasn’t having it. Pushing himself out of his seat, he took a step over to where she sat and put his hands on the arms of her seat. Then he leaned down, getting into her space, his face inches from hers.
Her eyes went wide before darkening, her gaze dipping helplessly to his mouth.
‘Really?’ he murmured, satisfaction clenching inside him. ‘Tell me you aren’t thinking about kissing me again, having me inside you again, and maybe this time when we’re both naked.’
Fire leapt in her eyes, the pulse at the base of her throat beating hard and fast. ‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you were. Do you really want me to prove it to you?’
She took a little breath. ‘I...no.’
‘Then tell me, Lark. Tell me you still want me. You had no problem with saying the words when I had you in my arms. Why is it so difficult now?’
‘Because...’ Her chest rose and fell as if she was fighting something. ‘Being with you made me realise what I’d missed out on. My first sexual experience and I don’t remember it. I don’t remember you. And what we just had now was...amazing, but it was also angry and fraught, and I don’t like being angry. I don’t like how you manage to get under my skin.’
Her honesty hit him in a place he wasn’t expecting. A place that remembered that night and how special it had been. There had been no tension between them except delicious sexual tension and neither of them had been guarded or angry with the other. There had been pleasure and an intimacy he hadn’t known he’d wanted until it had happened.
An intimacy he could not and would not have again.
He regretted that she didn’t remember, he realised all of a sudden. He regretted that she had no memories of their intimacy or closeness, or of the passion they’d shared. It was a loss for both of them.
‘I’m sorry, little bird,’ he said after a moment, and he meant it. ‘I’m sorry you don’t remember that night. But I don’t mind your anger. In fact, be angry with me all you want. Scream at me, shout at me, show me your claws. I like it.’
She stared up at him, searching his face for what he didn’t know. ‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ she said, her voice husky. ‘And it won’t work. I’m still not going to sleep with you again.’
Except she wanted to, he knew. He could see the truth in her eyes.
Why she was insisting on refusing him, he didn’t know, but clearly it had something to do with her feelings around her lost memories.
He couldn’t argue with that.
You don’t need to sleep with her again. Sex is not just sex for her and that makes it complicated. Disengage, remember?
‘Well,’ he murmured. ‘Far be it from me to insist.’ His hands tightened on the arms of her seat momentarily, then pushed himself away from her and straightened to his full height. ‘If you change your mind, you only have to ask.’
Yet more colour crept through her cheeks. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be changing my mind.’
For a moment, he stayed where he was, staring down at her, seeing the passion that lay deep inside her, burning like banked embers in her eyes. All it would take would be another touch, another kiss, and she’d go up in flames...
But no. He wasn’t going to touch her again.
He smiled. ‘Fine. If you do, though, let me know. I think you’d look pretty on your knees.’
Then he turned around, took his phone from his pocket and began to make the last of his phone calls.