Chapter Six
‘WHAT is that monstrosity hanging on the front door?’
Cassie waited until Giancarlo had put his briefcase down in the hall before drawing a deep breath. ‘It’s a Christmas wreath.’
He turned to her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Forgive me, I phrased myself badly, bella. I know exactly what it is. I meant—what the hell is it doing there?’
‘I thought it looked…pretty.’
‘And I thought I told you that I don’t do Christmas.’
Cassie swallowed. ‘I know you did—I just don’t understand why.’
‘Because it’s nothing but misrepresentation. It allows sentiment to masquerade as emotion, depicts unrealisti-cally happy families and dresses up greed as some sort of seasonal need.’
‘Bah-humbug!’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s a joke. Something you say about people who don’t like Christmas. People like you.’
‘I think you’re missing the point, cara. When I say that I don’t like Christmas it means you should heed my words—not attempt to change my mind. Especially after a long day at work when I want to be greeted with nothing more controversial than a kiss.’
Cassie moved into his arms. ‘No, I suppose not.’
Giancarlo saw that her lips had softened just the way they always did when he was about to kiss her—but he heard the unmistakable trace of defiance in her soft voice.
‘And anyway, where did you get the money to buy such a magnificent monstrosity—when you have refused point-blank to accept any funds from me?’ Her stubborn refusal to do so had at first made him suspicious—for he couldn’t believe that there was a woman alive who wouldn’t itch to be given free use of his credit card during her tenure as his mistress.
He had tried insisting that she would need money—in order to go shopping.
And that was when she had told him that she had no intention of doing anything as dull as shopping while she was installed in his London town house.
That she could go shopping any time and she wasn’t particularly into consumerism.
He remembered his surprise when he realised that she actually meant it.
And that she intended spending her days enjoying the city for free—by visiting the many galleries and parks the capital had to offer.
But now it seemed that Cassandra—who would sigh wistfully whenever they passed a tacky Christmas window display—had finally succumbed and given into the temptation of a seasonal wreath.
‘I made it,’ she said suddenly as his lips brushed against hers.
‘Made what?’
‘The wreath.’
‘You can’t have made it. It looks far too professional.’
‘But I did, Giancarlo—we do sell crafts in our shop, you know, and we are supposed to know something about them. I found a sweet park-keeper in Kensington Gardens, who let me pick some holly and ivy—and I asked your driver if he had any wire I could use. And then I found the base in a cheap little—’
‘Enough!’ protested Giancarlo, but for a moment he was laughing as he bent his lips to her ear. ‘I had no idea that my mistress could be so damned stubborn.’
‘Didn’t you?’ she questioned, winding her arms around his neck.
She was about to tease him back—to say something on the lines of, Well, maybe you have a lot to learn, Giancarlo.
Except that wouldn’t be true. He didn’t want to learn anything about her, not really—and even if he did, there was no time left in which to do it.
The hours had become days and the days had become weeks—and there were only a few days before their arrangement came to an end. Five days until Christmas Eve—when she would be dispatched back to Cornwall like a parcel which had just caught the last post.
And her time with Giancarlo would be over for ever.
She tried not to dwell on it—to think instead of the pleasure she had had with him.
All the shows, the films and the dinners they had shared—and her glorious and continuing education in the joys of sex, taught by a true master of the art.
It had been just the two of them—as if the rest of the world didn’t matter—isolated in their own erotic little bubble.
And all the while she had been trying not to focus on the time which was draining away and bringing the day of her departure closer and closer—but it wasn’t easy.
Especially not when you had started to care for a man who had tacitly warned you that to care for him would be a complete waste of time.
But the human heart was stubbornly impervious to reason, or warnings.
Sometimes it made you long for the things you could never have…
She broke away from his kiss and looked up at him. ‘So can we keep the wreath?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
His lips curved into a smile as his fingers squeezed at one pert globe of her delectable bottom. ‘On what you are prepared to do to make me agreeable.’
Glad that they had the house to themselves, Cassie slid her hand down over his belly and laid the palm of her hand over his groin.
Through the immaculate suit trousers, she could feel his unmistakable arousal pressing against her.
And as she stroked him with growing insistence through the fine material she lifted her lips to touch the faint rasp of his jaw.
‘Why don’t you come upstairs and find out?’
‘Or why don’t we find out right here?’ he growled.
She needed no second bidding, revelling in his powerless capitulation as she unzipped and then slithered down his trousers and slid to her knees in front of him.
She took him in her lips—savouring the silken steel of his shaft, teasing it with the soft flick of her tongue and then sliding it deep inside her mouth so that he gasped.
Holding onto his hips, she kept up the seductive rhythm while he feverishly tangled his fingers in her hair and then she felt the tension build—heard his helpless groan as he could contain himself no longer.
And she felt an odd sense of triumph as he began to spill his seed inside her mouth.
Afterwards, there was silence foramoment—punctuated only by the sound of Giancarlo frantically drawing air back into his lungs.
Then slowly, he brought her up to standing, his eyes almost opaque with lust as they scanned her face.
Touching his finger to her lips, he bent his head to kiss her—tasting his own essential scent on her skin.
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said softly.
‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.
In the bedroom, he removed her clothes so slowly and erotically that she writhed beneath his fingers, her blood on fire.
His own clothes he took off much more efficiently, his eyes not leaving hers as his silk shirt fluttered to the floor like a flag of surrender.
And at last the dark boxers were removed, to reveal his tumescent arousal in all its magnificent glory.
‘You look daunted, cara,’ he murmured.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Is it…is it normal for a man to be as aroused as often as you are, Giancarlo?’
He gave a low laugh tinged with satisfaction as he began to stroke her—and yet, in truth, her eagerness and her appreciation were a constant aphrodisiac which never failed to arouse him. ‘You will find few men to match me in terms of libido, bella.’
She supposed it was her own fault for asking, but his matter-of-fact reply sent a faint tremor through her body—making her feel as if she were nothing but another notch on his bedpost.
But she was just a notch, wasn’t she? Giancarlo had never promised her anything else—so if she found the thought of saying goodbye to him unpalatable, then she had only herself to blame.
Yet all her doubts and her anxieties were dissolved when his hands moved over her with practised ease. He stroked her quivering skin until she was a mass of sensitive nerve-endings and she moaned his name softly beneath her breath as he brought her slowly down onto his aching shaft.
‘Giancarlo,’ she breathed.
‘Look at me,’ he instructed silkily.
Their eyes locked as he guided her hips into a deep rhythm and his captured gaze when he was deep inside her seemed unbearably intimate.
But as the erotic dance led her inexorably towards orgasm she shut her eyes tightly again—afraid that he would see the naked pain which sometimes intruded at the very moment of pleasure.
Pain provoked by the thought of a life without him.
It was only later, when they were showered and dressed and eating a delicious dinner cooked by Gina—who had returned from her shopping trip—that Giancarlo raised his glass to her in silent toast.
‘Tell me, bella mia,’ he said softly. ‘Do you have a passport?’
The unexpected question made Cassie put down her wine glass as she looked at him—her heart thudding as she basked in the ebony stare he was slanting at her.
‘Yes. Yes—of course I have a passport.’
‘No “of course” about it,’ he pointed out, with a dry smile. ‘Since you told me you’d never been to Europe.’
‘Ah, but I went on a day trip to Calais when I was at school—does that count?’
Giancarlo bit back an indulgent smile as she pushed away her plate and looked at him with interest. As a mistress she had been perfect.
Unwittingly amusing. Sexually curious—and with a native intelligence which sometimes surprised him.
He had enjoyed introducing her to theatre and the opera—even if he hadn’t got round to introducing her to his friends.
Why bother, when she would never encounter them again?
No, early on he’d realised that time spent with Cassandra could be spent in a much more enjoyable way than sitting through interminable dinner parties and fielding off faintly embarrassing questions about how they’d met.