‘No-don’t even think of trying to deny it ‘gioia mia. ‘ Lydia felt her skin prickle and flush pink from her chest up over her throat to her face. Chagrin was eating her alive but at the same time tiny sensual aftershocks were still gripping her-and not unpleasantly.
Ready to do anything to escape dialogue on the subject of her total inexperience she closed her eyes and shifted her hips experimentally. She felt amazing. He felt amazing. The pain was gone as though it had never been. On a level where neither pride nor conscience could influence her she was still shamefully eager to explore the pleasure that had beckoned only to be so cruelly snatched away.
‘Lie still’ … Cristiano grated. ‘l’m trying not to hurt you.’
She looked up at him from below her lashes thinking how handsome his lean bronzed features were and how much she ached for him hating that enslavement but equally trapped by it.
‘You won’t hurt me.’
‘I already have.’
‘But please don’t stop.’
A sudden vibrant smile curved his sculpted mouth and with a raw groan of capitulation he sank deeper into her yielding warmth. She caught her breath at the intensity of sensation and trembled. He lifted her to him and moved with fluid insistent rhythm. She gasped out loud for it was bliss sheer bliss to every newly awakened sense. Her heartbeat raced her excitement was unleashed and control abandoned. It was everything she had ever secretly dreamt of and she cried out loud as the spiralling charge of dark sweet pleasure forced her to a wild summit of rapture.
Cocooned in the aftermath of that surfeit of physical pleasure she felt joyful and amazingly alive.
She inhaled the achingly familiar scent of his skin and smiled dizzily. He kissed her with languorous gentleness and she lay contented in the circle of his arms. She adored the silence the intimate feel of his long hot damp body entwined with hers. For the first time in many weeks she was at peace.
He freed her of his weight but continued to study her with intent golden eyes that revealed no trace of emotion. Likewise his expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts. Yet the electric tension that had entered the atmosphere was a powerful indicator of his true frame of mind. Her relaxation and her mood took a swift downturn in response.
‘lt seems’ Cristiano drawled his melodic italian accent unusually thick ‘that we have a lot of talking to do cara mia. l’m not very good at that with women. You’ll have to make allowances. But I need a shower first.’
Lydia was as still as a statue in the giant bed. So that was sex she thought her strained eyes feeling prickly, her throat tight and dry. She had finally found out what all the fuss was about and had not even been disappointed as she had vaguely expected. In fact just minutes ago after their passion she had been feeling incredibly happy. That lowering recollection made her squirm. Even the slightest movement made her aware of a host of little aches and tender places that she would sooner not have been reminded about. She had not expected the stab of pain that had betrayed her inexperience. She had been even less prepared for Cristiano to realise that she was a total fraud in the sexual sophisticate stakes. He had been astonished but he had not laughed she rerlrlindez herself dully. Was that a plus?
Her brow indented. What did it matter what he thought? Why was she even wasting time wondering what he might think? Of what interest or relevance was that to her? There was nothing personal in their arrangement. That horrible contract said all there was to say. There had been no need for Cristiano to warn her that he didn’t make a habit of talking to the women in his life. His lawyers had created a fifty-page contract expressly to enable their fabulously wealthy client to avoid that challenging necessity. She was just bedroom entertainment, and if he was displeased by her sad lack of exciting expertise between the sheets he could dump her right now no questions asked no apologies required. Suddenly it was as though a giant black hole yawned beneath her feet.
No longer able to stand being still she scrambled out of bed. Terribly aware of her nakedness she wondered where her own clothes were. Stowed away by efficient staff in some other bedroom set aside for her use she guessed. For it had been obvious back in London that Cristiano preferred to preserve his own space. Her eyes aching, she snatched up his shirt and pulled it on. She felt as if she was falling apart inside and that maybe only her skin was still holding her together. She rolled up the sleeves once twice and noticed that her hands were shaking.
What was the matter with her? What the heck was the matter with her? Couldn’t she live with the fact that she had been born to be Cristiano Andreotti’s whore? Hadn’t she just willingly given him what she had so effortlessly denied other men? Desperate for fresh air she opened the door on to the stone balcony beyond the windows.
Her memory was serving up an excruciatingly accurate picture of her behaviour while she had modelled the clothes for Cristiano. She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks in an effort to cool them. He had called her a tease and she might not like the label but he had been right on target with that charge. She had gloried in his attention and revelled in every minute of being watched by him. The suggestive buzz in the atmosphere had thrilled her to death.
But, in the aftermath she felt sick with shame and bewilderment.
With him she was another persona woman she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. She didn’t like the way she behaved with him. She hated Cristiano Andreotti she absolutely hated him but when she looked at him when he touched her when he smiled in a certain way, this horrible cringe-making weakness could still surface inside her. She had not known that sexual attraction could be so powerful that it would totally overwhelm her loathing for him. How could that happen? Especially when she knew exactly what sort of a guy he was.
Arrogant, heartless notorious for his lack of emotion. It took a real bastard to give a woman white roses with one hand while with the other he bet fifty grand with his friends on the certainty of bedding her! Desperate to punish herself for her behaviour Lydia made herself relive that moment over a year back, when she had appreciated that the guy she had fallen hopelessly in love with was an unspeakable four letter-word.
Her insistence on a separate bedroom that weekend at his country house had exasperated Cristiano.
‘l’m not into celibacy, and 1 don’t see sex as a reward you give me either. We’re both adults’ he had told her with a silken derision that had cut her to ribbons.
‘So perhaps you should think about whether or not you want to be with me.’
Had he known what it would do to her nerves when he said that? That threat had cast her into despair when she was already feeling unsure of herself. Going to bed with him had felt like an enormous step to her and she had needed to believe that if she slept with him it would actually mean something to him.
Although she’d been very much in love with Cristiano they had still only managed to get together five times in almost two months. He worked impossibly long hours travelled the globe and was a stranger to compromise. Accustomed to others eager to accommodate his needs and wishes Cristiano had been inclined to blame her for the infrequency of their dates.
Even so, she had been terrified of losing him that weekend and had soon crumbled beneath the pressure. At pathetic speed she had decided that it was time to shelve her sexual insecurities and misgivings and capitulate. Ready to share that change of heart with him she’ d tracked him down to the billiards room where he’d been playing a game with his society friends. Knowing that he would hardly thank her for interrupting that all-male gathering, she’d been about to walk away again unseen when she’d heard her name mentioned.
‘So, let’s talk about Lia Powell,’ she had heard Philip Hazlett suggest, and her tummy had lurched in dismay.
‘What about her?’ Cristiano countered calmly.
‘Don’t keep us in suspense. Here we are together again and you can tell all-omitting no sordid detail. There’s fifty grand riding on this and it’ s not the money, it’s the principle. ‘
‘Has the ic
Lydia gave a nervous jerk when Cristiano reappeared in the bedroom. His black hair was still spattered with crystalline drops of water. He had paused only long enough to pull on jeans and a black shirt which hung unbuttoned to reveal a hair-roughened brown wedge of lean muscular chest.
She had never seen him so casually dressed before and it unsettled her.
‘I’ve finally worked out what you were up to eighteen months ago’
Cristiano delivered with icy clarity.
A bemused expression stamped her lovely face and she threaded an uncertain hand through the pale tangle of blonde waves tumbling across her brow her frown deep ening. His reference to the time when they had been dating completely disconcerted her.