His For Christmas: Christmas in Da Conti's Bed / His Until Midnight / The Most Expensive Night of Her Life. Nikki Logan
like velvety-dark chocolate.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.
She swallowed. ‘I was before you forced me into this farce of pretending we have a civilised enough relationship to be dancing together.’
‘But surely you can’t have any complaints about what we’re doing, mia tentatrice. Aren’t I behaving like a perfect gentleman?’
‘Not with…’ Her words tailed away, because now he had moved his hands upwards and his fingers were spanning her back. She could feel their imprint burning through the delicate material of her bridesmaid dress and her throat constricted.
‘With what?’
‘You’re holding me too tightly,’ she croaked.
‘I’m barely holding you at all.’
‘You are a master of misinterpretation.’
‘I am a master of many things,’ came the silken boast, ‘but misinterpretation wouldn’t have been top of my list.’
She looked up from where she had been staring resolutely at his black tie and forced herself to meet the mocking light in his eyes. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered.
‘Dancing with you? Isn’t it customary for the brother of the bride to dance with the bridesmaid at some point—particularly if both of them are single? Or were you holding out for the best man?’
‘I’m not holding out for anyone. And I don’t remember telling you I was single.’
‘But you are, aren’t you? And if you’re not, then you might as well be.’ He met her eyes. ‘Because you are responding like a woman who hasn’t been touched by a man for a very long time.’
She was tempted to snap back at him with indignation, but how could she? Because he was right. It was a long time since she had been touched by a man. It was a long time since she had danced with a man too, and it had never felt like this. Not with anyone. It had only ever felt like this with him.
‘I don’t understand what it is you want,’ she said. ‘Why you’re dancing with me. Taunting me. Trying to get underneath my skin. Especially when you don’t even like me—and the feeling is mutual.’
He pulled her closer. ‘But not liking doesn’t stop us wanting, does it, Alannah? Desire doesn’t require affection in order to flourish. On the contrary, sometimes it works better without it. Don’t you find that, mia tentatrice?’ He stroked a reflective finger along her waist. ‘That sex can be so much more exciting when there is a frisson of animosity between a man and a woman?’
Her skin still tingling from the lazy caress of his finger, she pulled away from him, trying to focus on the presumptuous things he was saying, rather than the way her body was reacting. ‘Stop it,’ she said weakly.
‘But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘And I don’t have to. Just as I don’t have to stand here and take any more provocative comments. My duty dance is over.’ With a monumental effort, she pulled away from him. ‘Thanks for reminding me what a consummate player you are, Niccolò. And thanks for reminding me that ten years might have passed but you don’t seem to have changed. You still treat the opposite sex as if—’
‘I wouldn’t generalise if I were you,’ he interjected and now his voice was edged with steel. ‘Because you have no idea how I treat women. And believe me when I tell you that I’ve never had any complaints.’
The sexual boast was blatant and Alannah suddenly felt as if her skin were too tight for her body. As if her flesh wanted to burst out of her bridesmaid dress. Her breasts were tingling and she knew she had to get away from him before she did something she regretted—or said something she would never live down. ‘Goodnight, Niccolò,’ she said, turning away and beginning to walk across the dance-floor. ‘I think we can officially declare our truce to be over.’
Niccolò watched her go and felt frustration mount inside him, along with an even greater feeling of disbelief. She had gone. She had walked away with her head held high and her shoulders stiff and proud, and all his hunter instincts were aroused as he watched the retreating sway of her silk-covered bottom.
He swallowed.
He had played it wrong.
Or maybe he had just read her wrong.
She had been right. He didn’t particularly like her and he certainly didn’t respect her. But what did that have to do with anything? He still wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anyone else.
And tomorrow she would be gone. Leaving New York and going back to her life in London. And even though they lived in the same city, their paths would never cross, because their two lives were worlds apart. He would never know what it was like to possess her. To feel those creamy curves beneath his fingers and her soft flesh parting as he thrust deep inside. He would never know what sound she made when she gasped out her orgasm, nor the powerful pleasure of spurting his seed deep inside her. She might be the wrong type of woman for him on so many levels—but not, he suspected, in bed.
Still mesmerised by the sway of her bottom, he began to follow her across the dance-floor, catching up with her by one of the bars, where she was refusing a cocktail.
She barely gave him a glance as he walked up beside her.
‘You’re not leaving?’ he said.
‘I can’t leave. At least, not until Michela has thrown her bouquet and driven off into the night with Lucas. But after that, you won’t see me for dust, I promise.’
‘Before you make any promises—I have a proposition you might like to hear.’
‘I don’t need to hear it,’ she said flatly. ‘I wouldn’t need to be a genius to work out what you might have in mind, after the things you said on the dance-floor and the way you were holding me. And it doesn’t make any difference.’ She sucked in a deep breath and met his gaze. ‘I’m not interested in having sex with you, Niccolò—got that?’
Niccolò wondered if she knew how blatantly her nipples were contradicting her words—but maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her.
‘But what if it was a business proposition?’ he questioned.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of business proposition?’
He looked at the waxy white flowers which were woven into her hair and he wanted to reach out and crush them between his fingers. He wanted to press his lips on hers. He wanted to undress her and feast his eyes on that soft, creamy body. In a world where he had managed to achieve every single one of his objectives, he suddenly recognised that Alannah Collins had been a residual thorn in his flesh. A faint but lingering memory of a pleasure which had eluded him.
But not for much longer.
He smiled. ‘You said you were an interior designer and suggested I have a look at your website, which I did. And you are good. In fact, you are very good. Which means that you have a skill and I have a need,’ he said.
Her mouth thinned into a prudish line. ‘I don’t think that your needs are the kind I necessarily cater for.’
‘I think we’re talking at cross purposes, Alannah. This has nothing to do with sex.’ He slanted her a thoughtful look. ‘Does the name Park View ring any bells?’
‘You mean that enormous new apartment block overlooking Hyde Park which has been disrupting the Knightsbridge traffic for months?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s mine. I own it. I built it.’
Alannah blinked. ‘But it’s the most…’
‘Don’t be shy, Alannah,’ he said softly as her