Di Sione's Virgin Mistress. Sharon Kendrick
managed to make her look completely washed out and colourless.
But it wasn’t just that which was bothering her. Her vanity could easily take a knock because she’d never really had the energy or the inclination to make her looks the main focus of her attention. It was all the questions which would inevitably come her way and which would get worse as the day progressed.
So when are we going to see you walking down the aisle, Willow?
And, of course, the old favourite: Still no boyfriend, Willow?
And because she would have been warned to be on her best behaviour, Willow would have to bite back the obvious logic that you couldn’t have one without the other, and that since she’d never had a proper boyfriend, it was unlikely that she would be heading down the aisle any time soon.
Unless...
She stared at her computer screen, which was dominated by the rugged features of Dante Di Sione. And although he might have been toying with her—because perhaps kissing random women turned him on—he had managed to make it feel convincing. As if he’d really wanted to kiss her. And that was all she needed, wasn’t it? A creditable performance from a man who would be perfectly capable of delivering one. Dante Di Sione didn’t have to be her real boyfriend—he just had to look as if he was.
‘Don’t I get a reward for keeping your bag safe?’ she questioned sweetly.
‘I’ll buy you a big bunch of flowers.’
‘Flowers make me sneeze.’
‘Chocolates, then.’
‘I’m allergic to cocoa.’
‘Stop playing games with me, Willow,’ he snapped. ‘And tell me what it is you’re angling for.’
Willow stared at the piercing blue eyes on the computer screen. His thick black hair looked as if he had been running his fingers through it and she remembered how it had felt to have his lips brushing over hers. It was now or never. It was all about seizing the moment and doing something you wouldn’t normally do. Because what was the point of sitting back and moaning about your fate as if it was set in stone, instead of trying to hammer out something new for yourself?
And here was a chance staring her straight in the face.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘What I want won’t cost you anything but your time. I’m being a bridesmaid at my sister’s wedding next weekend and I’m fed up with people asking me why I don’t have a boyfriend. All you have to do is pretend to be that man. For one day only, you will be my fictitious but very convincing boyfriend, Mr Di Sione. Do you think you could manage that?’
HE SHOULD HAVE told her no. Should have told her that he hated weddings. Because marriage stood for everything he despised and distrusted. Lies and deception and manipulation.
Dante straightened the silver-grey tie which complemented his formal charcoal suit and stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror.
So why hadn’t he said no? Why had he agreed to accompany Willow Hamilton to her sister’s wedding, where she was being a bridesmaid? It was true that she had his grandfather’s tiara in her possession and she had been demonstrating a not-very-subtle form of blackmail to get him to be her plus one. But Dante was not a man who could be manipulated—and certainly not by a woman. If he’d really wanted that tiara back he would have gone straight round to her apartment and taken it—either by reason or seduction or quiet threat—because he nearly always got what he wanted.
So why hadn’t he?
He gave his tie one final tug and watched as his reflected face gave a grim kind of smile.
Because he wanted her? Because she’d interested and intrigued him and awoken in him a sexual hunger he’d been neglecting these past weeks?
The reflected smile intensified.
Well, why not?
He picked up his car keys and went outside to the front of the hotel, where the valet was opening the door of the car he’d hired for the weekend. It was an outrageously fast car—a completely over-the-top machine which would inevitably attract the attention of both men and women. And while it wouldn’t have been Dante’s first choice, if Willow wanted him to play the part of a very rich and super-keen lover, then it followed that he ought to drive something which looked like everyone’s idea of a phallic substitute.
He drove through the streets of central London and tooted the horn as he drew up outside Willow’s basement apartment. She appeared almost immediately and he watched her walk towards him, narrowing his eyes with instinctive appraisal—because she looked... He swallowed. She looked incredible. Gone was the big pashmina which had shielded her from the airport’s overzealous air conditioning and hidden most of her body. In its place was a pale dress which skimmed the tiniest waist he’d ever seen, its flouncy skirt swirling provocatively around her narrow knees. Her blond hair was plaited and Dante felt his mouth dry. As she grew closer he could see that the collar of her dress was embroidered with tiny daisies, and it made her look as if she’d been picked fresh from a meadow that morning. She looked ethereal and fragile and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.
He shook his head slightly as once again he acknowledged her fey beauty and the realisation that she didn’t seem quite part of this world. Certainly not his world. And then he noticed that she was carrying nothing but a small suitcase.
‘Where’s my carry-on?’ he demanded as he got out of the car to take the case from her.
There was a pause as she met his gaze. ‘It will be returned to you after the deal is done.’
‘After the deal is done?’ he echoed softly.
‘When the wedding is over.’
He raised his eyebrows at her mockingly, but made no attempt to conceal the sudden flicker of irritation in his voice. ‘And if I insist on taking it now? What then?’
He saw a momentary hesitation cross her fragile features, as if she had suddenly realised just who it was she was dealing with. But bravado won the day and she shot him an almost defiant look which made him want to pin her over the bonnet of the car and kiss her senseless.
‘You’re not in a position to insist, Dante,’ she said, sliding inside with a graceful movement which made him wish she could do it again, in slow motion. ‘I have something you want and you have to pay for it.’
He switched on the engine and wondered if she was aware that she had something else he wanted, and that by the end of the day he would have taken it... ‘So where are we going?’ he said.
‘My family home. It’s in Sussex. I’ll direct you.’
‘Women are notoriously bad at directions, Willow—we both know that. So why don’t you just give me the postcode and I can program it into the satnav?’
She turned to look at him, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Are you for real, or did you just complete a crash course in being patronising? I think I can just about find my way to my family home without needing a robot to guide me.’
‘Just don’t fall asleep,’ he warned.
‘I’ll do my best. But you’re not exactly an aid to relaxation, are you?’ Settling back in her seat, she gave him a clear list of instructions, then waited until he had negotiated his way out of London towards the south, before she asked, ‘So what’s in the bag which makes you want it so much?’
‘Boxer shorts.’ He shot her a look. ‘But you already know that.’
Willow didn’t react, even though the mention of his boxer shorts was threatening her with embarrassment, which she suspected was his intention. Because this was the new Willow, wasn’t it? The woman who had decided to take control of her own destiny instead of having it decided by other people.