Mistress To a Latin Lover: The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress / The Italian's Pregnant Mistress / The Italian's Mistress. Jane Porter
she answered, forcing her lips up in a ghoulish smile as another couple passed close by, both blatantly staring at the front of her gown and Cass suddenly remembered what she was wearing.
God. What a disaster. All of it. Meeting Maximos, falling so madly in love, losing him, losing the baby, losing her mind…
Emilio dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “We’re drawing attention,” he whispered, nodding to the room at large. “I can pretty much guarantee that Max will be here to greet us very soon.”
Cass followed Emilio’s gaze and saw the way people were looking at them. Men and women alike were giving them disgusted looks and it was obvious that the elegant men and women gathered in the salon silently, strenuously objected to Emilio’s presence, their objection a tangible thing. Whatever feud existed between Maximos and Emilio extended to the rest of the Guiliano family.
“And here he comes,” Emilio murmured, stepping back so Maximos could get a clear view of Cassandra in her see-through gown. “He looks fit to be tied, doesn’t he?” he added, twirling a long strand of Cass’s hair around two fingers. “You should see his face every time I touch you.”
“You’re sick,” she choked, trembling on the inside, unable to look away from Maximos’s face. His jaw was thick, his dark eyes glittering with barely concealed rage.
Emilio smiled. “I know.”
CHAPTER FIVE
CASS watched Maximos walk toward them, the air bottled in her lungs. She’d long admired the way Maximos moved, but tonight her admiration was tempered by fear. And dread. Fearful, and yet fascinated, she followed his progress through the crowded salon, watched as people parted for him.
“Cass,” Maximos said quietly. “Sobato.”
Cass lifted her head, and her eyes met Maximos’s. He looked so angry…so disgusted. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes and her fingers curled into the palms of her hands as she prepared for the worst.
Maximos’s dark gaze slowly slid over her, the examination bold, deliberate, possessive. He was letting her know—letting Emilio know—that she was his, that she belonged to him. Still.
Cass flushed beneath his intense gaze, her skin heating even as her insides contracted. She felt her breasts swell, firm, her nipples hardening, jutting against the delicate lace fabric. She felt rather than heard Maximos harsh intake, a deep swift breath that told her he’d noticed the tightening of her nipples. He couldn’t ignore her, just as she couldn’t help responding to him. They were a rather desperate pair, weren’t they?
“You seem to be missing something,” Maximos said, his deep voice pitched even lower, the sound intimate and harsh, so like him, so very Maximos Guiliano.
Cass felt herself blush again, her face and body on fire, her heart hammering wildly. Her skin tingled. She felt a hot fizz in her veins. Want. Need. Desire. “My dress,” she whispered, only to feel Emilio squeeze her arm, his fingers pressing on a tender spot, but she didn’t wince.
“Did you spill something on your other gown?” Maximos asked, his attention focused solely on Cass, his attention so personal that she felt as if they were the only two in the room, the only two that mattered.
How she’d missed him. Missed his arms, missed his body, missed his strength. She’d missed his endless confidence, the ease with which he spoke, moved, lived. She’d always felt empowered by Maximos. His strength had fed her own. “It ripped.”
“How?”
For a moment she couldn’t speak, words deserting her, thought impossible. All she saw was Maximos. All she felt was Maximos. If only she hadn’t asked for more…if only she could go back, be the light and convenient mistress she’d once been. But some things couldn’t be undone, and the hurt had been too deep…
Maximos reached for her, brushed Emilio’s hand from her arm, and brought her toward him, brought her close enough so she could feel his warmth, smell the subtle scent of his elegant cologne. Even built as hard, as rough as Maximos was, she found him impossibly attractive. She loved his eyes, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth.
His mouth.
Her gaze clung to his mouth, to his incredible mouth, and his firm lips that always softened against hers…
“Your dress,” Maximos repeated, his hands firm on her shoulders, his hands both comforting and a torment, a pleasure and a tease. She remembered the way his hands used to caress her, hold her, touch her. She loved his hands. Loved the way he’d made her feel. Because he’d made her feel…and feel…
“How did it rip?” he asked again.
She looked up at him, feeling blind, exposed. “Stepped on it, I think.”
“You think?” Maximos’s eyebrows lowered.
“It’s been a long day.” She tried to smile, but her lips quivered with the effort. She was fighting emotion, fighting passion, fighting memory. At that moment she thought she’d give just about anything for one more night with him. She’d give anything to be loved…wanted…cherished.
But he didn’t cherish her. He liked sex. Because the sex was good. No, the sex was fantastic. But it wasn’t really her that kept his attention. It was just her body.
Blinking back tears, Cass tried to lift her chin. “It’s hard to keep everything straight.”
“The stories, you mean?” he asked gently, but the question was perceptive. Maximos was sharp. Too sharp. She felt her smile slip and the grittiness returned to her eyes.
“It’s a warm night,” he added, “but not that warm.” And before she knew what he was doing, Maximos was shrugging out of his black dinner jacket and draping it around her shoulders.
She bit her lip as she felt his hands clasp her shoulders, a brief touch but comforting, especially after the awful day she’d had.
“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to look up and meet his eye. This was Maximos, her Maximos, the man who’d been her heart, her soul, her world for three years…
And then he was turning away, returning to Sophia where she waited for him near the front of the restaurant.
The seating for the dinner had been preassigned and Emilio and Cass had been given seats at the end of the table farthest from the members of the wedding party.
As they sat down, their end of the table fell silent and everyone turned to look at them. Despite Maximos’s coat wrapped around her, Cass still felt exposed as she sat down and drew her chair closer to the table, pretending to be oblivious of the pointed stares.
No one wanted them there.
It was worse than awkward, she thought, glancing at Emilio.
“Ever feel like everyone hates you?” Emilio asked, propping his elbows on the table and leaning toward Cass.
“Yes.” She felt like an intruder, and she hated forcing herself on the Guiliano family now. Weddings were special occasions, once in a lifetime celebrations to be shared with those nearest and dearest not with strangers or family enemies.
But Emilio chuckled as he whispered in Cass’s ear. “Isn’t it great?”
“No,” she answered, lifting a shoulder, puzzled by Emilio’s behavior.
Emilio didn’t care that no one wanted him there. In fact, the more people excluded him, the more people whispered, the happier he became. He’d come to inflict pain and misery and he was succeeding brilliantly.
“God, I hate these people,” he said abruptly, savagely. “They’re a bunch of hypocritical snobs.”
“And yet you came for the weekend.”
“I came to make a point.”
Cass took a nervous sip from her wineglass before carefully placing it back on the