Engaged For Her Enemy's Heir. Кейт Хьюит
fingers through them even now, and pull her towards him for an open-mouthed kiss. Even now, with his climax still thudding through him, knowing how innocent she’d been, he wanted her. He’d never wanted a woman so quickly, or so much.
Allegra rolled on her side, curling into him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Rafael froze, confusion colliding with alarm, irritation with guilt. He didn’t do pillow talk. Ever. All of his bed partners knew what he expected in bed, and what he definitely didn’t want. He made it very clear from the beginning that emotional attachments were a no-go zone, except Allegra, of course, hadn’t received that memo. And as a virgin she would no doubt expect some intimacy now, some soft talk that he knew he was utterly incapable of. He didn’t let people get close. People he could hurt. People he could fail.
As he’d already hurt Allegra, deflowering her in what amounted to a tawdry one-night stand.
Her leg found its way between his, her damp cheek pressed to his chest. She let out a shuddering sigh.
‘I miss him,’ she whispered, her voice sounding broken. ‘I miss him so much.’
Shock had Rafael stilling. What the hell...? ‘Miss him?’ he repeated tonelessly.
‘I know I shouldn’t, there’s nothing to miss,’ she continued softly. ‘I hadn’t even seen him in fifteen years. But I do miss him. I miss what we once had, what I thought we had. That’s why I came tonight, I think. Because I was looking for something, some kind of closure...’
She was talking about Mancini. But fifteen years... She couldn’t have been his mistress. She was in her late twenties at most.
‘Allegra,’ Rafael asked hoarsely, turning to stare down into her pale, lovely face. ‘Who are you?’
She looked up at him with tear-drenched eyes. ‘I’m his daughter,’ she said simply, and Rafael bit down on the curse that sprang to his lips.
Allegra was Alberto Mancini’s daughter. The daughter of his enemy, his nemesis, was lying in his arms, seeking his comfort, because her dear father, the man who had as good as murdered his own, was dead.
His stomach heaved. He felt a thousand different emotions—fury and guilt, disgust and alarm, regret and sorrow. He was sickened by his own part in this unexpected drama, taking a woman’s innocence, a woman who he should, by rights, have nothing to do with. He’d hated the Mancinis for so long, had wanted only justice...but what was this? What was he? Allegra was looking for comfort and he had none to give.
He rolled away from her and out of bed, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on in one jerky movement. From behind him he heard Allegra shift in bed, and then her voice, trembling, uncertain.
‘Rafael?’
‘You should go.’ His voice was brusque; he didn’t think he could have gentled it if he’d tried. Anger was coursing through him now, a pure, clean rage. Mancini’s daughter. Did she know what her father had done? Did she realise the blood he had on his hands? Reasonably he knew she couldn’t; she must have been a child when his own father had died.
And yet...she was a Mancini. She missed her father, a man he’d hated. She’d been innocent, and he’d abused it. His feelings were a confused tangle of guilt and anger, shame and frustration. It was all too much to deal with. He needed her out of his life. Immediately.
‘You...you want me to go?’ Her voice was a trembling breath of uncertainty.
‘I’ll call you a cab.’ He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. Then, because she still wasn’t moving, he grabbed her dress and tossed it to her. It fell on her lap; she didn’t even reach for it.
She looked gorgeous and shocked, sitting in his bed, the navy sheet drawn up to her breasts, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes heartbreakingly wide.
‘But... I don’t understand.’
‘What is there to understand?’ Each word was bitten off with impatience. Innocent she might might have been, but surely she could figure out what was going on. ‘We had a one-night stand. It’s over.’ He paused. ‘If I’d known you were a virgin, I would have done things a bit differently. But as it was...’ He shrugged. ‘You seemed happy enough with how things happened.’
She blinked as if she’d been slapped, and then she lifted his chin, showing a sweet courage that made his emotions go into even more of a tailspin.
‘I was,’ she agreed with emphasis. ‘I may be innocent, but even I can tell when an exit strategy needs some work. And yours sucks.’
‘Thanks for the tip, but the sentiment remains the same.’ Rafael folded his arms, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. Too many emotions had been accessed tonight, too many raw nerves twanging painfully. He couldn’t take any more. She had to go.
Allegra took a deep breath, lifting her chin, blinking back tears. ‘Will you give me a moment of privacy to dress?’ she asked with stiff dignity, and although he could have retorted that he’d already seen her naked, Rafael didn’t have it in him to be that cruel. Her fragile courage touched him in a way he didn’t like, and he gave a terse nod before stalking from the room.
He needed a drink, something far stronger than champagne. This didn’t feel at all like he’d expected it to, needed it to. He’d been looking for satisfaction, and instead he felt more restless than ever. Restless and remembering.
‘All you have is your honour, Rafael. That’s all that’s ever left. Your honour and your responsibilities as a man.’
But he had neither now.
The door to the bedroom opened just as Rafael poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He forced himself not to turn as he heard Allegra’s heels click across the marble floor of the living area. Remained with his back to her as she pressed the button for the lift and the doors pinged open.
‘Goodbye,’ she said, her voice soft and sad and proud all at once, and then she was gone.
Alone in his penthouse suite, Rafael raised the glass of whisky to his lips. He stared out at the unending night and then, instead of drinking, he threw the tumbler against the wall, where it shattered.
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