Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest as if waiting for her to come to her senses.
For all his immobility she couldn’t rid herself of the notion he merely waited to pounce.
Would she have the resolve to stop him next time?
‘I’m not staying here to be attacked again.’
‘Attacked!’ He drew himself up to his full height and stared down his long aristocratic nose at her. ‘Hardly that. You were panting for my touch.’
His arrogant claim was the final straw because it was true. Her resolution had failed. She was weak and nothing could protect her from him. Nothing but bluff.
She shrugged, the movement more stiff than insouciant.
‘I was curious, that’s all. And,’ she hurried on as he opened his mouth to reject her explanation, ‘and besides, it’s been a while since I…’
‘You’ve been saving yourself, cara? Is that it?’ His smoky voice urged her to assent and blurt out that there’d been no one since him. Wouldn’t he just love that!
Fury sizzled along her veins. Glorious wrath at the man who’d taken her innocence, her love and her trust and thought he could have her again at the click of his fingers.
‘No,’ Carys lied. It would just feed his ego to know there’d been no one since him. She shifted her gaze.
He held her in thrall. What would it take to make him relinquish his pursuit? Desperation drove her to blurt out the first thing she could think of to stop him.
‘My boyfriend and I had a disagreement and—’
‘Boyfriend?’ His voice thundered through the suite. ‘You were missing your boyfriend? You can’t tell me you were thinking of him just now?’
‘Can’t I?’ Carys swung her head round and felt his dark green stare like frozen shards of crystal grazing her skin.
‘I don’t believe you.’ But she’d sown the seed of doubt. That was obvious from his sudden pallor.
A tiny fillip of triumph rose. Maybe she could make herself safe from him after all.
‘Believe what you like, Conte Mattani.’
‘Don’t use that title with me,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not some stranger.’
She said nothing, merely backed a few more steps towards the foyer.
‘You don’t intend to leave looking like that,’ he announced in a cold, disapproving tone.
Carys felt the weight of her hair tumbling round her shoulders and knew she looked as if she’d been ravaged to within an inch of her life. She was barefoot, half undressed, her lips bruised and swollen from the intensity of their passion, and her nipples thrust shamelessly against the cotton of her bra. Anyone looking at her would know precisely what she’d been doing.
She had a choice: an ignominious flight from the presidential suite looking like a complete wanton or a cosy tête a tête with Alessandro Mattani.
She was across the room before he could move a step.
‘Just watch me.’
Alessandro stood on the private terrace of his suite, watching the dark-clad workers scurry across the bridge and swarm the streets. Morning peak hour and he’d already been at work for several hours.
Habitually he started early and finished late. But this morning…he raked a hand through his hair as frustration filled him.
He’d slept even less than usual, bedevilled by tantalising dreams of luscious pale limbs entwined with his, of generous feminine curves and silky smooth skin, of smoky blue-grey eyes enticing him to the brink of sexual fulfilment. Each time he’d woken, sweating, gasping for breath and formidably aroused, to the realisation Carys Wells had fled rather than allow them the release they both craved.
He rubbed a hand over his freshly shaved jaw, as if to dispel the tension there.
Even in sleep she denied him.
He could barely believe she’d run. Especially after he’d felt the hunger in her, a hunger as ravening as his own. It was a wonder their clothes hadn’t disintegrated around them, their passion had been so combustible.
He grasped the iron balustrade savagely. Could it have been a tactic to tease him into wanting more then leave him aching with need? What could she hope to gain?
He shook his head. No woman was that good an actress. Besides, he knew every trick in the book when it came to conniving women, and Carys hadn’t played the tease. He remembered the scent of her arousal, sharp and musky.
Oh, no, Carys Wells had wanted him all right.
Why had she denied them both?
A stiff breeze blew up from the river and chilled his skin. He should have taken things slower, scoped out the situation rather than allowing his driving need free rein.
One of the first things he’d learned when he entered the commercial world was to plan carefully and unemotionally and only strike at the most opportune moment.
Last night it hadn’t been his brain doing the thinking.
He’d frightened her off. Her wide eyes had been desperate as she backed to the door. For an instant he’d even suspected they shone overbright.
A ripple of regret passed through him and he frowned.
His security team assured him she’d got home safely, unaware of their surveillance or their orders to keep her safe. Yet still Alessandro felt the weight of guilt. It was his fault she’d fled.
He should have controlled himself and conquered his animal instincts. Yet he’d been unable to comprehend anything but the need to possess her.
Alessandro scrubbed his palm over his face again, grimacing. He couldn’t remember ever acting with less forethought. He’d been like a starving man set before a banquet, unable to summon even a shred of restraint.
Was he always like that with her?
The question tantalised him. The frustration of not knowing ate like acid into his gut.
He was so close, and still the answers eluded him.
A discreet ringtone interrupted his thoughts and he drew his cellphone from his pocket.
It was Bruno, head of his security team, reporting on Carys’ movements this morning. Alessandro froze into immobility at the report, delivered in a carefully uninflected tone.
Eventually he roused himself enough to issue a few more orders. Then he took the phone from his ear and waited for the image Bruno was sending.
There it was. A little blurry with movement, but unmistakeable. Carys Wells, in a familiar dark suit and not a hair out of place. But what held Alessandro’s attention wasn’t his erstwhile lover. It was the burden she carried in her arms.
Small, rounded, riveting his attention.
A baby.
Carys had a child.
The air purged from Alessandro’s lungs in a hiss of disbelief. His jaw tightened so hard his head began to throb as he stared at the image before him.
Whose child? The boyfriend from whom she’d been separated? Some other man? A long-term lover or a passing stranger?
Pain roused him from his turbulent thoughts. Alessandro looked down to discover he’d grasped the railing so hard the decorative ironwork had drawn blood on the fleshy part of his palm.
Dispassionately he stared at the welling redness, then back at the picture of Carys and her child.
Only then did Alessandro recognise the emotion surging so high it threatened to choke him. Fury. Raw sizzling wrath that she’d been with another