what they want and I’m not talking about sex. I don’t do emotion, or love, or commitment, because I don’t really know how those things work. When people tell me that I’m cold and unfeeling, I don’t get offended—because I know it’s true. There’s nothing deep about me, Willow—and there never will be.’
Willow drew in a breath. It was now or never. It was a huge risk—but so what? What did she have to lose when the alternative of not having him suddenly seemed unbearable? ‘But that’s all I want from you,’ she whispered. ‘Sex.’
His face hardened as he shook his head.
‘And I certainly don’t have sex with virgins,’ he finished flatly.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘But...how on earth could you tell I was a virgin?’ she whispered, her voice quivering with disappointment, before realising from his brief, hard smile that she had just walked into some sort of trap.
‘Call it an informed guess,’ he said drily. ‘And it’s the reason why I have to leave.’
The hurt and the rejection Willow was feeling was now replaced by a far more real concern as she realised he meant it. He was going to leave her there, aching and alone and having to face everyone in the morning.
Reaching down to the bed, she grabbed at the duvet which was lying on the bed and wrapped it around herself, so that it covered her in an unflattering white cloud. And then she looked into the icy glitter of his eyes, willing him not to walk away. ‘If you go now, it will just cause a big scene. It will make people gossip and stir up all kinds of questions. And I don’t think I can face them. Or rather, I don’t want to face them. Please don’t make me. Don’t go,’ she said urgently. ‘At least, not tonight. Let’s pretend that you’re my lover, even if it’s not true. Let me show my sisters and my family that I’m a grown-up woman who doesn’t need their protection any more. I want to break free from their well-meaning intervention, and you’re the person who can help me. So help me, Dante. Don’t make me face them alone in the morning.’
Dante heard the raw appeal in her voice and realised how difficult that must have been for her to say. She seemed so vulnerable that part of him wanted to go over there and comfort her. To cradle her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t do that with any degree of certainty, could he? He didn’t even trust himself to touch her without going back on his word and it was vital he kept to his self-imposed promise.
‘This is a crazy situation,’ he growled. ‘Which is going to get even crazier if I stay. I’m sorry, Willow—but I can’t do it.’
In the distance, the music suddenly came to a halt and the sound of clapping drifted in through the open windows.
‘But I still have your bag,’ she said quietly. ‘And I thought you badly wanted it back.’
There was a pause.
‘Are you...threatening me?’ he questioned.
She shrugged. ‘I thought we had a deal.’
He met her grey gaze and an unwilling feeling of admiration flooded through him as he realised that she meant it. And even though she wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on if he had decided to offer real resistance, he knew he couldn’t do it. Because there were only so many setbacks a person could take—and she’d had more than her fair share of them.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘The deal still stands, though the terms have changed. And this is what we’re going to do. You are going to get ready for bed in the bathroom and you’re going to wear something—anything—I don’t care what it is as long as it covers you up. You are then going to get into bed and I don’t want to hear another word from you until morning, when we will leave for London before anyone else is awake, because I have no intention of facing your family first thing and having to continue with this ridiculous farce.’
‘But...where will you sleep?’
With a faint feeling of disbelief that he should be consigning himself to a celibate night, he pointed to a faded velvet chaise longue on the opposite side of the room. ‘Over there,’ he said.
‘Dante...’
‘No,’ he said, his patience dwindling as he moved away from her, because despite the fact that she was swaddled beneath that fat, white duvet, the image of her slender body wearing nothing but her bra and pants was seared into his memory. He swallowed. ‘I want you to do that right now, or the deal is off—and if I have to drive myself back to London and break into your apartment in order to retrieve what is rightfully mine, then I will do it. Do you understand, Willow?’
She met his eyes and nodded with an obedience which somehow made his heart twist.
‘Yes, Dante,’ she said. ‘I understand.’
THE STRONG SMELL of coffee filtered into her senses, waking Willow from her restless night. Slowly, her eyelids flickered open to see Dante standing by her bed with a steaming mug in his hand. He was already dressed, though looked as if he could do with a shave, because his jaw was dark and shadowed.
So were his eyes.
‘Where did you find the coffee?’ she asked.
‘Where do you think I found it? In the kitchen. And before you ask, the answer is no. Everyone else in the house must be sleeping off their hangover because I didn’t bump into anyone else along the way.’
Willow nodded. It was like a bad dream. Actually, it was more like a nightmare. She’d spent the night alone in her childhood bed, covered up in a baggy T-shirt and a pair of pants, while Dante slept on the chaise longue on the other side of the room.
Pushing her hair away from her face, she sat up and stared out of the windows. Neither of them had drawn the drapes last night and the pale blue of the morning sky was edged with puffy little white clouds. The birds were singing fit to burst and the powerful scent of roses drifted in on the still-cool air. It was an English morning at its loveliest and yet its beauty seemed to mock her. It reminded her of all the things she didn’t have. All the things she probably never would have. It made her think about the disaster of the wedding the day before. She thought about her sister laughing up at her new husband with love shining from her eyes. About the youngest flower girl, clutching her posy with dimpled fists. About the tiny wail of a baby in the church, and the shushing noises of her mother as she’d carried the crying infant outside, to the understanding smiles of the other women present, like they were all members of that exclusive club called Mothers.
A twist of pain like a knife in her heart momentarily caught Willow off-guard and it took a moment before she had composed herself enough to turn to look into Dante’s bright blue eyes.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
‘Still early.’ His iced gaze swept over her. ‘How long will it take you to get ready?’
‘Not long.’
‘Good,’ he said, putting the coffee down on the bedside table and then walking over to the other side of the room to stare out of the window. ‘Then just do it, and let’s get going as soon as possible, shall we?’
It
