ease. He stroked her quivering skin until she was a mass of sensitive nerve-endings and she moaned his name softly beneath her breath as he brought her slowly down onto his aching shaft.
‘Giancarlo,’ she breathed.
‘Look at me,’ he instructed silkily.
Their eyes locked as he guided her hips into a deep rhythm and his captured gaze when he was deep inside her seemed unbearably intimate. But as the erotic dance led her inexorably towards orgasm she shut her eyes tightly again—afraid that he would see the naked pain which sometimes intruded at the very moment of pleasure. Pain provoked by the thought of a life without him.
It was only later, when they were showered and dressed and eating a delicious dinner cooked by Gina—who had returned from her shopping trip—that Giancarlo raised his glass to her in silent toast.
‘Tell me, bella mia,’ he said softly. ‘Do you have a passport?’
The unexpected question made Cassie put down her wine glass as she looked at him—her heart thudding as she basked in the ebony stare he was slanting at her.
‘Yes. Yes—of course I have a passport.’
‘No “of course” about it,’ he pointed out, with a dry smile. ‘Since you told me you’d never been to Europe.’
‘Ah, but I went on a day trip to Calais when I was at school—does that count?’
Giancarlo bit back an indulgent smile as she pushed away her plate and looked at him with interest. As a mistress she had been perfect. Unwittingly amusing. Sexually curious—and with a native intelligence which sometimes surprised him. He had enjoyed introducing her to theatre and the opera—even if he hadn’t got round to introducing her to his friends. Why bother, when she would never encounter them again? No, early on he’d realised that time spent with Cassandra could be spent in a much more enjoyable way than sitting through interminable dinner parties and fielding off faintly embarrassing questions about how they’d met.
But while shaving that morning he had realised with something of a shock that there was hardly any time left and that Christmas was almost upon them. For once, he had not noticed the passing days nor been bored by the constant company of one woman. Barely a week to go until he travelled to New York to spend the holidays with friends—the way he always did. And when he returned to London it would be to a bed and a life bereft of his young, blonde lover.
Would he miss her?
He studied her as the tip of her little pink tongue snaked its way around her lips to make them gleam provocatively. And he remembered what that same talented little tongue had been doing just a little while ago. For a woman who had known nothing of a man’s body when he had first met her, she had proved to be a remarkably quick and talented learner.
Yes, he would miss her—but he would soon forget her. He always did.
‘Oh, I can think of more enjoyable ways of seeing the Continent than a school day trip,’ he murmured.
‘Really?’
‘How would you like to go to Paris?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Paris?’ she squeaked.
‘Capital of France,’ he said gravely. ‘Have you heard of it?’
Cassie looked into the gleam of his black eyes—at the rugged, proud features which made her heart flip every time he came into the room. ‘Oh, Giancarlo—do you really mean it?’
‘I really do.’
‘When?’
‘How would tomorrow morning suit you?’
‘That soon? Oh, my goodness! Yes, please. Oh—thank you! Thank you!’ She jumped up from her seat and slid her arms tightly around his neck just as Gina walked into the room to collect the plates. Quickly, Cassie let her arms fall—even if she hadn’t felt the sudden tensing of Giancarlo’s shoulders. Because he didn’t do demonstrative—not in the street, not in restaurants or in the theatre, and he certainly didn’t do demonstrative in front of his cool housekeeper.
Getting used to having live-in staff had proved more challenging than learning to share a bed. Gina hadn’t been unfriendly towards Cassie—she had just showed a polite indifference which could be terribly intimidating at times. And while Cassie could see that Giancarlo needed people to run his house for him, she wished that they could have all been dismissed during her brief stay there. She would have liked to have had the freedom to roam the house. To make love in every room. To cook for him herself instead of always having their meals served up to them—either at home or in some fancy restaurant. Because she wasn’t interested in all the trappings which came with Giancarlo’s great wealth—she was interested in him.
‘Cassandra and I are going to Paris for a few days,’ said Giancarlo as a pink-cheeked Cassie returned to her seat.
‘How delightful,’ said Gina, with a cool smile. ‘Paris is always lovely at this time of year.’
Cassie gave a watery kind of smile, thinking that the whole world was more well travelled than she was! But she blotted out her insecurity as she got ready for the trip. A few weeks ago, packing for such an event would have been beset with problems, but not any more—mainly because her wardrobe had expanded slightly to accommodate her role as a tycoon’s mistress. It had started when Giancarlo had returned from work late one night bearing two fancy carrier bags—both festooned with soft layers of tissue paper. Cassie recognised the brand names immediately and blinked as he handed them to her.
‘What are these?’
‘Why don’t you open them and find out?’
From the first bag she pulled out a black silk dress which slithered through her fingers like a snake. ‘Oh!’
‘Like it?’
‘How could I not like it? It’s…it’s…beautiful. But how did you know my size?’
There was a pause. A smile. A shrug. And Cassie’s cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as she correctly read the expression in his eyes. Of course. She wasn’t the first woman he had bought clothes for and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. He was an expert in guessing a woman’s size.
Her fingers were trembling as she opened the second bag, which contained a pair of shoes—a pair as high as the ones she’d worn on their first date, but there all similarity ended. These were pure leather, handmade and exquisitely crafted, with a band of tiny glass beads at the toe which made them look as if they’d been dipped in fairy dust. In fact, they were fairytale shoes for a fantasy world—and a sudden sense of unreality washed over her.
‘What are these for?’ she breathed.
‘For wearing, of course.’
Cassie’s heart started beating very fast. ‘Because my own clothes aren’t good enough, I suppose?’
‘Oh, come on—don’t take it so personally. Showering mistresses with expensive gifts is written in the contract, Cassandra,’ he said softly. ‘Didn’t you know that?’
She could have flung the shoes back at him—except
