to red, and then to gold. Perhaps he had been nothing but her stud—an alpha male chosen as the ideal candidate for her sexual initiation. Maybe the fact that he was a foreigner had allowed her to shed all her inhibitions—he knew some women were like that—when all along she’d intended to marry an English aristocrat of the same class as herself.
Once again, an unwanted streak of jealousy flooded through his veins like dark poison and he opened his eyes to find René looking at him with that same expression of concern. He thought about his assistant’s question and he realised that yes, something was very wrong and it was more to do with his own behaviour. Because since when had he taken to asking himself questions, without bothering to seek out the answers?
‘I need some information about a woman.’
‘Same woman as before?’ asked René innocently. ‘It wouldn’t happen to be a Miss Willow Hamilton, would it?’
‘As quickly as possible,’ said Dante impatiently.
‘Bien sûr.’ René’s lips twitched. ‘This is getting to be a bit of a habit if you don’t mind my saying so, boss.’
‘Well, I do mind.’ Dante glowered as he stood up and pulled off his tie. ‘I don’t pay you to give your opinion when it isn’t wanted. Have the car brought round and I will call at the countess’s party for a while. And will you please wipe that smug expression from your face, because it is starting to infuriate me.’
Dante was driven to the first arrondissement, to the glittering cocktail party being held in one of the famous hotel’s penthouse suites, but his heart wasn’t in it—nor in any of the stellar guests who were present. The countess was delectable, but she left him cold—as did the other women who smiled at him with open invitation in their eyes. He endured it for a while, then slipped away—and when he arrived at work early the following morning, it was to find René already in the office, with a look of triumph on his face.
‘I have the information you require,’ he said.
‘Go on.’
‘She is living in London...’
‘I already know that,’ interrupted Dante impatiently.
‘And she will be attending a fundraiser for the Leukaemia Society being held at the Granchester Hotel in London this Saturday.’ René paused, his dark eyes hooded. ‘You might also be interested to know that she has put her diamond engagement ring up for the charity auction.’
And for the first time in his life, Dante was speechless.
* * *
Willow looked up from behind the podium and for a moment there was complete silence in the large ballroom, before she spoke again. ‘And that is why I consider it such an honour to be your new patron.’
An expectant hush fell over the assembled throng and she drew in a deep breath, knowing that she had to get this right. ‘I wanted to give fellow sufferers hope, as well as supporting the fantastic new research which is taking place all over the world. I’m prepared to step out of the shadows and talk openly about what happened to me, instead of hiding it away. Because I’m better. And because, every day, there are more and more people like me, getting better. And I...’
Her words tailed off because, for a moment there, a trick of the light made her think she saw Dante standing at the back of the ballroom. She blinked, slightly impatient with herself. Was she now beginning to conjure him up from nowhere, so that he was about to become a constant presence in her daytime as well as her night-time thoughts?
‘I...’ She couldn’t remember what she had been saying and someone held a glass of water towards her, but she shook her head. She stared to where the man stood, her eyes drinking him in—registering every pore of his sensual face. It was him. Very definitely him. Because nobody in the world looked quite like Dante Di Sione. Tall and broad and strong and magnificent and somehow managing to dominate the entire room.
And she couldn’t allow herself to go to pieces at this point. Too many people were relying on her.
She fumbled around for the words which had been on the tip of her tongue and somehow managed to produce them. ‘I just want to say that I think you are all wonderful, and I’m delighted to be able to tell you that the silent auction has raised almost half a million pounds.’ She swallowed, and then smiled—a big smile which just grew and grew. ‘So thank you again from the bottom of my heart—for allowing me to give something back.’
The sound of clapping began and swelled, echoing loudly throughout the vast room as Willow stepped carefully down from the stage, her narrow silver dress not the easiest of garments to move around in. Now what did she do? She risked a glance to where Dante had stood, but he was no longer there and she felt her heart plummet. Of course he wasn’t there! She had dreamt him up. It had been a fantasy—nothing more. Why would he be here when he’d flown straight back to Paris and they hadn’t spoken since he had boarded his jet in New York, all those weeks ago?
‘Willow.’
The sound of his voice was unmistakable and her knees buckled, but even though his hand was instantly on her elbow and his strength seemed to flow straight into her, she shook herself free. Because she had to learn to live without him. She had to.
‘Dante,’ she said, but her voice sounded faint. ‘What are you doing here?’
His eyes were curious, but his tone was dry. ‘No ideas?’
She licked her lips. ‘You were in London?’
‘And happened to be passing? Yeah, you could say that.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘Is there anywhere quieter we can go to talk?’
She knew she should tell him that no, there wasn’t. She knew she ought to fetch her wrap and go outside to find a cab. Go home and forget she’d ever seen him. Her gaze travelled over his face and stayed fixed on the features she’d missed so much. His blue eyes. His sensual lips. The faint darkness which always lingered around his jaw. ‘There’s the hotel’s Garden Room,’ she croaked.
In silence they walked to the plant-filled bar, with its white baby grand piano tucked away in the corner. Dante immediately managed to commandeer a quiet table at the back of the room but Willow knew instantly that she’d made a mistake in her choice of venue. A big mistake. Because the air was filled with the scent of jasmine and gardenia—heady scent which seemed unbearably romantic, as did the soft music which the pianist was playing. And the flickering candlelight didn’t help. Maybe she could concentrate on her drink. Order some complicated cocktail with a cherry and an umbrella and give it her full attention.
But Dante waved the hovering waiter away and she guessed it was an indication of his charisma that he should be allowed to occupy the best table in the place without even ordering a drink.
She waited to hear what he would say and she tried to second-guess him, desperately trying to work out the right answers to whatever he was going to say. Trouble was, he asked the last question she wanted to hear. The one question she didn’t want to answer. She’d lied about this once before, but she had been stronger then. She’d been so certain it had been the right thing to do and she hadn’t been starved of his presence for almost five weeks, so that she could barely stop herself from reaching out to touch him.
‘Do you love me, Willow?’
She looked into his eyes—which were
