she raised her head, her aquamarine eyes wide with shock, the exact colour of the sunlit Aegean Sea. Her hair hung in damp ringlets around her heart-shaped face and her robe—his robe, actually—had slid off one shoulder, revealing its perfect curve.
‘Stay here?’ She frowned, her expression of confusion almost comical and definitely suspect. She was putting it on quite thickly for his benefit, and why? This was surely what she’d wanted. What she’d been hoping for. He was a far better bet than Bavasso. So did she think her reluctance would somehow earn her brownie points or, heaven help him, trust?
He trusted no one, especially not a woman like Laurel Forrester.
‘Yes,’ Cristiano answered, his voice clipped, touched with impatience. ‘Stay here.’
‘For how long?’
‘As long as is necessary.’ He paused, letting his gaze sweep over her once more. The robe gaped at her chest and he could see the shadowy vee between her breasts, almost glimpse their sweet, apple-like curves. ‘As long as I want you to stay.’ She drew in a quick, sharp breath, colour flooding her face. She almost looked outraged. ‘You don’t need to look quite so bewildered,’ Cristiano drawled.
‘Why shouldn’t I be bewildered?’ Laurel demanded. ‘It almost sounded as if...’
‘As if what?’ Cristiano prompted silkily. She bit her lip and looked away.
‘Nothing.’
Cristiano almost laughed at that. She didn’t want to overplay her hand. She was so obvious, it amused him. Almost. The trouble was, he hated game playing. All his liaisons had been conducted with discretion and honesty, from their businesslike beginning to the expected end of the transaction. This would be no different, but he’d humour her for a little while...just to see where she’d go with this. What exactly she was trying to get? How much?
‘So how long would that be?’ Laurel asked, straightening as she drew the robe closed at her throat, every inch the outraged virgin. ‘Because I don’t even have any clothes.’
‘A day or two at most. Bavasso will have moved on by then, no doubt.’ He let his gaze linger. ‘As for clothes... I’m not at all sure they’ll be necessary.’ She gasped and he laughed. ‘Relax, bella. I’m only joking.’ Sort of. ‘I’ll arrange for some clothes to be brought up to you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly and looked away. Cristiano propped one shoulder against the floor-to-ceiling window, taking the time to study her. The puppyish roundness of her teenage years had melted away, leaving behind a lithe yet curvaceous body. She was slender, verging on petite, yet her legs seemed endless and golden, her hair a cascade of colours, from chestnut brown to tawny orange to pure gold. She must pay her hairdresser a fortune.
‘So where is home, out of interest?’ he asked. ‘Since it’s obviously not Rome.’
She darted him a quick, suspicious glance before answering, ‘Illinois.’
‘Illinois?’ That surprised him, although he knew she and her mother were American. His father had picked up Elizabeth Forrester in a third-rate casino in Miami and had married her just four days later. ‘Chicago?’ He would have expected Los Angeles or New York, somewhere where she could be seen and admired—and where she could find a sugar daddy.
‘No, a small town you’ve never heard of.’ Her tone was repressive. ‘Are you going to order those clothes?’
‘You’re being quite demanding, for a woman who has nothing to offer... Unless you do have something to offer?’ He intentionally let a note of innuendo into his voice and saw how her pupils flared in response. This was so easy.
‘My gratitude,’ Laurel bit out. She turned her head away, refusing to look at him.
‘Ah, well, the question remains, how is one’s gratitude expressed?’ He enjoyed toying with her, enjoyed the way her breasts rose and fell with every agitated breath. A rosy blush swept across her collarbone. She had the most delectable skin, all golden cream and roses. He couldn’t wait to touch it. Taste it.
‘I would hope a simple thank you would do.’ In one abrupt movement she rose from the sofa, pulling the huge robe more tightly around her slender frame. ‘I don’t understand you, Cristiano. An hour ago I was attacked. Why are you toying with me like this? Do you enjoy being cruel?’
Annoyance sparked. ‘You call this cruel?’ He took a step closer to her, noting the gold sparks in her eyes, as well as the ones firing between them. ‘How, bella, am I toying with you?’
‘You know.’ She kept her face averted, her breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. She didn’t want to say it. Admit it. And Cristiano realised he very much wanted her to.
‘I don’t know, actually. I need you to enlighten me.’
She drew a tortured breath, looking anywhere but at him. ‘Fine. You’re almost sounding as if...as if you expect me to...something to happen between us.’
‘Something is already happening between us, bella,’ Cristiano answered softly. ‘Can’t you feel it?’ He certainly could. He felt it in the tautening of the air, the heightened awareness he had of her: of every draw and tear of her breathing; the pearly sheen of her skin; the way his loins tightened when she touched her lips with her tongue.
‘I just want to go home,’ she said, her voice low. ‘This isn’t my world. I don’t belong here.’
‘You were certainly acting as if you belonged here earlier in the evening.’
Finally she looked at him, horrified realisation and hurt flashing in her aquamarine eyes. ‘You saw...?’
‘I saw everything. You on the casino floor with Rico Bavasso—practically sitting in his lap, laughing at his jokes, letting him paw you while your mother watched. She taught you well, I suppose.’
She shook her head, curls bouncing. ‘It wasn’t like that...’
‘It was exactly like that and you know it,’ he answered, a hint of steel entering his voice. ‘Now what I’m wondering is, why are you acting like an outraged virgin now?’
She let out a cry and whirled away, stalking towards the lift doors. Cristiano watched her, darkly amused, as she pushed the button.
‘You intend to go down to the lobby, to face Rico Bavasso and his security, in my dressing gown? Because that is not a tactic I’d recommend you employ. It will end badly for you. Very badly indeed.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ she said, her whole body taut and quivering, his robe trailing the ground.
‘That’s quite a risk you’re willing to take, then.’
‘And one I prefer.’
Her games were getting tiresome. What on earth did she possibly hope to gain from them? She had his interest already. Playing hard to get, or as if she were some offended innocent, was both pointless and aggravating. ‘Unfortunately it’s one I do not prefer,’ Cristiano said lazily. ‘The lift is locked, bella. You’re not going anywhere. Not until I say so.’
