CAROL MARINELLI - Hired - Mistress - Wanted - Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘I enjoy convincing people.’ Dante shrugged. ‘And I believe you are far from convinced. All you have to do is answer some questions honestly.’

The dessert menu was being offered to her and Matilda hesitated before taking it. She had the plans, and clearly Dante was in no mood to discuss foliage or water features, so the sensible thing would be to decline. She’d eaten her main course, she’d stayed to be polite, there was absolutely no reason to prolong things, no reason at all—except for the fact that she wanted to stay.

Wanted to prolong this evening.

With a tiny shiver Matilda accepted the truth.

She wanted to play his dangerous game.

‘They do a divine white chocolate and macadamia nut mousse,’ Dante prompted, ‘with hot raspberry sauce.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ Matilda said, and as the waiter slipped silently away, her glittering eyes met Dante’s. A frisson of excitement ran down her spine as she faced him, as this encounter moved onto another level, and not for the first time today she wondered what it was about Dante Costello that moved her so.

‘YOU will answer me honestly?’

His smile had gone now, his deep, liquid voice low, and despite the full restaurant, despite the background noise of their fellow diners, it was as if they were the only two in the room.

His black eyes were working her face, appraising her, and she could almost imagine him walking towards her across the courtroom, circling her slowly, choosing the best method of attack. Fear did the strangest thing to Matilda, her lips twitching into a nervous smile as he again asked his question. ‘You swear to answer me honestly.’

‘I’m not on trial.’ Matilda gave a tiny nervous laugh, but he remained unmoved.

‘If we’re going to play, we play by the rules.’

‘Fine.’ Matilda nodded. ‘But I really think you’re—’

‘We’ve all got secrets,’ Dante broke in softly. ‘There’s a dark side to every single one of us, and splash it on a headline, layer it with innuendo and suddenly we’re all as guilty as hell. Take your ex—’

‘Edward’s got nothing to do—’

‘Location, location, location.’ He flashed a malevolent smile as Matilda’s hand tightened convulsively around her glass. ‘Just one more business dinner, just one more client to impress. Just one more garden to renovate and then, maybe then you’ll get his attention. Maybe one day—’

‘I don’t need this,’ Matilda said through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re trying to get at, but can you please leave Edward out of this?’

‘Still too raw?’ He leant back in his chair, merciless eyes awaiting her response.

‘No,’ Matilda said tersely, leaning back into her own chair, forcing her tense shoulders to lower, forcing a smile onto her face. ‘Absolutely not. Edward and I finished a couple of months ago. I’m completely over it.’

‘Who ended it?’

‘I did,’ Matilda answered, but with renewed confidence now. She had been the one who had ended it, and that surely would thwart him, would rule out his image of a broken-hearted female who would go to any lengths to avoid confrontation.

‘Why?’ Dante asked bluntly, but Matilda gave a firm shake of her head.

‘I’m not prepared to answer that,’ she retorted coolly. ‘I had my reasons. And in case you’re wondering, no, there wasn’t anyone else involved.’ Confident she’d ended this line of questioning, sure he would try another tack, Matilda felt the fluttering butterflies in her stomach still a touch and her breathing slow down as she awaited his next question, determined to answer him with cool ease.

‘Did you ever wish him dead?’

‘What?’ Appalled, she confronted him with her eyes—stunned that he would even ask such a thing. ‘Of course not.’

‘Are you honestly stating that you never once said that you wished that he was dead?’

‘You’re either mad…’ Matilda let out an incredulous laugh ‘…or way too used to dealing with mad people! Of course I never said that I wished that he…’ Her voice faltered for just a fraction of second, a flash of forgotten conversation pinging into consciousness, and like a cobra he struck.

‘I’m calling your friend as a witness next—and I can assure you that her version of that night is completely different to yours…’

‘What night?’ Matilda scorned.

‘ That night,’ Dante answered with absolute conviction, and Matilda felt her throat tighten as he spoke on. ‘In fact, your friend clearly recalls a conversation where you expressed a strong wish that Edward was dead.’ Dante’s words were so measured, so assured, so absolutely spot on that for a tiny second she almost believed him. For a flash of time she almost expected to look over her shoulder and see Judy sitting at the other table, as if she had stumbled into some macabre reality TV show, where all her secrets, all her failings were about to be exposed.

Stop it, Matilda scolded herself, reining in her over-reaction. Dante knew nothing about her. He was a skilled interrogator, that was all, used to finding people’s Achilles’ heels, and she wasn’t going to let him. She damn well wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

‘I still don’t know what night you’re talking about!’

‘Then let me refresh your memory. I’m referring to the night you said that you wished Edward was dead.’ And he didn’t even make it sound like an assumption, his features so immovable it was as if he’d surely been in the room that night, as if he’d actually witnessed her raw tears, had heard every word she’d sobbed that night, as if somehow he was privy to her soul. ‘And you did say that, didn’t you, Matilda?’

To deny it would be an outright lie. Suddenly she wasn’t sitting in a restaurant any more. Instead, she was back to where it had all ended two months ago, could feel the brutal slap of Edward’s words as surely as if she were hearing them for the first time.

‘Maybe if you weren’t so damn frigid, I wouldn’t have to look at other women to get my kicks.’

He’d taunted her, humiliated her, shamed her for her lack of sexual prowess, demeaned her with words so vicious, so brutal that by the time she’d run from his house, by the time she’d arrived at Judy’s home, she’d believed each and every word. Believed that their relationship had been in trouble because of her failings, believed that if only she’d been prettier, sexier, funnier, he wouldn’t have had to flirt so much, wouldn’t have needed to humiliate her quite so badly. And somehow Dante knew it, too.

‘You did say it, didn’t you?’ It was Dante’s voice dragging her out of her own private hell.

‘I just said it,’ Matilda breathed, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. ‘It was just one of those stupid things you say when you’re angry.’

‘And you were very angry, weren’t you?’

‘No,’ Matilda refuted. ‘I was upset and annoyed but angry is probably overstretching things.’

He swirled his wine around in the glass and Matilda’s eyes darted towards it, watching the pale fluid whirl around the bottom, grateful for the distraction, grateful for something to focus on other than those dark, piercing eyes.

‘So you were only upset and annoyed, yet you admit you wished him dead!’

‘OK,’ Matilda snapped, her head spinning as the barrage continued. ‘I was angry, furious, in fact. So would anyone have been if they’d been told…’ She choked her words down, refusing to drag up that shame and certainly not prepared to reveal it to Dante. Dragging in air, she halted her tirade, tried to remember to think before she spoke, to regain some of the control she’d so easily lost. ‘Yes, I said that I wished he was dead, but there’s a big difference between saying something and actually seeing it through.’ She felt dizzy, almost sick with the emotions he’d so easily conjured up, like some wicked magician pulling out her past, her secrets, clandestine feelings exposed, and she didn’t want it to continue, didn’t want to partake in this a moment longer.