Emma Darcy - Notorious - Ruthlessly Bedded by the Italian Billionaire / Bound by the Marcolini Diamonds

A knock on the door startled them out of the intense connection with each other. Dante cursed under his breath, backed off the bed, hauled her to her feet. ‘This will keep,’ he muttered savagely, releasing her to head for the door, putting respectable distance between them.

Jenny’s legs were too tremulous to walk anywhere. She sucked in air to get a blast of oxygen through her scattered brain and sat back down on the bed, needing recovery time and wanting to hide any crumpling of the duvet where she had lain on it. Her heart was pumping with horror at what she had almost done with Dante Rossini, horror at her own mad elation over it.

They were supposed to be cousins. She bit down on a bubble of hysterical laughter. If this deception fell apart it would be his fault. He’d started it. He’d forced it. And be damned if she’d take the blame for it!

Another knock on the door.

He opened it. ‘Anya?’ he said in a tone so cold, it automatically denied there’d been any boiling heat in this room.

Anya … the woman he usually housed in this suite for his sexual convenience … here to smooth away his travel fatigue.

The hysterical laughter bubbled up again and Jenny clamped down on it, pride insisting on an appearance of absolute decorum. She sat up straight, hands in her lap, her mind seething with curiosity over how Dante was going to handle this deception, dealing with his current girlfriend after he’d just been conducting a sexual assault on his cousin. Was he incredibly adept at switching himself on and off?

She was curious, too, about the type of woman who usually attracted him. No doubt someone as fabulous as him in the looks department, she thought cynically, determined not to feel in any way jealous. This was not her world and she wasn’t about to forget that reality.

‘Excuse me, Dante,’ Anya pleaded in a honeyed voice. ‘Some of my toiletries were left in the bathroom. I’ve come to collect them.’

She didn’t give him the chance to deny her entry, sliding into the room as she spoke, obviously keen to get a look at the cousin for whom she had been evicted from this suite. Anya Michaelson was a honey all over. Men probably flocked to her like bees. She had a glorious mass of silky blonde hair. Her figure was sensational, voluptuous curves barely encased in a bright yellow mini-dress. Perfect long legs gleamed as though they’d just been rubbed with scented oil. And the face she turned to Jenny was strikingly beautiful: flawless skin, stunning blue eyes, a full-lipped mouth with a very sexy pout.

‘Sorry to break in on you like this,’ she directed at Jenny, the blue eyes gobbling up every detail of her appearance, sharply assessing the attraction of the woman Dante was supposedly protecting. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

She was already crossing the room, heading for a door which had to lead to an ensuite bathroom.

‘Say hello to Isabella, Anya.’

The whip-like command from Dante stopped her in her tracks. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’ A row of perfect white teeth was flashed at Jenny. ‘Hello, Isabella. Don’t you love Capri?’

‘Not particularly,’ Jenny answered, bridling at the condescending tone.

‘Well, you’ve just arrived. I’m sure it will grow on you. Excuse me while I remove my things, won’t you? I expect we’ll be meeting properly over lunch.’ She threw an appeasing smile at Dante. ‘Pardon me, caro. A careless oversight by one of the servants, not being thorough in checking what might have been missed.’

‘Make sure you collect everything, Anya. I don’t want you returning,’ he said balefully.

She kissed her fingertips and tossed it at him, sashayed into the bathroom, leaving the door open behind her, not so much for an easy exit, Jenny thought, but to eavesdrop on any conversation in the bedroom.

No satisfaction for Anya on that score.

Jenny didn’t even look at Dante, let alone speak to him. She rose from the bed and, finding her legs much steadier now, strolled over to the glass doors on the other side of the room to him. Outside was another colonnaded walkway, shading the area between this wing of the villa and the stone wall running along the cliff edge, beyond it the sea. She pretended to take in the view, her mind ferociously engaged on far more internal territory.

The sexuality Dante had aroused in her was still tingling through her body, making it feel vibrantly alive. Part of her wanted to pursue this experience with him, but what self-respect was there in that? The blonde bombshell in the bathroom represented his world—the beautiful people with money to burn. No doubt he’d poured out his famous charm to acquire her.

No charm for Jenny Kent. He was knowingly using his mega-strong physical attraction to get what he wanted from her. He’d probably been doing that with women all his life, given the male assets he’d been born with. Did she really want to fall victim to a cynical sexual play?

No.

It would be totally stupid of her.

Getting more deeply involved with Dante Rossini would only muddy what was already dangerous waters. She had to keep a clear head, not get distracted from what she had to do to earn her freedom.

‘Got them,’ Anya trilled, as though it had been a triumphant feat of discovery.

It struck a false note in the loaded silence.

Jenny turned to acknowledge her presence but didn’t get a glance from the other woman. Anya’s gaze was concentrated on Dante, who had remained by the opened bedroom door, pointedly waiting for her to depart.

‘Then there’s nothing to stop you from speeding on your way,’ he drawled, dark eyes glittering impatience.

She flounced over to him, pausing to tilt up her beautiful face, pout her sexy mouth and say, ‘I did apologise for the intrusion.’

‘Curiosity killed the cat, Anya.’ It was a cold indictment of her behaviour.

‘I just wanted …’

‘You’ve got what you came for. Go!’

His stony face did not invite argument. She left. He closed the door. Jenny steeled herself to rebuff any continuance of the scene Anya had interrupted. Dante turned to face her, his dark gaze skating over her stiff stance, his mouth curling into a twist of irony at the defensive wall so firmly back in place.

‘Why don’t you follow her?’ Jenny flung at him. ‘I don’t need you to help me settle in here, and since you’re obviously feeling some frustration, I’m sure your girlfriend would welcome the chance to ease it for you.’

‘Ah, but I wouldn’t welcome her efforts.’

Her heart skipped at the change of tone from icy distaste to seductive sensuality. It raced into a gallop as he started strolling towards her, his eyes mocking her attempt to reject what had happened between them.

‘I don’t welcome yours,’ she stated vehemently. ‘Your Casanova mentality doesn’t appeal to me one bit.’

Her jeering contempt did not hold him back. He shrugged it off and kept on coming. ‘Casanova romps are not my style. I’d decided to end my relationship with Anya before I flew to Australia for you.’

‘She can’t know that or she wouldn’t be here.’

‘Anya only listens to what she wants. Apparently my suggestion that she move on to another man made her think she’d better work harder to keep me, and she seized the opportunity Lucia held out to her.’

‘Then let her work hard.’ Anything to keep herself safe from what he could do to her!

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want her anymore.’

His eyes told her very graphically that she was now the object of desire. Jenny was hopelessly torn between her own secret desire for him to want her and the certain knowledge he intended to use sex to keep her in line with him. He wanted abject surrender from her, not a relationship that carried caring with it. He had no reason to care for her, never would.