Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire (7 page)

Cupping her breasts, he stroked them and weighed them appreciatively. He teased her nipples until she thought she'd go mad. Every part of her was responding eagerly to his touch, allowing her to sink into a rich velvet pool of sensation.

Frustratingly, Marco kept a space between them, although he did allow her to feel the brush of his erection. And then he touched her. But too lightly. And his hand never lingered long enough to satisfy her needs. And all this time he was smiling down at her, as if he knew exactly how frustrated he was making her.

She'd had enough and broke free.

Their tussle went up a notch. They were both determined to have the upper hand, and of course she couldn't fight him, but wrestling Marco was so much fun, and only added to her arousal. She rubbed her body against his—she rubbed every part of her against him. He seemed amused by her strength but she'd been working outdoors for weeks and had never been a weakling, but she would never be strong enough to dominate Marco.

That made it more fun. One minute he would let her think she was strong enough, and the next he would master her. Right now he had her in a firm hold and was tormenting her at his leisure. She tried calling him names, but it only made him laugh.

‘You love it,' he said.

She would never admit to that, but he was right. Marco's expression, his wicked smile, and even the blinding flash of his strong white teeth—she loved everything about him.

‘Do you think you can fight me?' he said.

‘I know I can,' she hissed back.

She shivered, exultant when he slipped his hand beneath her flimsy bra. She thought for a moment that he was going to rip it off, but still he kept her waiting. The master of arousal had her in the firmest of grips, and he allowed her no choice other than to accept the pleasure he was dealing her. He stroked her breasts with the lightest of touches, and then had the nerve to smile when she whimpered with frustration. When she was least expecting it, he slipped his fingers beneath the delicate join holding the fragile cups of her bra together and ripped them apart. His eyes flashed with triumph when she cried out with surprise. Disposing of the ruined bra, he tossed the remnants aside, before turning his full attention to her breasts.

Now she could only breathe and exist as Marco touched her. He had robbed her of the power to do more. It wasn't just that he was holding her so she couldn't move while he pleasured her—it was more that she didn't want to move. Why fight pleasure? Wasn't it better to relax into sensation such as this, and enjoy?

She exclaimed with delighted shock when he pinched her nipples, and the sensation travelled rapidly around her body. She rested in Marco's arms, a willing victim to his skill—so much so that when he finally took hold of the waistband of her thong, she exclaimed with relief. She should have known he was still teasing her. Tracing the tiny scrap of lace around her waist, he slipped his fingers down between her buttocks, before returning to trail them across the swollen mound that was aching for his attention.

‘More?' he suggested, angling his chin to shoot her a look with those wicked eyes.

She garbled something, which was all she could do. In answer, Marco cupped her with his hand, though with a touch so light it was even more frustrating than not being touched at all. With a growl of frustration she arched her back and thrust herself firmly against his hand, and then she worked her body shamelessly against it in the hunt for more contact, more pleasure...

‘You have to tell me what you want, Cassandra.'

Marco's tone was deliciously stern. ‘You.' She blazed a frank and fiery stare into his eyes. ‘I want you.'

‘And where do you want me?' he said calmly.

‘Deep inside me.'

Before the words were out of her mouth Marco had lifted her arms above her head. Ramming her back against the wall, he held her in place with the weight of his body. Catching hold of her buttocks, he encouraged her to lift her legs and wrap them around his body as tightly as she could. She was happy to do so. She was claiming him. He wasn't going anywhere.

Lacing her fingers through his strong black hair, she kept him close with their mouths just a fraction apart. His fierce stare burned into hers, but he refused to kiss her.

She thought she knew why. Marco didn't want her to close her eyes. He wanted to see everything she was feeling reflected in their depths. He wanted that degree of control over her, and that level of contact between them, when he took her for the first time. She wanted that too. She wanted to see Marco's responses just as hungrily as he wanted to see hers.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘N
OW
?' M
ARCO
SUGGESTED
softly, his mouth tugging a little at one corner as if he were mocking her need. Before she had a chance to answer, he tested her, and parting her with the tip of his erection he slid slowly and steadily into her until he was lodged deep, to the hilt.

‘You're so tight...so wet...' he murmured appreciatively over her grateful moans.

And he was so big. She gasped with delighted shock, and then Marco worked some magic with his hand, and she was reduced to wordless sounds of need and pleasure. She was just building to an exciting climax when he withdrew completely. She had no sooner voiced her complaint with a cry and with fingers digging cruelly into his shoulders than he drew his hips back and thrust deep. Holding on was impossible. She fell gratefully into a series of violent pleasure waves. He didn't wait for her to quieten. Lifting her, he walked with her across the room where he lowered her down on the sofa. Standing over her, he spread her legs wide over his shoulders. ‘Well?' he said with the faintest of smiles.

‘Hard and fast?' she suggested.

Breath shot out of her in a noisy rush. Marco had taken her at her word, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

They made love all night in every part of the penthouse. They had hungry sex, fierce sex, and even playful sex, and there wasn't a surface they didn't sample. Their appetite for each other proved inexhaustible, and when she finally fell asleep in Marco's bed, it was with a happy smile on her lips and more contentment in her heart than she could ever remember feeling.

* * *

He woke at dawn and his first thoughts as always were centred around his work. He rolled out of bed and glanced at Cassandra. She was sound asleep. She had proved to be every bit as enthusiastic about sex as he had imagined. But that was all it had been, he told himself.

His mother had lived a lie for the sake of hooking up with a wealthy man. He would not be making that sort of mistake any time soon. The man he thought of as his father was a man his mother had tricked into marrying her, in order to provide her with an income stream and a father for her unborn child. Cassandra had briefly made him question his belief that women couldn't be trusted, but when he recalled the damage a woman could do, it was easy to shut down his emotions.

After his shower, he went into his dressing room and emerged ready for the day. Cassandra was just waking...stretching her limbs like an indolent cat. The image she presented—naked and lush, and so obviously sated—was quite different from her common-sense self in Tuscany.

‘Marco...' She reached out a hand as if the effort was almost too much for her. ‘Come back to bed...'

He frowned, and then realised that some words were necessary if he wasn't to appear wholly inconsiderate, but the affection and reassurance that Cassandra seemed to be asking for was beyond him.

‘That was great,
cara
...' Walking over to the bed, he dipped down to brush a kiss against her cheek. ‘But I have to go now.' Leaving her side, he paused at the door. ‘I left your money on the table in the hall...'

Her money?

For a moment Cass couldn't understand what Marco had said, and then she remembered that she was to be paid for filling a seat at his party, and that it was the money she could use to send her godmother on the dream trip.

That didn't make her feel any better. Sitting up in bed, she hugged herself, wishing that Marco's arms were around her, and that he was cuddling and reassuring her. She had wanted to tell him how much last night had meant to her. But now...

Scrambling out of bed, she dragged a sheet with her to wrap around her naked body. Crossing to the window, she waited until Marco had left the building, and then she watched him step into his car. She felt empty inside. As with everything else in his charmed life, Marco's trip to the office would be seamless. He wanted sex. He had sex. He wanted the car. The valet brought it to the door for him. No interruptions were allowed to the busy billionaire's schedule. Tenderness or a few moments of humour were beyond him—unless he was in seduction mode.

Blinded by tears, she turned around, furious with herself for being so stupid. Last night had been special for her, and she had thought it had meant something to him.

She took a long, hot shower in the hope that it would stop her shaking. She felt cold to the bone, and sick at the thought that Marco hadn't treated her much better than a prostitute. After paying for her services, he had all but ignored her at the charity function—but he hadn't ignored her when everyone had left. Then he'd been different, then he'd been interested—very interested indeed. And she was the fool who had allowed it to happen.

Ignoring her scattered clothes, the ripped reminders of an explosive passion that hadn't lasted the night, she pulled on the same frock she'd arrived in. Thank goodness Marco or his staff had had the foresight to have her things sent on from the hotel to Marco's penthouse. Scraping her hair back, she didn't bother with make-up. Why would she? Who would notice? Picking up the phone, she checked on flights home to England and then booked a cab to the airport. She'd got enough money to fly home, and there was no point in staying—not on Marco's terms.

Just thinking about it made her so angry she had to blink back tears. She had never been a victim, and she wasn't about to start now. When things went wrong, she did something about it.

When the cab driver called to say he was outside, she checked around one last time to make sure she'd got everything—and then stopped, frozen to the spot, at the sight of Marco's cheque on the hall table. She picked it up and studied the amount. She studied the bold script of Marco's signature. She couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking when he'd come up with such a ridiculous amount, let alone what she had been thinking when she'd accepted it. There was enough money here to send her godmother around the world first class with money to spare. A second call from the cab driver distracted her.

‘Coming now,' she answered.

* * *

‘Cassandra...Cassandra?'

He stared around the empty penthouse. Where the hell was she? He had expected a welcome, a smile, and a whole lot more. Was she still in bed? He felt a buzz of anticipation as he went to find out.

The buzz didn't last long. His room was empty, the bed neatly made. He knocked on the bathroom door...

Nothing.

He checked inside to be sure.

He searched the whole place, but it was silent and empty. There was no sign of her—no clothes on the floor, nothing out of place, not even a scribbled note to indicate where she had gone. And he'd distinctly told her to expect him later. He went back to the hallway where he'd left her cheque beneath a plant pot on the console table.
Where she couldn't have missed it.

His cheque was still there.

He thought about calling her on his phone and then changed his mind. She must have gone back to the hotel. He dialled the number and reeled at the information that the receptionist gave him. Signorina Rich had called by to pick up her passport and suitcase
on her way to the airport
.

She'd left him?

He huffed a humourless laugh. Maybe it was for the best that she'd gone. The strength of his desire for Cassandra was warning enough to end it now. He would have done, if she hadn't gone.

But she'd gone.

Dio!
He was her employer. She couldn't just walk out on him.

Striding across the room, he snatched up the cheque. Gripping it in his fist, he rang his PA. ‘Find her.'

‘Yes, sir.'

He slammed down the phone, refusing to accept that a small part of him couldn't let Cassandra go—not completely.

* * *

Cass made sure she wasn't easy to find. Her experience in Tuscany had bruised her. Bought and paid for like her mother, she was determined that she would not suffer the same fate. No one knew better than she did that a clean break with the past was the only chance anyone had to move forward. The person she had been in Rome wasn't her. Or, rather, it wasn't the person she wanted to be. She was Cass, plain and simple—not some glittering socialite with a rampant sex life, who stayed the night with the boss in order to keep him sweet.

Not everything was doom and gloom. Her godmother had flown to Australia to join her son, explaining that he had sent the fare for her, and, on Cass's recommendation, she had rented out her house to bring in some extra cash while she was away.

This was just the opportunity Cass had needed to quit the address Marco's people held on file for her and start over. She got a job at another supermarket, which paid just enough money to rent a small house in a nearby village. Her new home was tiny, but she loved it. She had put up a notice in the local post office, offering her services as a gardener, and to her surprise she was soon fully booked. With that and her work on the tills she was almost too busy for regret—until the day she fainted on the job, and an elderly lady she was serving asked her if she was pregnant...

‘No. Of course not,' she protested, laughing at the absurdity of the question. ‘What makes you think that?' But even as she spoke, a spear of alarm stabbed deep.

‘A strong, healthy girl like you has no reason to feel faint—unless you're ill, which I doubt. I've had six children myself,' the old lady confided, ‘so I know the signs.'

‘I'm sure you're wrong...'

Cass tried to laugh it off, while all she wanted to do was to leave the store and rush to the pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test, but she had to wait until she finished work.

It was the longest working day of her life. Back home, she stared at the test in shock. The thin blue line didn't lie, according to the instructions. But Marco had used protection, so how could this happen?

Quite easily, those same instructions informed her as she scanned the printed sheet.

No protection is foolproof.

Well, they'd got that right, and she was the fool.

* * *

‘A call from Signorina Rich?'

Marco sat back in his leather seat, staring out across the majestic skyline of Rome. His secretary knew never to interrupt him unless it was to announce his next appointment, or unless it was a matter of vital importance, so Cassandra must be kicking up a fuss. The lack of her pained him, but the fact that she had walked out on him without a word had ended it as far as he was concerned. How long had it been now? Almost three months? What was so important she had to call him at the office? Had she changed her mind about the cheque?

‘I have a ten o'clock meeting,' he snapped, frowning.

He drew breath to give himself a chance to weigh up the facts. Cassandra was back in his life, asking to speak to him. He needed to think about this for a few moments.

Calm reason triumphed. They hadn't expected to hear from each other. When something was over it was over, as far as he was concerned.

‘Tell Ms Rich I'm too busy to take her call, but I'm happy to send her cheque on.'

Thoughts of Cassandra plagued him for the rest of the day, and flashbacks kept him from his work. These were not just of Cassandra, but of the past. Maybe because their pasts were quite similar he was thinking back to that frozen Christmas Eve when the man he had called
Papa
had thrown him and his mother out on the street, cutting them off without a penny or a word of farewell.

His mother must leave with nothing, the man he had thought was his father had instructed. That was the price of betrayal. More disillusionment followed when his mother had explained that
Papa
wasn't his father, and that the man who had fathered him had been an odd job man around the house, and now that man was gone too.

Even though their circumstances had been much changed, to begin with the two of them had rubbed along well enough. His mother hadn't been a fool, but the unrelenting hardship of their new life had eventually ground her down, and she'd begun to drink to blot it out.

Cassandra's mother had been a drunk too, so Cassandra knew how it felt when a mother chose to lose herself in a bottle of liquor, rather than care for her child.

When his mother had died he had found ways to make himself useful—carrying trash for restaurants in return for a good feed and carting logs for the rich folk who could afford them. He had vowed that one day
he
would go to school, and one day
he
would be rich.

And Cassandra?

She had been cast adrift in just the same way, and she was a survivor too.

With a frown of impatience he got back to his work and vowed not to allow thoughts of Cassandra to distract him. He relied on no one. He shared his past with no one. He never had. He couldn't afford this sort of disturbance to his working day. There must be no more calls from Cassandra.

‘Your ten o' clock appointment is here, sir...'

‘Thank you. Send him in.'

Closing the book on Cassandra Rich, he turned his attention back where it belonged, to the business that had never let him down.

* * *

Precious time was passing and Marco was still refusing to take her calls. Soon it would become obvious that she was pregnant, and he had to know. She had called her godmother in Australia and, typically, her godmother had shared Cass's delight. She had asked who the father was, and when Cass had enthusiastically said she'd be doing this alone, her godmother had immediately offered to come home. Cass had had to insist that this wasn't necessary, and had pointed out that her godmother's time with her son was precious. Cass had friends around, as well as the best of medical care, and she promised to get in touch with regular updates.

Marco's refusal to speak to her was one difficulty she had no intention of burdening her godmother with, Cass thought as she placed yet another call to Fivizzano Inc. She was tired of speaking to the same PA and receiving the same firm, but polite answer: ‘I am sorry,
signorina
, but Signor di Fivizzano cannot take your call. He's too busy today.'