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‘She is priceless. She is everything I didn’t realise I needed.’
He watched as her eyes widened in surprise at his words, and hated it that he’d said them for his father—hated that he’d somehow tainted the sentiment.
‘And I will not let you diminish her or hurt her. Take swipes at me, old man, or my company, but stay the hell away from her,’ he growled.
For a second he saw shock in his father’s eyes, but he rallied quickly.
‘You think you can go up against me and win?’ he snarled.
That was the voice he remembered from his childhood. The one that had haunted his sister’s dreams and fuelled his own need for revenge.
‘You have been nothing more than a pest, sniffing around my cast-offs. Once I win this investment with Bartlett, be assured the next business I’m coming after, son, is yours.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Father. You won’t win this deal with Bartlett. You’ve overplayed your hand and you’re desperate. I can see it. And soon so will everyone else.’
Antonio unclenched his white-knuckled fist and forced himself to relax. He placed his hand on the small of Emma’s back and guided her before him. He was thankful when she began to pick her way through the tables towards the head waiter, whose face betrayed no indication of hearing the conversation he must have heard.
Electricity crackled where his hand touched the almost indecently low back of her dress, but that wasn’t what disturbed him. He realised that she was trembling—just slightly, not visibly—but he could feel it ripple over the soft, smooth acres of skin beneath his fingertips and he couldn’t help himself.
He needed it—he needed her. He needed to wipe away that horrible encounter with his father. For her. For himself. He pulled her back, spinning her into him, and reached for what he so desperately wanted.
As his lips crashed down on hers he took advantage of the surprise she clearly felt, once again. How, after only one kiss, the taste and feel of her could be so familiar to him, he couldn’t grasp. But his hand flew out to her cheek, holding her for his kiss, feeling her skin cool beneath the warmth of his fingers. He felt the wild flutter of her pulse beneath his palm, and satisfaction thrummed through him as it kept time with his own frantic heartbeat.
His tongue delved deeply into her mouth, relishing the way hers met and matched its every move. He didn’t care that they were in a restaurant—didn’t care that his father might still be watching. This wasn’t for anyone else but them.
Starbursts of arousal and need crept up his spine, flaring and burning away the bitter taste of anger and resentment. And the moment her hand came up to his neck, pulling him to her as strongly as he wanted to pull her to him, he felt satisfaction, ownership, possession. A silent, primal roar sounded in his mind. Mine, it cried.
The realisation was startling, and enough for him to break the sensual hold that forged them together.
He drew back from their embrace, staring into eyes that were wide and dark with a desire that matched his own. Emma was breathing quickly, her cheeks flushed, and through the knowledge and the feeling of pleasure that he had done that to her, that he had caused her to feel that way, was a question ringing loudly in his mind.
Just what the hell had she done to him?
The head waiter cleared his throat discreetly and resumed his pathway towards the table where Benjamin Bartlett stood, waiting for them.
* * *
If she had known what Antonio had planned to do she would have stopped him. But, whether he’d noticed or not, the encounter with his father had unnerved her. Despite what Antonio had told her the previous night, his description of his father’s cruel, ruthless behaviour, Emma had wondered if there was some reason, some explanation for his father’s actions. She had thought he’d spoken with the hurt of an abandoned son, and now Emma felt terrible—as if that belief had somehow betrayed Antonio.
Because what she had seen in Michael Steele’s eyes, heard in his voice, had convinced her that he was a horrible man, with no conscience nor regard for others. She understood, now, Antonio’s need for revenge. Could feel it barely restrained beneath the surface of his skin. The power of it was dark, and she wished so much that he would turn away from it—even though she knew he wouldn’t.
But that kiss had momentarily short-circuited her brain. Words of reassurance and support had fled beneath the sensual onslaught of his lips, and the wicked way they had demanded arousal and pleasure from her body had made her quiver with need. A need that went unsatisfied now he’d pulled away from her, leaving her wanting and shaking with desires she had never experienced before.
Realising that he had done that in public, in the middle of the restaurant full of nearly one hundred people, frustrated and angered her. But she needed to put aside that anger, because Benjamin Bartlett was there, standing at their table, waiting for them and looking decidedly uncomfortable.
And Emma was there to help Antonio win him over. Not because of the deal, and not because she was his convenient fiancée, but because she wanted to help him. Help him put his past to rest the way he was beginning to do for her.
She forced a smile to her lips, joy to her eyes, and took the hand Bartlett extended to her.
‘Ms Guilham. It’s lovely to meet you,’ he said, his American accent more cultured than she had remembered from the call on the plane to Buenos Aires.
Unlike Michael Steele, Benjamin Bartlett seemed softer somehow, despite his height and lean stature. In some ways he was more like Antonio than Michael. Even though, at that precise moment in time, she could hardly say that there was anything soft about Antonio at all. In fact he seemed almost reluctant, as if still locked into an unconscious battle with his father.
‘Likewise, Mr Bartlett. I hope we haven’t kept you long?’
‘Not at all.’
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