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He’d been scheming. Laying the perfect bait for her downfall. And like a lamb to the slaughter, she’d walked right into his trap.
Just as she’d been a weak, trusting lamb throughout her father’s machinations, childhood fears of abandonment unconsciously stalking her into adulthood so stealthily that she hadn’t realised she was being taken advantage of until it was too late. She’d sacrificed herself for her father.
And now she was to be a sacrifice for Javier Santino.
A sheer wall of dread rose before her, every single brain cell frozen as she was caught in suspended animation.
From far away, she heard Javier speak but she couldn’t rouse herself from the horror of her circumstances.
Firm hands caught her elbows. Eyes fringed by thick lashes narrowed. ‘What is wrong with you, Carla? Or should I call you The Ice Princess? Isn’t that what the media calls you? You’re certainly dressed for it.’
Numbly, she glanced down at her white palazzo pantsuit. The jacket’s severely cut style opened at the elbows when she lifted her arms, and the sleeves dropped almost to the floor. Teamed with a white silk camisole and white stilettos, the ensemble broadcasted a cutting-edge style suitable for a woman at the top of her game. Or so the stylist had insisted when she’d arrived with the clothes this morning. Staring at the get-up, she suddenly saw differently.
White, for innocent sacrificial lambs.
White, for fools.
The hysterical laughter she’d tried to stem bubbled up from her chest and burst free. It sounded strange in the impressive, masculine room. But the crack in her self-control felt good.
So good she couldn’t stop laughing.
Javier blinked, then jerked her once. ‘Carla!’
Laughter cut off like a light switch. ‘I thought I was only Miss Nardozzi to you?’
Puzzlement tracked over his face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded again.
‘What do you care?’ she flung at him.
‘I don’t, except I’d prefer not to have a conversation with a woman who’s acting like a walking, talking zombie.’
‘Right in this moment, I wish I were one.’
A dark frown clamped his brow. ‘Excuse me?’
Another bubble of laughter bursting free, she shook her head. ‘You should see your face, Javier. Is this not going how you expected? Did you expect me to be a quivering idiot in the light of your revelation? Did you—what are you doing?’ she screeched as strong arms lifted her off her feet.
In half a dozen strides he pinned her against a wall. They stared at each other for a charged, timeless second. Then someone moved. Her gasp was swallowed by the mouth that slanted over hers, the domineering possession so electrifyingly potent, every trace of numbness was instantly zapped from her body.
In its place raw, intense emotion flooded. Every sensation she’d retreated from surged in a tidal wave of feeling, concentrating in that powerful connection of their fused lips. From one heartbeat to the next, they tore at each other. Tongues duelled, groans fought for supremacy, hands searched and groped. And Javier came out on top each time, his indomitable will pounding into her, into the kiss until she was a seething ball of sensation, ready to be done with as he pleased.
Gradually the other emotions receded, leaving her with a deep, decadent arousal she’d only believed existed in her dreams. The realisation that it did not had her surging up on tiptoes, eager to experience more of it.
Javier deepened the kiss, his hands moulding her, his teeth nipping at her full lower lip. Powerful thighs parted hers and he planted himself firmly between them, the evidence of his arousal unmistakeable.
Dio, but he felt glorious. And he made her feel alive!
About to spike her hand through his hair, demand more, more, more, she was brought back to earth when her arms were wrenched from around his neck and pinned ruthlessly to her sides.
‘Do I have your attention now?’ he rasped.
White lamb. Sacrificial fool.
She glimpsed the menacing look in his eyes and her insides turned to useless jelly. ‘Wh-what do you plan to do to me?’
Teeth bared in a cruel smile, he dropped his head and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers in a gesture so divorced from affection, it staked a cold knife of fear in her heart.
‘Where would be the fun in laying it all out for you, Principessa? All you need to know is that by the time I’m done with you, you’ll know that you should never have used me the way you did three years ago. Before I’m done with you, Carla Nardozzi, you’ll get on your knees and beg my forgiveness.’
