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But she couldn’t tell him that. He was probably just making small talk. How great a fool would she be to tell him she was already falling for his playboy charm? He didn’t need another gullible female believing the lying promises of his gaze.
“I told you.” She looked away. In the distance, she saw the dark shadows of the craggy hills against the pale violet of the moonlit horizon. “I am impossible to seduce.”
He moved closer. “I don’t believe you.”
She pulled away, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“Why do you care?” she said. “You have enough women queuing up for your bed. You certainly don’t need one more falling at your feet.”
Silence fell, the only sound the distant call of night birds. He looked down at her, his body absolutely still, so close and yet not touching her.
“Ah,” he said quietly, “but you’re the woman I want.”
He wanted her?
With a sharp intake of breath, Annabelle looked up. He couldn’t have just said what she thought he said! She felt the soft night breeze against her skin. Saw a wispy cloud pass in front of the full white moon above. She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to contain the tremble of her body from within.
“But you said … you said I’m not your type,” she stammered.
“You’re not.”
“Then—”
“You’re not a type,” he cut in. “You’re different than any woman I’ve met before. Beautiful, independent, talented, restrained. I’ve had many lovers. But never a woman like you.”
Shaking, Annabelle stared up at him, feeling hot and cold all over. Her only armor against her own traitorous body’s desire had been her belief that Stefano didn’t want her. Hearing he did want her was the spark. It caused the dry timber of her lonely heart to burst into fire.
She tried to fight it. Crossing her arms, she turned away. “Why?” she said bitterly. “So you can brag about your conquest of the ice queen to your friends?”
He sucked in his breath. “Who made you like this?”
She lifted her chin. “Like what?”
He set his jaw. “I do not brag. I have no need to. And I do not see why you would even have such a fear. I’ve only ever heard one man boast about you. The rest of your lovers have been remarkably discreet. Even of such a glorious conquest as you.”
The rest of my lovers? Annabelle thought over the lump in her throat. There were no rest. There was not even one, just Patrick, a spurned would-be lover, the former mentor whom she’d thought to be her trusted friend. Until the day he’d tried to drag her into bed, and when she’d refused, he’d struck back at her in the lowest way he could.
Annabelle sucked in her breath as Stefano cupped her face with his large hands. The feel of his palms, rough and calloused against her soft skin, caused a tremble down her body.
“All other women fade into shadow beside you,” he said. His dark eyes seared her. “I want you, Annabelle. And I intend to have you. I will seduce you slowly, bit by bit, until you cannot resist me. Until you are mine. In my bed. At my pleasure.”
Her heart was hammering in her throat. Swallowing, she lifted her chin. “Many men have tried, Stefano—tried and failed.”
“But I will not.” His fingertips brushed her skin and it felt like the hot breeze of summer after a long winter. His thumb stroked her sensitive lower lip, and her whole body shuddered with repressed need.
Stefano lowered his head until it was inches from hers, and she closed her eyes, even as her body trembled for flight.
“Soon I will show you, querida,” he whispered huskily against her skin, his breath warm against her hair. “Soon, I will show you the depths of the fire inside you.”
She felt his hands on her skin, felt his powerful body against hers, and her knees went weak. She sagged in his arms as warmth and the exquisite anguish of desire flooded her body.
She could not resist … could not….
Then one of Stefano’s fingers brushed lightly over her raised scar. The effect was electric. She heard the harsh echo of a man’s voice.
You’re ugly beneath that make-up, Annabelle. A hideous monster. No wonder your mother overdosed on drugs when you were a baby. No wonder your father tried to kill you.
