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But even that plain black uniform didn’t stop memories of the night before rolling through him. Of her silken skin beneath his fingers, of the cries she’d made, of how tightly she’d gripped him as he’d slid inside her, of the look in her eyes as she’d stared up at him.
He’d told himself that the sex didn’t matter, that it was physical, nothing more, and yet he couldn’t get it out of his head. Couldn’t get the memory of her white face as he’d told her the truth that he’d known who she was all this time out of his head, either.
He’d been right. Not only had he shocked her, he’d hurt her, too. She hadn’t even known that her father thought she was dead. And what had been worse was the feeling that had swept through him as those big violet eyes had stared back at him in shock and betrayal. The need to go to the bed and sweep her into his arms had been strong. To hold her. Soothe her. Comfort her.
But he hadn’t allowed himself to give in to those feelings. Instead he’d watched as his littlegatitahad drawn on some hidden core of strength, her pain and shock vanishing beneath her usual stubborn belligerence and an emotion he was all too familiar with.
Anger.
He’d hoped telling her the truth would make her aware of what kind of man he was and put some distance between them, and it had. He just hadn’t expected to feel quite so disappointed about that—or disappointed in her demands. The money wasn’t important—it wasn’t an outrageous sum—it was the fact that she didn’t want him to touch her again that he cared about. Which was especially enraging since he wasn’t supposed to care.
Your emotions are involved with her whether you like it or not.
Yes, which meant he had toun-involve them.
Difficult when touching her was all he wanted to do.
The car wound through yet another green valley, with vineyards spread out on either side, almost to the foothills of the sharp, jagged mountains rising above them. But Cristiano wasn’t watching the homeland he hadn’t been to in years unroll before him. He was too busy watching the woman sitting beside him.
She had her head turned away, and was staring at the view outside. The sun was falling over the fine grain of her skin and turning her hair to fire.
Beautifulgatita.
He couldn’t stop the sound of her voice replaying in his head, even huskier than it normally was, telling him how her mother had told her that her father hadn’t wanted her, that he’d wanted a son instead.
Cristiano didn’t know what to think about that, because it was certainly something that Victor de Riero had wanted. And maybe it had been true that Hélène couldn’t have any more children. Maybe that had been part of the reason for de Riero targeting Anna. He’d wanted a new, more fertile wife for an heir.
‘I thought he didn’t look for me because he didn’t care...’
A deep sympathy he didn’t want to feel sat in his chest like a boulder, weighing him down. All those years she’d been on the streets, thinking herself unwanted. Where had Hélène been? Gone, it was clear, leaving Leonie to fend for herself. Alone.
He knew that feeling. He knew what it was to be alone. He’d had it all his childhood, as the only child of a man who’d cared more about his duties as duke than being a father, and a woman who’d preferred socialite parties to being a mother.
No wonder you scared Anna away. You were an endless well of need.
Cristiano dragged his gaze from Leonie and tried to concentrate on his phone call instead of the snide voice in his head.
Another reason not to care—as if he needed one. His emotions were destructive, and he had to make sure he stayed detached from them, which meant caring about Leonie wasn’t something he should do.
He shouldn’t give in to this sexual hunger, either, no matter how badly he wanted to. Letting one little kitten get the better of him just wasn’t going to happen.
He leaned back in his seat, shifting slightly, uncomfortable with being so long in the car. Then he noticed that Leonie had tensed. Her gaze was flicking from the window to him, her hand lifting an inch from her thigh before coming down again. Colour crept into her cheeks as she turned towards the window again.
Interesting. So she was physically aware of him, perhaps as painfully as he was aware of her, which made sense. Because she’d loved everything he’d done to her and had answered his passion with her own fierce, untutored desire. A hunger like that, once released, didn’t die. It burned for ever. She wouldn’t be able to ignore it the way she had on the streets.
Cristiano didn’t smile, but he allowed himself a certain satisfaction, filing away her response for future reference. Then he focused completely on his phone call as the car wound its way through another vineyard and then the tiny ancient village that had once been part of his estate. They moved on up into the mountains, and from there down a rocky, twisting driveway that led at last to thecastillohe’d been born in.
Thecastillohe’d grown up in.
The big, emptycastillothat had echoed with nothing but silence after his parents had been killed.
And that was your fault, too.
Cristiano tensed as the car cleared the trees and Leonie sat forward as thecastillocame into view.
‘You live here?’ she asked, in tones of absolute astonishment. ‘In a castle?’
It was literally a castle, built into the hillside. A medieval fortress that his warlord ancestors had held for centuries. Had it really been fifteen years since he’d been back?
