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At least after the deaths of his parents he’d been able to grieve. But how could he grieve a child who wasn’t dead? Who was still alive and who had no idea that Cristiano was his father?
He hasn’t grieved. Why do you think he’s so angry?
‘You’d better stop looking at me that way,gatita,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll be giving me ideas.’
She ignored that, feeling her own heart suddenly painful in her chest. ‘I’m sorry about your parents,’ she said. But she wanted him to know that although his son might not be aware of Cristiano, she was. And that she acknowledged what the loss had meant for him. ‘And I’m so sorry about your son.’
A raw emerald light flared in the duke’s eyes. That wry amusement dropped away, his whole posture tightening. ‘Do not speak of it.’ His voice vibrated with some intense, suppressed emotion.
She didn’t want to cause him pain, yet all of a sudden she wanted him to know that she understood. That she felt for him. And that to a certain extent she shared his loss—because she, too, had lost people she’d once felt something for: her mother and her father.
So she lifted a hand, thinking to reach out and touch him, having nothing else to give him but that.
‘No, Leonie,’ he ordered.
The word was heavy and final, freezing her in place.
‘I have respected your wishes by not touching you, but don’t think for one moment that it doesn’t go both ways. Not when all I can think about is having you on these stairs right now, right here.’
Her heart thudded even louder. He had respected her wishes. He hadn’t made one move towards her. And she... Well, she’d never thought that even though he’d broken her fledgling trust she’d still want him—and quite desperately.
So have him. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
It didn’t. And now there were no secrets between them, no trust to break, it could be just sex, nothing more. After all, she’d been denied so many good things—why should she deny herself this?
He’d told her she deserved better and he was certainly better than anything she’d ever had. So why couldn’t she have him?
She lifted her hand and, holding his gaze, very deliberately placed her fingertips against the line of his hard jaw, feeling the prickle of hair and the warm silk of his skin.
‘Then take me,’ she said softly.
He was completely still for long moments, unmoving beneath her hand. But his eyes burned with raw green fire.
‘Once you change your mind there will be no coming back from it, do you understand me?’ His voice was so deep, so rough. The growl of a beast. ‘This is the place of my ancestors, and if I have you here that makes you mine.’
He was always trying to warn her, to frighten her. Letting her see the fire burning in the heart of the man he was beneath the veneer of a bored playboy. But Leonie had never been easily frightened. And the man behind that veneer, with his anger, his passion and his pain, was far more fascinating to her than the playboy ever had been.
She wanted that man. And she wasn’t frightened of him. After all, she’d always wanted to be someone’s. She might as well be his.
‘Then I’ll be yours,’ she said simply.
Cristiano didn’t hesitate. Reaching out, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her in close, his mouth taking hers in a kiss that scoured all thought from her head. He kissed her hungrily, feverishly, his tongue pushing deep into her mouth and taking charge of her utterly.
But his wasn’t the only hunger.
Desire leapt inside her and she put her hands on his chest, sliding them up and around his neck, threading her fingers in the thick black silk of his hair and holding on tight. She kissed him back the way she had the night before, as hard and demanding as he was, showing him her teeth and her claws by biting him.
He growled deep in his throat. His hands were on her hips, pushing her down onto the cold stone of the stairs so she was sitting on one step while he knelt on the one below her.
He didn’t speak, making short work of the fastenings of her trousers and then stripping them off her, taking her underwear with them. The stone was icy under her bare skin, but she didn’t care. She was burning up. Everywhere he touched felt as if it was being licked by flame.
His mouth ravaged hers, nipping and biting at her bottom lip before moving down her neck to taste the hollow of her throat. She sighed, her head falling back as he cradled the back of it in his palm. His hand slid between her bare thighs, stroking and teasing, finding her slick and hot for him.
Leonie moaned, desperate for more pressure, more friction. Desperate for more of him.
And it seemed he felt the same, because there were no niceties today, no slow, gentle seduction. He ripped open the front of his trousers, his hands falling away from her as he grabbed for his wallet and dealt with the issue of protection. Then his hot palms were sliding beneath her buttocks, lifting her, positioning her, before he pushed into her in a hard, deep thrust.
The edge of the stair above her was digging into her back. She didn’t care, though, was barely conscious of it as she gasped aloud, staring up into his face. Again, he was nothing but a predator, his eyes glittering with desire, his sensual mouth drawn into a snarl as he drew his hips back and thrust again.
