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All she could see was that hot stare and the possessive fire in it, and it twisted the pleasure tighter, harder. She wanted to be possessed. She wanted to be taken. And she wanted to take in return. Because, as much as he wanted her to be his, she wanted something to call her own.
He could be that for you.
Her heart slammed against her ribs and she curled her legs around his lean waist, holding him tightly to her, forgetting how he’d hurt her, how he’d lied to her in that moment.
‘You could be mine, too,’ she whispered hoarsely as he thrust into her again, making her gasp in pleasure. ‘You could be, Cristiano.’
He didn’t reply, but the fire in his eyes climbed higher. His fingers curled into her hair, protecting her head from the hard stone of the stairs, but he gave her no mercy from the brutal thrust of his hips. As if he could impress himself into her. As if he was trying to make her part of the stones of the castle itself.
And beneath the passion she could feel his need, could sense it in some deep part of her heart. The need for touch and warmth and connection. So she gave it to him, wrapping herself around him, and he took it, holding tight to her as he gave her the most intense pleasure in return.
It didn’t take long.
He grabbed one her hands and guided her own fingers between her thighs, holding it down over that tight, aching bundle of nerves. And then he thrust again, deeper, harder, as he held her fingers there until the desperation inside her exploded into ecstasy and the entrance hall rang with the sounds of her cries.
She was hardly aware of his own growl as he followed her, murmuring her name roughly against her neck.
For long moments afterwards she didn’t want to move, quite happy to sit on the cold stone of the stairs, with Cristiano’s heat warming her through. But then he was shifting, withdrawing from her, dealing with the aftermath. Only after that was done did he reach for her, gathering her up into his arms and holding her close against his chest as he climbed the rest of the way up the stairs.
He carried her down a long and echoing stone corridor and into a room with a massive four-poster bed pushed against one wall. There he stripped her naked, put her down on it, and proceeded to make her forget her own name.
CHAPTER NINE
CRISTIANOFINISHEDUPthe phone call he was on with his PR people then leaned back in the old hand-carved wooden chair that sat behind his father’s massive antique desk, reflecting once again on how hideously uncomfortable it was.
His father had liked the chair—his father had liked all the heavy old wooden furniture in the ducal study—but Cristiano had already decided that the chair had to go. Especially if he was going to make his home here—and he was certainly considering it.
Thecastillowas different with Leonie in it. She’d spent the past week investigating every corner of the ancient stones, exclaiming over things like the deep window seat in the library that could be enclosed when the heavy velvet curtains were drawn. Like the big bathroom that had been modernised to a point, but still retained a giant round bath of beaten copper. The cavernous dining room, where he’d had many a silent dinner with his parents, now filled up with Leonie’s questions about the history of the estate and thecastilloitself. Like the tapestries on the walls and the huge kitchen fireplace that was large enough to roast a whole cow in and probably had. The courtyard with the overgrown rose garden, the orchard full of orange trees, and the meadow beyond where he’d used to play as a child, pretending he had brothers and sisters to play with him.
But those memories seemed distant now—especially now he’d created new ones. Memories that were all about her laughter, her husky voice, her bright smile. Her cries of pleasure. Her bright hair tangled in his fingers and her warmth as he took her in yet another of those old, cold rooms.
He’d even taken her in that window seat in the library, and the memories of books flaming and shelves burning as bright as his anger were buried under flames and heat of a different kind.
It was better—much better. And the castle didn’t feel so cold any more, or so silent. In fact, it felt as if summer had come to stay in the halls, making the place seem warmer and so much brighter than he remembered.
He was even considering staying on here with her after the wedding—and why not? She would be his wife, after all, and now they were spending every night, not to mention quite a few days, exploring the chemistry between them, it seemed only logical to indulge in a honeymoon, as it were. Maybe even beyond that.
He’d thought about the possibility of having an heir with her and tainting that precious de Riero bloodline even before they’d left Paris, and the idea certainly still held its appeal. He could create a home here with her. Create a family the way Victor de Riero had created a family.
You really want to have another child?
Something jolted inside him, a kind of electric shock, and he had to push himself out of his chair and take a couple of steps as restlessness coiled tight through his muscles.
Another child...
Intellectually, the idea was a sound one, and it would certainly make his revenge all the sweeter—so why did the thought make him feel as if ice was gathering in the pit of his stomach?
‘I’m so sorry about your son...’
The memory of Leonie’s voice on the stairs drifted back to him, the sound husky with emotion, her eyes full of a terrible sympathy, bringing with it another hard, electric jolt.
It had felt as if she was cutting him open that day, and he’d told her not to speak of it before he’d been able to stop himself. Before he’d been able to pretend that the thought of his child no longer had the power to hurt him.
So much for detachment.
His hands dropped into fists at his sides and he took a slow breath.
Yes, he could recognise that the thought of having another child was difficult for him, but he also had to recognise that this situation was different. Any child he had with Leonie would be born in pursuit of his revenge, nothing more. It would not be for him. Which meant it was perfectly possible for him to remain detached.
