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‘Now, if there’s nothing else, I have some work to do.’
Except Leonie didn’t move. She just stood there in the lovely gown, looking at him. Sympathy in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Cristiano. What happened with my father and Anna...with your son.’
The knife between his ribs sank deeper, pain rippling outwards, and he found he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were white. ‘I told you. Do not—’
‘You were young and you didn’t know.’ Leonie was suddenly standing right in front of his desk, that terrible piercing gaze of hers on him. ‘You were used. You were betrayed by someone you thought you could trust.’ There was blue flame burning in her eyes, conviction in her voice. ‘And you had every right—every right—to be angry.’
‘No,’ he heard himself say hoarsely, and then he was on his feet, his hands in fists, fury flooding through him. ‘Maybe I did have every right, but I should have controlled it. Controlled myself. I barged into that party, shouting like a monster, and I scared my son, Leonie. Iterrifiedhim. And he ran straight to Victor as if I was the devil himself.’
His jaw ached, his every muscle stiff with tension, and he wanted to stop talking but the words kept on coming.
‘I would have taken him, too. I would have ripped him from Victor’s arms if Anna hadn’t stopped me. If she hadn’t thrown herself in front of Victor and told me that this was why she’d left me. Because I terrified her.’
Leonie was coming, moving around the side of the desk towards him, and he shoved the chair back, wanting to put some distance between them. But she was there before he could move, reaching out to cup his face between her small hands.
‘You’renotto blame,’ she insisted, her voice vibrating with fierce emotion. ‘That man—myfather—’ she spat the word as if it were poison ‘—took your son from you. He seduced your wife from you. He had no right. And it wasnotyour fault. Just like the deaths of your parents weren’t your fault.’
The fire in her eyes was all-consuming, mesmerising.
‘Just like it wasn’t my fault my mother left and my father just accepted I was dead and never once looked for confirmation.’
Her grip held him still, her conviction almost a physical force.
‘You were angry because you cared about him, Cristiano. And, yes, caring hurts—but wouldn’t you rather have had the pain than feel nothing for him? Than for all of that to have meant nothing at all?’
He couldn’t move. He was held in place by her hands on him. By the passion and fierce anger that burned in her lovely face. Passion that burned forhim.
His world tilted again and he was falling right off the face of it. And there was no one to hold on to but her.
Cristiano reached for her, hauled her close. And crushed her mouth beneath his.
Leonie was shaking as Cristiano kissed her, sliding her hands down the wall of his rock-hard chest, curling her fingers into his shirt, holding on to him.
She hadn’t meant to confront him. Hadn’t meant to hurt him. But she knew shehadhurt him. She’d seen the flare of agony in his green eyes as she’d mentioned his son, had heard the harsh rasp of it in his beautiful voice as he’d told her that he’d lost what he’d had. And so, no, he didn’t want more.
But he’d lied. Of course he wanted more. She felt his longing every time he touched her, every time he pushed inside her. It was there in the demanding way he kissed her, in the brutal rhythm of his hips as he claimed her, stamping his possession on her. In the way he said her name when he came, and in the way he held her so tightly afterwards, as if he didn’t want her to get away.
That was fine with her; she loved the way he wanted her. But she hadn’t understood why he kept denying that was what he wanted until now. Until he’d tried to end the conversation.
It had all become clear to her then.
Of course he didn’t want more. Because he blamed himself for the loss of his wife and child and he thought he didn’t deserve more.
She’d told him that day on the stairs that he wasn’t responsible for his parents’ death, but it was clear that he hadn’t taken that on board. That the guilt he was carrying around extended to the loss of his son.
And she didn’t know why, but his pain had felt like a knife in her own heart.
She hadn’t been able to stop the fierce anger that had risen inside her on his behalf, the fierce need to make him understand that he didn’t have to take responsibility for what had happened because it wasn’t his fault. None of it was.
He might act as if he was frightening, as if he was bad, but he wasn’t. There was nothing about him that was cruel or mean or petty. That was violent or bullying. He was simply a man whose emotions ran fathoms deep and so very strong. A man who’d lost so very much.
She couldn’t bear to see him hurt.
He gripped her tight, lifting her, then turning to put her on the desk, ravaging her mouth as he did so. She spread her legs, dropping her hands to his lean hips to pull him closer, the fall of her skirts getting in the way.
‘Leonie,’ he said hoarsely against her mouth. ‘Not like this,gatita. Not again.’
‘But I—’
