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He began to move inside her and she couldn’t look away. The feeling suffusing her entire body was making her ache. She’d never known till that moment that pain could have a sweet edge.
Words stuck in her throat. Part of her wanted to tell him. Yet something held her back.
‘I had more. And I lost it.’
And she was simply a replacement for what he’d lost, wasn’t she? A handy vehicle for his revenge. He pitied her and wanted her, that was clear, but that was all she was to him.
Why don’t you just ask him?
But she didn’t want to ask him. She would lose this moment, and the moment was all she’d ever had. The moment was all there was.
So she ignored the heavy feeling in her heart, in her soul, and pulled his mouth down on hers. Losing herself to his heat and his kiss and the pleasure he could give her and letting the future take care of itself.
CHAPTER TEN
CRISTIANOWAITEDINa small side room in the ancient chapel that had once been part of the Velazquez estate. Many of his ancestors had been christened and married in this same place, before making their final journey from there to the small cemetery at the back.
He’d waited for a bride here before, his heart beating fast with happiness and excitement as he’d watched through the window for her arrival.
Today, although he was waiting for another bride, it wasn’t her he was watching for, and he felt neither excitement nor happiness. He felt cold, and a bone-deep anger was the only thing warming him as he watched for de Riero.
Initially there had been some doubt as to whether the man would accept the invitation, but curiosity and perhaps a chance to gloat had clearly won out, because he’d passed on his acceptance to one of Cristiano’s staff.
Guests were already streaming in, and journalists were gathering as per his instructions to his PR people. He wanted as many news media people there as possible to record the moment when he would lift Leonie’s veil and reveal her for the first time. To record Victor’s face when he realised that it was his daughter standing at the altar.
The daughter who was supposed to be dead.
The daughter who was now his hated enemy’s bride.
The daughter who doesn’t deserve this pettiness.
Cristiano gritted his teeth, shifting restlessly as he watched the guests enter the chapel.
It wasn’t pettiness. It was necessary. How else was he to deal with losing everything that had ever meant something to him?
Doesn’t she also mean something to you?
The memory of Leonie’s touch wound through him. Not her mouth on him, but her hands cupping his face. That fierce, passionate gaze staring up into his, telling him that none of it was his fault. As if it was vitally important to her that he understand that. As ifhewas important to her.
His hands closed into fists as he gazed sightlessly through the window.
No, he couldn’t think about this—about her. It was vital his emotions stay out of it. The important thing was that he was very close to finally getting the satisfaction he craved from de Riero—payback for the agony he had caused him—and nothing was going to stop him from getting it.
And after that?
Cristiano ignored the thought, focusing instead on the long black car that now drew up in the gravel parking area outside the chapel and the tall man that got out of it.
De Riero.
Cristiano began to smile.
And then de Riero turned as another person got out of the car. A tall, gangly teenager with a shock of black hair. De Riero said something and the boy straightened up, looking sullen. Then he reached to adjust the boy’s tie, and he must have said something else because the boy lost his sullen look, grinning reluctantly.
An arrow of pure agony pierced Cristian’s heart.
His son.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his gaze away. He purposely hadn’t looked at any pictures of the boy, or read any news stories about him. He’d simply pretended that the child had never existed.
