The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize Page 9

  She knew it did now. And she knew it was the kind of intensity that fiction simply couldn’t prepare you for.

  His lips had barely skimmed hers last night and she had felt like the moon and stars had fallen from the sky and scattered around her in the garden, leaving the world upside down, glittering all around her, rather than in the distance.

  But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to lose her head over him. That was the last thing she had told her grandmother. That she would not allow him to seduce her.

  Her grandmother had warned her away from this kind of thing in vague terms, and when the subject of the painting had come up, just before they’d come to retrieve it, it had become clear to Gabriella why. Her grandmother had been wounded by a man such as this. One who was powerful, handsome.

  One she was not meant to be with.

  Quite apart from the fact that Gabriella couldn’t imagine a future with a man like this, one who didn’t believe in love, or commitment, she was a princess. And even if she didn’t have a throne she would be required to make a certain kind of marriage.

  It would not be to an Italian American businessman who had no pedigree. That just wouldn’t do.

  She blinked, trying to get a hold on her thoughts. The last thing he needed to know was that she was thinking about sex or marriage in connection with him.

  “Well, there’s no need for you to dress me. I will dress myself. But tonight we need to try and look for that room my grandmother spoke of. We need to try and find the painting.”

  “I agree with you. I think tonight might be the time we change the nature of this farce, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we have established that you are nothing more than my assistant. No one suspects that you are Princess Gabriella D’Oro, and no one has any reason to. Tonight you will be wearing a beautiful dress, and your face will be covered by a mask keeping you from being recognized… When we slip away together a little bit early, it will hardly be suspicious. At least not if I have been holding you in my arms a little bit more closely than I have for the previous nights.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Tonight, you will play the part of my lover, Gabriella. There will be no scandal, and it will be the perfect excuse for us to slip away.”

  Her throat was dry, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it might gain enough momentum to tumble up her throat and come spilling out of her mouth. “But I…”

  “You don’t know how? You don’t know how to play the part of doting lover?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “I have no worries about that. I can more than handle you, Alessandro.”

  “You see, when you say my full name like that, I become convinced that you are a bit more nervous than you let on.”

  “And when you take on that dry tone, I begin to suspect that you are a little bit more off-kilter than you like to let on. Perhaps it is you having a difficult time figuring out how you will play the part of my lover. But don’t worry, I will be wearing a mask. So my looks shouldn’t put you off.”

  “Did my kiss last night not prove to you that I don’t find you unattractive?”

  “The only thing your kiss last night proved is that you very much like playing games. But I don’t like being the subject of them.”

  A man like Alessandro would never want a woman like her. With her large glasses and ill-fitting clothing—the only thing she had ever worn in front of him—her face devoid of makeup, he would never look twice at her.

  Likely, he had seen her as a challenge, and he had set out to conquer her. Because that’s who he was.

  Well, she refused to be conquered.

  “I have no problem playing the part of your lover tonight, Alex,” she said, keeping her tone frosty. “But do not get any ideas about making it real. I understand what manner of man you are. I understand what motivates you. I am a source of amusement to you, as you have made very plain. I will not allow you to amuse yourself with my body.”

  Filled with a new sense of dignified rage, she stormed toward the estate. She had no idea why she was reacting this way. Had no idea why she hadn’t seen all of this before. Had she truly imagined that he had been attracted to her? That the kiss had been genuine? That the rake had gone after the wallflower?

  She was as much a fool for a beautiful face as her grandmother had feared.

  As much a fool as anyone in her family was. Perhaps that was the curse. Her grandmother had fallen prey to a man. And had her heart broken by him. Her mother threw herself in front of men as though she were a willing victim and they were an oncoming train. Only to find herself tangled, destroyed, after each affair. Chipping away pieces of her marriage, pieces of herself.

  Perhaps, in spite of all her attention to avoid such emotions, Gabriella should have truly known better.

  She rushed through the estate, heading toward her room. Once safely inside, she closed the door and locked the connecting one between her room and Alex’s. She would have to face him tonight. Tonight, she would have to pretend that she was his lover. She would need to fortify herself to cope with that.

  She sat on her bed, breathing hard, anger, hurt, rising up inside of her.

  But with a few breaths came clarity.

  The only solution here would be to take control of the situation. Alex saw himself as above temptation, she knew that. He only gave in when he chose to. And of course, he didn’t want her.

  But tonight, she would make him want her. She would. She would turn the tables.

  He would be the one left unsatisfied. He would be the one who didn’t sleep because he was burning. But she would never give in to him. She would make him want her, and then, she would turn away.

  She flopped backward onto the bed, a smile crossing her lips. She was incredibly satisfied with this new plan. With this vision for the future that put her much more in charge of things than she’d been previously. Yes, last night she had momentarily lost her head over Alex. And there were a few moments today when she had done so, as well.

  But it would not happen again. If anyone was going to lose their head tonight, it was going to be him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALEX HAD BEEN dimly aware of the fact that Gabriella was a princess. He had originally fooled himself that she was not attractive, but now was exceedingly aware of the fact that she was beautiful. But what he had not realized was that, even behind the little gold mask that covered her eyes and part of her nose, her regal bearing would shine through.

  What he had not realized was that, even with most of her face covered, her beauty would be undeniable. What he had not realized was that, in a designer gown that clung to her generous curves, she would be a temptation he was not sure he had the strength to resist.

  He hadn’t realized that manner of temptation still existed for him.

  Her dark hair was left loose, styled in dark curls, full lips painted red, the only part of her face that was visible. Her dress was a bright blue, the neckline high, covering more of her golden skin than he would like. But it hinted at a figure more spectacular than he had thought it could be. It clung to her hips and thighs before flaring out at the knee and billowing about her feet.

  She was, in truth, a much more elegant creature than he had ever imagined. It was like looking at a stranger, and yet someone familiar at the same time.

  Then she took a step forward, turning her foot sideways, and tripping slightly on her heel. “Drat!” she said, straightening and fussing with the bottom of her dress.

  He smiled, because there was the Gabriella he had grown to know over the past few days.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, the compliment rolling effortlessly off his tongue. She did look beautiful. She was more than beautiful.

  “You don’t have to say things like that,” she said.

  His chest tightened. He had wounded her earlier, and he bitterly regretted that. Still, he wasn’t entirely certain it was bad if she didn’t truly believe him attracted to
her. He would never be like his father. He would never be the sort of man who simply took what he wanted without considering the feelings of others.

  As a young man he had fixated on that little boy standing outside of the manor that night, the bastard child of his father who’d caused the car accident that killed his parents.

  He had spent a great many years blaming that little boy. Hiding that little boy’s existence. Something he bitterly regretted later on in his life. Something he had done his very best to make right. But it had been too late. Nate’s life had been broken beyond recognition. Rejected by the only family he might have had, because of his birth.

  Alex had brought Nate back into the family’s life when his grandfather had needed a bone marrow transplant and no one else had been a match. He hadn’t regretted it, but he and his half brother had never made much of a relationship with each other.

  As an adult his memory of the events of that night had expanded. Not just to his mother, and her distress. Not just to the boy. But to the other woman, who was equally broken. Who had been brought into his father’s web somehow, who had born his child and received no support. Yes, more and more he thought about her. He thought about every single person who had been damaged by his father’s selfishness. By his unchecked lust.

  The more the years passed, the more he realized his father was the villain.

  Alex was a great many things, but he refused to become that manner of monster.

  And that meant he would never touch Gabriella. She was so very different than anyone he’d ever known. So untouched by the ugly things in the world. She had seen the way her parents had behaved, and she had managed to retain a kind of simple, open view of the world he could never remember possessing. She had retained her hope. He would be damned if he were the one to take that from her.

  One thing was certain, while he might be able to give her physical pleasure, he would never be able to offer anything beyond that. Nothing more than pain.

  His family was stuck with him. The damage to Nate was done.

  He would extend that damage no further.

  “Shall we go to the ball, Cinderella?”

  He extended his hand and she looked at it as though it might bite her. “If I’m Cinderella,” she said, keeping her hands fixed firmly to her sides, “does that make you my fairy godmother?”

  “Never. Fairy godmothers are endlessly giving. They live to bestow gifts with no hope of receiving anything in return.” He smiled. “I’m not so selfless.”

  “And what exactly do you hope to get in return for your gifts?”

  “I’m getting it. Right now. As I told you, you look beautiful.”

  He could see pink color bleeding beneath her skin, spreading outside the edges of the mask, revealing her blush to him. Reviewing the pleasure she took in his compliment. “And you… You look like the Phantom of the Opera.”

  He touched the white mask on his face. “That’s kind of the point.”

  “Except you aren’t hideously scarred.”

  “My scars are metaphorical in nature.”

  “The same can be said for most of us, I suppose. Though scarring is kept to a minimum when you spend most of your time in the library.”

  “I knew my lack of a library would become problematic one day.”

  “Right now, the only problem we have is a lack of a painting,” she said, gently steering the conversation back to the reason for all of this.

  She was good at that. He was losing the plot. Completely. For a moment he had forgotten that he had a goal that extended beyond dancing with her tonight. A goal that went past seeing her in this gown and that mask.

  Time moved a strange pace here. It was slower. Being away from his phone, his desk, being outside of his world, was doing strange things to him. He wasn’t entirely certain he disliked it.

  “Then I suggest we get a move on. The painting will wait for no man. Except it has done exactly that for the past fifty-plus years.”

  This time, she did take his hand. And he was the one tempted to pull away. From the heat. From the silken quality of her touch. He didn’t. He was the experienced party. The touch of a woman’s hand against his should not be cause for any reaction whatsoever.

  He knew that. Repeated it over and over as he led her from their quarters down the long hall and toward the ballroom.

  No matter how committed he was to understanding it on an intellectual level, he could not convince his body to agree.

  So he did his best to concentrate on the feeling of his feet making contact with the marble floor. One step, then another. When he focused on that, the burn, where her skin made contact with his, lessened.

  A bit.

  They approached the doors to the ballroom and two elegantly appointed staff, not wearing masks, opened the double doors for both of them. “I feel like I should bow,” he said, leaning in to whisper the words in her ear. “But at my age it might be bad for my back.”

  She looked up at him, dark eyes glinting from behind the mask. “Stop that.”

  “But it’s so much fun.”

  She rolled her eyes and he led her into the ballroom where couples were already dancing. “This room… It’s amazing,” she said, looking about them at the high, painted ceiling before her eyes fell to the pale walls, made ornate by sconces and crisp white molding.

  Nothing about the designer dresses the other women were wearing. Of course not. Gabriella preferred art and architecture. Always.

  “Gabby,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. She didn’t look nearly as annoyed as she typically did when he used the nickname. She looked… There was something strange in her expression. Something he feared he understood. Something he wished he hadn’t seen. “If you keep staring at the walls with more admiration than you afford me no one will believe it when we slip away.”

  He led her deeper into the ballroom, toward the dance floor, and her attention drifted from him as she continued to stare at the walls, at the art, probably at particularly historically significant dust motes, knowing her.

  “That could be a problem,” she said, distracted.

  “Yes. One I will correct.”

  He chose that moment to pull her into his arms, into a closed hold. Her attention snapped back to him. “What are we doing?”

  “Dancing,” he said as he led her into the first step.

  “So we are,” she said, one hand caught up in his, the other resting on his shoulder.

  She curled her fingers in a fist, as though she were afraid to touch him too much so she needed to minimize the amount of skin making contact with his jacket.

  “I feel tonight we might be very rude.”

  “Will we?”

  “Yes. We should socialize with everyone. You should approach the women and ask them who they are wearing and I should try and forge as many business connections as I possibly can with everyone in attendance. But I’m not going to. And neither are you. Because tonight we are only going to look at each other. We are only going to stay for the minimum amount of time and we’re going to make the world believe that I could not wait one more moment to have you in my arms.”

  He could feel the breath leave her entire body, could feel her limbs go stiff. “I’m in your arms right now.”

  “No. Not like this. It would be different.”

  “How?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper, her dark eyes full of fear, curiosity and excitement.

  “It would be different because we would be alone. Because if there was nothing around us but all of these beautiful walls and I were to take you into my arms you would know that there were no limits to what might happen next. Everything would be different. It would be quiet, there would be no music. Only our breathing. The air around us would be different.”

  She swallowed visibly. “That’s what…that’s what everyone will think is going to happen?”

  “Yes. By the end of this dance no one will be in any doubt that the moment I have you alone we will not be discussing art, let
alone looking at paintings.”

  He drew her closer as the music changed, not releasing her between songs, but rather continuing to sway gently with her. “But we are,” she said, “looking at paintings.”

  “Of course,” he said, never taking his eyes from her. “Touch my face, Gabriella.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “I want you to lift your hand from my shoulder, and rest your palm against my face. I want you to take your fingertips and trace my jaw, down to my chin, then bring your hand to rest on my chest.”

  “Why?” she asked, her expression almost frantic.

  “It’s for the painting.” He ignored the dull beating of his heart—it was for a lot more than that. That reminded him there were other ways to do this.

  She obeyed his command, even while her expression remained frightened. Soft skin made contact with his face, the light drift of her fingertips along his cheek, down his jaw and then, just as he had told her to, she brought it to rest against his chest. He was certain that she could feel his heart, beating hard beneath her palm.

  He never took his eyes off hers as he slipped his arm slowly from around her waist and reached for her wrist, curling his fingers around it and drawing her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.

  “That wasn’t… You didn’t…”

  He released his hold on her, raising his hand to capture her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I suppose I didn’t. How many ‘Hail Marys’ do you suppose I have to say to atone for that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice raspy, scraped raw.

  “It has been longer than I care to remember since my last confession. But for you, I would gladly get on my knees.”

  Gabriella straightened, as though bolts of lightning had just shot straight down her spine, as though she had been hit with a thought so real, so strong, it had manifested itself physically. “You’re very good at empty flirtation, Alex.” She moved her arm around his neck, placing her fingers on his skin. “I wonder what might happen if you had to make good on any of your promises.”