Mistress To a Latin Lover: The Sicilian's Defiant Mistress / The Italian's Pregnant Mistress / The Italian's Mistress

“Why are you marrying in Padua?”

She swallowed. “He thought it was romantic—”

“That’s not why.”

She looked up at him. His features were granite hard, his dark eyes fierce and fixed on her face. “Then I don’t know why, Maximos. Okay?”

He was walking around her, a strange stalking that left her deeply uneasy. “It’s not okay. You say you’re marrying him. That means you must love him. So why don’t you know him better?” He stopped in front of her, towering over her. “And why did you agree to marry in Padua? He’s not from there. He doesn’t have a home there and I’m quite sure you’ve never been there.”

“It sounded romantic—”

“That’s not it.” Maximos suddenly crouched before her, his arms on either side of her, hands against her hips locking her in place. “You’re lying, Cass. And I don’t know if you’re lying to yourself, or lying to me, but I won’t let you do it. This isn’t you, isn’t like you—”

She tried to pull back but there was no escape. “You don’t know me!”

“Not know you?” He laughed, his dark features twisting with disbelief. “I know everything about you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CASS was dangerously close to tears but she wouldn’t give in to them, wouldn’t give in to him. He’d made their lives a living hell by playing her…using her…letting her hope, dream…

“Wrong!” she choked, hands knotted, fingers fisted. “You know what you wanted to know. You believed what you wanted to believe. But one thing is truth, the other is fantasy, and I’ll tell you the truth. I’m not the girl I was.” She threw her head back, her face flushed, her skin so hot she thought it would peel off. “And I’m not playing nice anymore.”

“Obviously not. If he can convince you to play along with his little charade—”

“It’s not a charade.”

“Well, bella, I’d be willing to bet you one hundred thousand dollars there’s no wedding, and that if I called the churches in Padua, there’s nothing on the books, and if I pressed you harder, you’d tell me there’s no ring, no engagement, nothing of substance here.” He stared into her face, his body close, too close, heat and power emanating from him in waves. “Care to make that bet?”

For a moment she couldn’t answer, the air bottled in her lungs and all she could do was remember the way he’d taken her against the wall, taken advantage of her body, her senses, the way he played her then even as he did now.

Maximos did know her. He knew her too well. “No,” she whispered.

“No,” he echoed, a half smile shaping his lips. “I didn’t think so.”

He abruptly rose and she scooted back on the bed, watching him take several steps back. His jaw jutted, his anger was palpable. “So how much is Sobato paying you?”

“He’s not paying me anything!”

“So what then was your price? Because you must have been damn expensive. Did he offer cash? Stocks? Ownership in the company?”

“You make me sound like a prostitute!”

“Close enough in my mind. First you’re my mistress and now you’re his.”

“I’m not his mistress.” She jumped from the bed, marched on him. “I’m not his mistress. He’s paid me nothing, offered me nothing. He knew I wanted to see you, knew I needed to see you—”

“Why?”

She was angry, so angry she could hardly see straight. Her hands clenched, her chest rose and fell. “Because I thought I still cared about you. I thought there was something between us—” she broke off, shook her head, livid “—obviously I was wrong.”

“If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called me.”

“You wouldn’t have talked.” Her eyes felt hot with tears. “You never talk on the phone. You hardly say anything even when we’re together. You communicate with sex—”

“Maximos?” A young woman stood hesitantly in the doorway. Dark hair, medium height, she was very slender, almost ethereal in her pale pink slip dress, the delicate straps of the dress highlighting her perfect shoulders tanned a honey-bronze and the hint of high full breasts molded by the delicate pink fabric. “I’ve been sent to find you.”

Maximos glanced at his watch. “I’m late,” he said with a sigh.

“You are,” she agreed, smiling a little, less nervous than she’d been moments ago. “And your mother is already in the car.”

Maximos understood. He headed toward the door, and approaching the young woman, he kissed her on both cheeks. “My mother’s fretting.”

The woman’s expression was mischievous. “She is your mother after all.”

Cass’s tummy flipped at the playful, and yet intimate, exchange. They were close, Cass realized, and it crossed her mind that they might just be more than friends…

Cass looked away as Maximos dropped a kiss on the woman’s forehead. “Tell Mother I’ll be right down.”

“Okay,” she answered, before whispering something in his ear that made him laugh and then disappearing again down the hall.

But Maximos’s laugher died as he turned to face Cass. For a long moment he stared at her, his dark brows heavy, his gaze speculative. “I hope you know what you’re doing, carissima.”

His dark gaze held hers and for one second she let herself get lost in his dark eyes, in the stillness that set him apart, in the silence where he didn’t share what he thought, or wanted. At least not with her. “I hope so, too,” she answered.

A flicker of emotion passed through his eyes. “Be careful that Sobato doesn’t hurt you,” Maximos added after a moment.

“He can’t.” She struggled to smile. “My heart’s already broken.”

“Since when?”

“February.” When you left me. But she didn’t have to add the last part. He knew. She saw the realization register in his eyes and then he’d shuttered the emotion and his expression was blank again.

“I’ll see you at the dinner,” he said, before walking out.

And God, he was good at that, she thought, awash in pain, alive with feeling. No one was as good as Maximos at walking out.

For several minutes after Maximos left, Cass stood at the mirror in the ensuite bath and tried to finish getting ready for the party but couldn’t seem to muster the energy to do her hair or apply makeup.

Hair and makeup seemed so pointless. No matter how much she dressed up the outside, she’d still feel the same on the inside. And on the inside she felt old, and tired, and very sad.

Losing Maximos in February had been awful, but the miscarriage had been the final blow, the one she couldn’t seem to recover from.

And looking at her face bare of makeup she could see her age in her face, see the small creases near her eyes, the two faint grooves near her mouth. She was thirty. Single. And very much alone.

People at work called her invincible. They believed she was unemotional, unsentimental, married to her job. And maybe once upon a time she had been that tough career woman. But losing Maximos and the baby had changed all that. For the first time in twentysomething years Cass wanted something that wasn’t tied to work, achievement or material success.

She wanted to feel loved. She longed to be part of something bigger than herself, something warmer and stronger.