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

“Three years. Four. Maybe longer.”

Cass glanced up, saw that Emilio was serious. But again, that could be Emilio acting. And he seemed to have a genuine talent for drama and theatrics. “You know her?”

“I knew her sister better.”

“Her sister?”

“Lorna.” Emilio shot Cass a sly glance. “You should ask Max about Lorna sometime. It’s not often a man gets both sisters.”

“Gets?”

“Possesses.” Emilio shrugged. “But then Maximos is rich, and powerful, and connected. No wonder Sophia still throws herself at Maximos even though he treated her older sister shamefully.”

Cass glanced at pretty Sophia but saw nothing in the girl’s manner, or behavior, to indicate that Sophia was anything but sophisticated, and refined. “Is Lorna…the other sister…here?”

Emilio hesitated, then shook his head. “No.” His hand slid from her waist and he took her elbow instead. “Let’s get something to drink.”

Emilio steered her through the throng toward one of the restaurant staff passing out champagne to guests. “I can’t wait to see his face when he sees us,” he added, dropping Cass’s elbow to take two champagne flutes from one of the passing waiters. “His expression will be priceless.” Emilio handed her a glass before raising his own. “To revenge.”

He took a large swallow from his glass before noting her cold expression. “Come on, smile. This is fun.”

She turned her head away, sickened. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pull this off. “Emilio—”

“No.”

“I can’t do—”

“Too late. We made a deal.” His voice dropped, his hand returning to her arm. “There’s no backing out now. Remember?”

She felt the lump grow in her throat. “I don’t want to hurt him—”

“But I do. Badly.” He reached for her chin, and leaned toward her as if to kiss her but she turned her head away and his kiss landed on her cheek. “Bad form, cara,” he whispered.

“I never agreed to physical intimacy,” she answered, forcing her lips up in a ghoulish smile as another couple passed close by, both blatantly staring at the front of her gown and Cass suddenly remembered what she was wearing.

God. What a disaster. All of it. Meeting Maximos, falling so madly in love, losing him, losing the baby, losing her mind…

Emilio dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “We’re drawing attention,” he whispered, nodding to the room at large. “I can pretty much guarantee that Max will be here to greet us very soon.”

Cass followed Emilio’s gaze and saw the way people were looking at them. Men and women alike were giving them disgusted looks and it was obvious that the elegant men and women gathered in the salon silently, strenuously objected to Emilio’s presence, their objection a tangible thing. Whatever feud existed between Maximos and Emilio extended to the rest of the Guiliano family.

“And here he comes,” Emilio murmured, stepping back so Maximos could get a clear view of Cassandra in her see-through gown. “He looks fit to be tied, doesn’t he?” he added, twirling a long strand of Cass’s hair around two fingers. “You should see his face every time I touch you.”

“You’re sick,” she choked, trembling on the inside, unable to look away from Maximos’s face. His jaw was thick, his dark eyes glittering with barely concealed rage.

Emilio smiled. “I know.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CASS watched Maximos walk toward them, the air bottled in her lungs. She’d long admired the way Maximos moved, but tonight her admiration was tempered by fear. And dread. Fearful, and yet fascinated, she followed his progress through the crowded salon, watched as people parted for him.

“Cass,” Maximos said quietly. “Sobato.”

Cass lifted her head, and her eyes met Maximos’s. He looked so angry…so disgusted. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes and her fingers curled into the palms of her hands as she prepared for the worst.

Maximos’s dark gaze slowly slid over her, the examination bold, deliberate, possessive. He was letting her know—letting Emilio know—that she was his, that she belonged to him. Still.

Cass flushed beneath his intense gaze, her skin heating even as her insides contracted. She felt her breasts swell, firm, her nipples hardening, jutting against the delicate lace fabric. She felt rather than heard Maximos harsh intake, a deep swift breath that told her he’d noticed the tightening of her nipples. He couldn’t ignore her, just as she couldn’t help responding to him. They were a rather desperate pair, weren’t they?

“You seem to be missing something,” Maximos said, his deep voice pitched even lower, the sound intimate and harsh, so like him, so very Maximos Guiliano.

Cass felt herself blush again, her face and body on fire, her heart hammering wildly. Her skin tingled. She felt a hot fizz in her veins. Want. Need. Desire. “My dress,” she whispered, only to feel Emilio squeeze her arm, his fingers pressing on a tender spot, but she didn’t wince.

“Did you spill something on your other gown?” Maximos asked, his attention focused solely on Cass, his attention so personal that she felt as if they were the only two in the room, the only two that mattered.

How she’d missed him. Missed his arms, missed his body, missed his strength. She’d missed his endless confidence, the ease with which he spoke, moved, lived. She’d always felt empowered by Maximos. His strength had fed her own. “It ripped.”

“How?”

For a moment she couldn’t speak, words deserting her, thought impossible. All she saw was Maximos. All she felt was Maximos. If only she hadn’t asked for more…if only she could go back, be the light and convenient mistress she’d once been. But some things couldn’t be undone, and the hurt had been too deep…

Maximos reached for her, brushed Emilio’s hand from her arm, and brought her toward him, brought her close enough so she could feel his warmth, smell the subtle scent of his elegant cologne. Even built as hard, as rough as Maximos was, she found him impossibly attractive. She loved his eyes, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth.

His mouth.

Her gaze clung to his mouth, to his incredible mouth, and his firm lips that always softened against hers…

“Your dress,” Maximos repeated, his hands firm on her shoulders, his hands both comforting and a torment, a pleasure and a tease. She remembered the way his hands used to caress her, hold her, touch her. She loved his hands. Loved the way he’d made her feel. Because he’d made her feel…and feel…

“How did it rip?” he asked again.

She looked up at him, feeling blind, exposed. “Stepped on it, I think.”

“You think?” Maximos’s eyebrows lowered.

“It’s been a long day.” She tried to smile, but her lips quivered with the effort. She was fighting emotion, fighting passion, fighting memory. At that moment she thought she’d give just about anything for one more night with him. She’d give anything to be loved…wanted…cherished.

But he didn’t cherish her. He liked sex. Because the sex was good. No, the sex was fantastic. But it wasn’t really her that kept his attention. It was just her body.

Blinking back tears, Cass tried to lift her chin. “It’s hard to keep everything straight.”

“The stories, you mean?” he asked gently, but the question was perceptive. Maximos was sharp. Too sharp. She felt her smile slip and the grittiness returned to her eyes.

“It’s a warm night,” he added, “but not that warm.” And before she knew what he was doing, Maximos was shrugging out of his black dinner jacket and draping it around her shoulders.

She bit her lip as she felt his hands clasp her shoulders, a brief touch but comforting, especially after the awful day she’d had.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to look up and meet his eye. This was Maximos, her Maximos, the man who’d been her heart, her soul, her world for three years…