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

He’d cursed her so softly, his voice filled with so much hurt and anger, that hot tears, hot hateful tears, burned the back of her eyes.

“You, bitch,” he repeated roughly and this time Cass went icy and still on the inside.

She’d never heard Maximos speak to her with so much contempt in his voice and even though she’d expected it, it still cut deep, like the honed edge of a hunting knife.

She watched him turn away, his features so naked, so savage, that her heart pounded harder. Her mouth dried. She wasn’t ready for this, didn’t know how to do this, how to hurt the man she’d loved for so long.

This is wrong, she thought, panicked, desperate. I can’t do this, and instead of tough, fierce, she felt shattered all over again, felt the awful crack inside her chest. It hurt. Her chest. Her heart burning, breaking inside. The pain was back, returning full force, a demon awake.

Maximos’s head suddenly turned and his gaze met hers, his dark eyes hot, filled with rage and contempt. He was big, tall, broad through the shoulder, narrow hipped, with long strong legs. He chewed on life, tore it apart with his teeth. From the beginning she’d admired his fierceness, his tenacity, his unflinching ability to do what he wanted when he wanted. It was one of the things that drew her to him initially and it was one of the things that kept her at his side.

“You will pay,” he said softly, oblivious to all but her. “Don’t think you won’t.”

Maximos stomach churned, acid burning his gut, even as his thoughts burned black, nearly as black as the anger in his heart. To think this was the woman he’d once wanted more than any woman he’d ever known…to think this was the woman he’d trusted. Trusted.

And yet even feeling such anger and loathing, he still felt the impact of her lush honeyed beauty, her sensuality blatant, her curves ripe and full. Her black lace blouse molded her breasts, skimmed her narrow waist, played up her gold and amber coloring, her hair and eyes a striking topaz, glinting with fire and light. She didn’t need makeup to be beautiful. She didn’t need clothes or jewelry. No accessory in the world could make Cassandra Gardner more feminine or seductive than she already was.

“I’m not afraid,” Cass flashed, taking a quick breath even as she clutched her wineglass more tightly.

But Maximos noticed her quick breath, her lips parted, her lips a glossy tawny lipstick a shade darker than her honey-gold complexion.

He nearly reached out to rub the lipstick off her beautiful lips, wanting to feel her skin, wanting to make her his again.

She didn’t belong with Emilio Sobato. Sobato was trash while Cass was…

His.

His woman.

His.

There was no other way to think of her. No way he could ever think of her. She was his.

Only his.

“You should be,” he answered, remembering everything. Like the way she looked in his bed. The way she felt beneath him. The way he could never get enough of her, how he’d reach for her two, three times a night, night after night. “I know you, Cass.”

Cass took a step back, fingers damp around the stem of her wineglass. She was shaking on the inside, undone by his proximity and the intensity of her feelings.

She was still so attracted to him. Far too attracted. It was madness coming here. Stupidity. She was chasing him…chasing. God. She’d lost her mind completely.

She saw his gaze drop, sliding over her, a close and very intimate inspection as he examined her face, the pale skin between her breasts exposed by the cut of her blouse, the narrow fit of her black skirt as it skimmed her hips. He still liked her body.

But he didn’t like her.

Cass tried to ignore the horrible emotion building inside her. You can’t care, she told herself, you can’t let yourself be crushed or intimidated now. You came for closure. Get your damn closure and then get out of here.

“You knew the old me,” she said, chin tilting, expression bold. “But you don’t know me anymore.”

His dark gaze met hers, clashed, held. “And you’ve changed?”

“I’m not with you anymore, am I?”

Maximos smiled. Smiled. And she longed to knock that smug, self-satisfied expression off his face. “You would be, if you could,” he murmured.

Despite Maximos’s elegant shirt, the hint of sheen in the flawless fabric, the expensive dark suit, he looked more beast than man. Panther. Predator. And Cass flushed, feeling caught. Trapped. Exposed by a lie because of course he was right.

If he hadn’t left her, she would still be with him. There was no way she could have ever left him. She wasn’t that strong. She’d needed…wanted…him far too much.

“I hate you,” she said, the words slicing her heart into shreds.

He was not beautiful, she told herself, sucking in a defensive breath, not in any way beautiful. Yet with her eyes locked with his, she could feel the heat between them. The fire hadn’t died. Maybe there was no love here, but there was hunger. Fierce, carnal hunger. Touch, possession, desire.

Desire.

She swallowed, trying to suppress the curl of feeling in her belly, that electric sizzle of awareness, of knowledge. His touch had always lit a firestorm of need, his skin on hers warm, so warm, his body a pleasure and a torment.

“I’m not surprised.”

She blinked, gathered her composure, willing herself to be calm, regain her cool. She couldn’t lose it here, now. Not with Emilio hanging on her every word. Not with fifty-odd guests filling the palazzo’s grand salon.

She turned to Emilio, touched his arm, missing the leap of flames in Maximos’s dark eyes. “Should we get another drink?” She smiled up at Emilio, smiling to keep herself focused, to keep tears from welling in her eyes. She should have realized how hard this would be, should have remembered how intense the physical attraction had always been.

Hot. Dangerous.

“If you’re thirsty, Sobato will be happy to get you another drink,” Maximos answered. “You and I haven’t quite finished yet.”

She barely glanced at Maximos. “I think we have.”

“And I think you forget, carissima, whose home you’re in. You’ve trespassed,” Maximos answered, stepping toward her. “You’ve invaded my home, violated my privacy. Don’t think these transgressions come without a price—”

“Then name it,” she interrupted, finding the courage to stand up to him, even as she ignored the shivers racing down her spine.

“What is the penalty?” she added, furious with him, furious with herself. It was all coming back, the memories rushing through her, of love and loss, memories of him, memories of the midnight trip to the hospital, memories of intense pain, and loneliness. “Tell me what it is. I’m dying to know.”

“Do you two need a minute alone?” Emilio asked, suddenly helpful, deceptively innocent. “Because I could go get us drinks.”

“A great idea,” Maximos answered, cutting her own refusal short.

But it was all the encouragement Emilio needed, and with a casual gesture Emilio indicated he was off to find fresh drinks.

Eyes narrowed, lips thin, Maximos watched Emilio saunter off. “Your fiancé doesn’t seem too inclined to protect you.”

She, too, watched Emilio walk away and she hated the way her body suddenly felt weak, her legs flimsy beneath her. “Maybe because he knows you’re no threat.”

Maximos laughed, the sound deep, harsh, so harsh it scraped her heart, abrading her senses. “You know so little, cara, it scares me.” For a moment he was silent, and then his head turned and he considered her. “So what are you doing here?”

“I already told you—”