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

“No. Not that bullshit. I want the truth.”

“The truth?” Her voice cracked as his dark eyes settled on her, scorching her. He made her too aware of her own skin and body. They weren’t touching and yet his hands might as well be all over her. Her heart thudded hard and fast. Her insides felt hot and tight. Her knees shook beneath the slim skirt.

How was it possible to still feel so strongly? To still crave so much?

Cass felt wildly out of control, empty, suspended in air. Her insides felt tender, bruised, her insides felt turned out, exposed to air.

She needed peace. More than anything she craved peace. But with Maximos there was no peace. Just anger. Just pain. Just need.

“The truth,” he repeated. “Or has Sobato turned your head so completely you don’t even know that anymore?”

“Emilio’s been a perfect gentleman—”

“Impossible,” Maximos interrupted. “But go on, tell me whatever it is you and Sobato worked out between the two of you. Give me the truth…if you can remember to keep your story straight.”

Her mouth opened, shut. Shame swept her. Shame and indignation. Thank God there were no weapons here, nothing heavy to throw or swing, because otherwise she’d knock his smile away, knock his horrible arrogant smile off his face.

She hated him.

Hated.

How could she have ever felt any closeness, any sense of intimacy? Had the whole sexual aspect of their relationship colored her perceptions so thoroughly? Had his prowess in bed, his sexual expertise, made her believe there was more between them…or made her believe there could be more?

Now she wondered at it all, wondered at the idea they’d ever been anything but bed partners, that she’d been the way he satisfied his sexual needs.

A release, she taunted herself, and the taunting was like pouring acid on an open wound.

He suddenly reached out and touched a strand of her brown hair shot with honey-gold. “You’re not really with him, are you, bella?”

Bella. Beautiful. He’d always called her bella when he touched her, made love to her and the word had buried inside her, burrowing deep into her soul.

She blinked, holding back grief and tears. Shoulders lifting, she shrugged. “But I am.” She swallowed around the horrible lump filling her throat. “We’re engaged.”

“Engaged?” he repeated as if it were a word he’d never heard before.

Scalding tears burned the back of her eyes. “We’re getting married in April.”

For a moment he said nothing. His hand simply smoothed the silken strands of hair back from her face, tucking them behind her ear. “Why are you doing this, Cass?”

Her chest squeezed, lungs compressing. She didn’t want to do this anymore. “Doing what?”

“Pretending—”

“It’s real.” She forced a smile, smiling to hide the sheen of tears in her eyes. “We’re getting married. In April. In Padua.”

The color drained from his face. “Padua?”

“Yes.” She hoped her smile didn’t look as fake as it felt and reaching up, she tugged on her earlobe, jingling her dangling gold chandelier earring. She felt sick, hideous, horrible. Just get this over with, she told herself, finish what you started so you can go home and get on with the rest of your life. “That gives us six months to plan the wedding and reception.”

A small erratic pulse beat at his throat. “Why Padua?”

“Emilio said—”

“What?” Maximos was staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost, his dark eyes glazed, unseeing.

“That the city has a special significance for him.”

Abruptly Maximos turned away. His features had hardened, the skin taut, pale, like polished stone. “Get out.” His voice was low, raspy. “Get out before I personally throw you out.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I’M NOT leaving,” Cass said, jerking her elbow from his hand. “I didn’t come here simply to torture you. There were things I needed to see. Things I needed to know.”

Maximos’s expression suddenly shifted, his dark eyes lighting, a new alertness sharpening his features. “What things?”

“I needed to understand why I couldn’t—” Her voice broke, and the words failed her. She took a breath, wrapped her courage around her and continued. “Have more of you. Understand why you never gave me more—” And suddenly Cass knew she’d said too much. She could tell from Maximos’s expression that she’d just unwittingly revealed her hand.

“You’re not his fiancée,” Maximos said grimly. “This is a sham, a charade—”

“No.” Her pulse leapt wildly. What had she done? What had she said? “It’s true. I am—”

“Then why do you care so much about us?” He practically hissed the last word.

“Maybe because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice!” She’d been through hell and back since he left her. She’d suffered more than she’d thought possible and the pain had taught her one truth: she could do anything she wanted to. “Maybe I want to understand what happened so I can damn well make sure it doesn’t occur again.”

His brow contorted, his expression dark, punishing. “I appreciate your thirst for knowledge, carissima, but this isn’t the time.”

“Maybe it’s not convenient now, but you’ll never willingly give me the time, Maximos, will you?”

A muscle pulled in his jaw. He was angry. Cass allowed her mouth to curve, one corner of her lips lifting in a small dry smile. “Maybe it is crazy to show up here with Emilio, but I wanted to see—no, I needed to see—what you wouldn’t share with me.”

“We had an agreement—”

“Sex,” she interrupted bitterly, wishing she could have been content with just sex. Why couldn’t sex—especially as it’d been good sex—be enough? It was for others. She’d heard that there were women who were happy with the contact, the release, and she’d thought she was one of those, thought she could do just sex if that was all Maximos could give…at first.

But with Maximos it hadn’t worked that way. From the very first time they made love she wanted more, felt more, needed more. Maximos made her crave everything…emotion, passion, connection. The kind of binding connection that kept two people together…

If she could go back, do it all again, what would she do?

And Cass tried to see herself as she’d been then, young, slim, fit, hungry for something interesting to happen.

When she met Maximos she’d wanted adventure, hoped for mystery, and passion. Especially passion. It had seemed like fun, the desire for Maximos, and she’d loved the way the desire built, rising, swelling, doubling. The desire had seemed so eager and open, extravagant with potential. She’d seen no dangers, no closed doors. Just endless, wonderful possibility, and the excitement pulled her in, swept her away. Desire, have me. Hope, here I am. Love, will you come?

She’d been reckless and bold, tossing her head, inviting Maximos closer. And he’d been willing. More than willing. He’d been as eager as her. Maybe even more.

How could it go wrong?

Now she knew. Men didn’t need what women needed. Men could bury their heart, even as they drove forward with their bodies. A man could empty himself into a woman and not look back. A woman held the man, cradled his body, contained his passion. She might want to forget, might want to walk away, but part of her remembered. Part of her always remembered. And the better the sex, the more exquisite the lovemaking, the more the woman wanted it to be love, and less about physical gratification.