Taken for Revenge: Bedded for Revenge / Bought by a Billionaire / The Bejewelled Bride

‘What do you want to know? Actual numbers, like in that film—where I go through my conquests one by one and make you laugh?’

Laugh? He winced, knowing that the fierce stab of jealousy which shot through him was unreasonable—but then, he had never been accused of being a reasonable man.

‘No,’ he grated, and, unfolding his big, lean body, he got out of bed. ‘Let’s have a drink.’

Had he suggested that to distance himself? Because the conversation had taken a distinctly confessional turn? She watched while he went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, efficiently disposing of foil and cork before handing her a fizzing glassful.

Sorcha sat up in bed, sipping at the cool champagne while Cesare climbed back in beside her, thinking that she really ought to be enjoying this moment. Imagine if she wrote about it in a postcard home. In bed, overlooking Regent’s Park. Fabulous sex. Fabulous man. Fabulous wine.

So why was there this terrible ache of emptiness inside her?

‘It wouldn’t take very long,’ she said.

Cesare frowned as he took a long draught—he who never drank in the middle of the day, but who suddenly wanted something to take the edge off his heightened senses. ‘What wouldn’t?’

‘To list my lovers.’

‘I don’t want to hear about them, Sorcha,’ he clipped out.

‘Him.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘Him, not them. Singular, not plural. Just one. Before you, that is.’ She wondered why she was bothering to defend herself—because that was really what it amounted to. Why his opinion should be so important to her. Was it just that she needed him to know that she had acted in an extraordinary way with him—or rather reacted? And didn’t she run the risk of looking rather pathetic—like someone who was setting out her stall, saying, Look how relatively untouched I am?

‘One?’ he repeated incredulously.

‘That surprises you?’

‘Of course it does. It isn’t many for a woman your age.’

‘I didn’t realise I was defying some kind of national average.’

‘Why did you tell me?’ he demanded suddenly.

‘Why do you think?’ She clutched her glass in two hands in case she spilled wine all over the bed. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you imagined that I did…well, what I did with you…with lots of men.’

There was a pause, and he knew that in light of her honesty he had to be honest in return. ‘I didn’t think that, Sorcha,’ he said slowly. ‘There was such a…’ He shrugged. ‘That kind of combustive sexual chemistry is rare, believe me—I know.’

He put his glass down, took hers from her hands and placed it beside his, and then drew her into his arms and down onto the bed.

His mouth was cool and tasted of wine, and his body was warm, and Sorcha felt a sudden and overwhelming wave of real yearning which transcended mere sexual desire. She kissed him back, long and deep, and then she rolled out from beneath him, kneeling beside him as she bent her tongue to his nipple.

‘Sorcha,’ he groaned. ‘What do you do to me?’

She let her tongue slide all the way down his belly, along the thin line of hair which arrowed towards where he was hard, and she licked him tentatively, so that he groaned again.

His hands tangled in the silk of her hair as she took him into her mouth, and never had he felt more helpless and vulnerable as she rocked her head up and down. He could feel his climax building and building, and part of him wanted to stop her, to take control away from her and to thrust all that pent-up desire deep into her body.

But it was too late.

She felt the shudder which began to convulse the powerful body, heard an expression of disbelief torn from his lips and closed her eyes as she tasted him. Afterwards he pulled her back up the bed and cradled her in his arms—and that did feel like real intimacy.

But she mustn’t do that—perhaps that was where she went wrong? Thinking that it was more than it was—as if some fantastic orgasm would suddenly give him a complete personality change and he’d start opening his heart to her. But it was in her nature to try, and she wanted him to let her share more than just his body.

She pulled at his shoulder, knowing that it was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop herself. As if she needed to have it written in giant letters for her to finally get the message that he wasn’t interested in anything deeper than this.

‘Cesare?’

He sighed, knowing just from the tone of her voice what was coming. ‘What?’

‘Why did you come back?’ She met his eyes as he turned back to face her. ‘Oh, I know that you’re friends with Rupert, and you wanted to do him a favour, and you’ll probably make lots of money—but why was it so important for you to seduce me?’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Because you were the best sex I never had.’ He smiled, but it was a cold and thoughtful smile. ‘For years the thought of what I had missed out on ate away at me like a disease, so I wanted to do this—no, I needed to—just to lay the ghost of what has haunted me ever since.’

There was a pause. ‘I see.’ Sorcha let her eyelids close so that he would not detect the wavering hurt which was making her eyes shimmer with tears. ‘And now you have.’

But that was the trouble. Cesare narrowed his eyes.

He hadn’t.

‘We’d better get dressed,’ he said abrasively. ‘I have a flight to catch.’

‘A flight?’ she echoed blankly.

‘I’m meeting Rupert—we’re flying up to the North. The new factory is about to go into production. Remember?’

‘Yes, of course.’ What an idiot he must think her—they had talked of nothing else for weeks. Yet business couldn’t have been further from her mind—all her thoughts were full of him, and it was time she pulled herself together. One day soon Cesare would be gone, and she did not need her career to be left in tatters as a consequence of his going.

She stared up at the ceiling. ‘It’s such a gamble,’ she moaned. ‘Starting production before you know whether the new campaign will be a success. What if we manufacture loads of extra bottles of sauce and nobody buys them?’

‘Life is a gamble, Sorcha—and sometimes you just have to go out on a limb and take a risk.’ He stroked his finger over her face. ‘I’ll only be gone a few days. Will you miss me?’

Sorcha began to get dressed without answering—because what did he expect? Adoring compliments or declarations of affection? How egotistical was that? Especially as he had been so brutally honest about what she meant to him.

She bit her lip.

It wasn’t the most glowing testament in the world, was it?

She was the best sex he’d never had.

CHAPTER NINE

‘THERE’S a journalist outside,’ said Rupert. ‘And he says he wants to speak to Sorcha.’

All eyes around the table looked at her. The boardroom was packed with accountants, operations managers and sales reps, but all Sorcha was aware of was the piercing black gaze which seemed to be stripping her bare—or was that simply wishful thinking on her part? Oh, but she had missed him.