Di Sione's Virgin Mistress

And here was a chance staring her straight in the face.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘What I want won’t cost you anything but your time. I’m being a bridesmaid at my sister’s wedding next weekend and I’m fed up with people asking me why I don’t have a boyfriend. All you have to do is pretend to be that man. For one day only, you will be my fictitious but very convincing boyfriend, Mr Di Sione. Do you think you could manage that?’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b7f76240-2528-5b91-88b3-b1774351854b)

HE SHOULD HAVE told her no. Should have told her that he hated weddings. Because marriage stood for everything he despised and distrusted. Lies and deception and manipulation.

Dante straightened the silver-grey tie which complemented his formal charcoal suit and stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror.

So why hadn’t he said no? Why had he agreed to accompany Willow Hamilton to her sister’s wedding, where she was being a bridesmaid? It was true that she had his grandfather’s tiara in her possession and she had been demonstrating a not-very-subtle form of blackmail to get him to be her plus one. But Dante was not a man who could be manipulated—and certainly not by a woman. If he’d really wanted that tiara back he would have gone straight round to her apartment and taken it—either by reason or seduction or quiet threat—because he nearly always got what he wanted.

So why hadn’t he?

He gave his tie one final tug and watched as his reflected face gave a grim kind of smile.

Because he wanted her? Because she’d interested and intrigued him and awoken in him a sexual hunger he’d been neglecting these past weeks?

The reflected smile intensified.

Well, why not?

He picked up his car keys and went outside to the front of the hotel, where the valet was opening the door of the car he’d hired for the weekend. It was an outrageously fast car—a completely over-the-top machine which would inevitably attract the attention of both men and women. And while it wouldn’t have been Dante’s first choice, if Willow wanted him to play the part of a very rich and super-keen lover, then it followed that he ought to drive something which looked like everyone’s idea of a phallic substitute.

He drove through the streets of central London and tooted the horn as he drew up outside Willow’s basement apartment. She appeared almost immediately and he watched her walk towards him, narrowing his eyes with instinctive appraisal—because she looked... He swallowed. She looked incredible. Gone was the big pashmina which had shielded her from the airport’s overzealous air conditioning and hidden most of her body. In its place was a pale dress which skimmed the tiniest waist he’d ever seen, its flouncy skirt swirling provocatively around her narrow knees. Her blond hair was plaited and Dante felt his mouth dry. As she grew closer he could see that the collar of her dress was embroidered with tiny daisies, and it made her look as if she’d been picked fresh from a meadow that morning. She looked ethereal and fragile and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.

He shook his head slightly as once again he acknowledged her fey beauty and the realisation that she didn’t seem quite part of this world. Certainly not his world. And then he noticed that she was carrying nothing but a small suitcase.

‘Where’s my carry-on?’ he demanded as he got out of the car to take the case from her.

There was a pause as she met his gaze. ‘It will be returned to you after the deal is done.’

‘After the deal is done?’ he echoed softly.

‘When the wedding is over.’

He raised his eyebrows at her mockingly, but made no attempt to conceal the sudden flicker of irritation in his voice. ‘And if I insist on taking it now? What then?’

He saw a momentary hesitation cross her fragile features, as if she had suddenly realised just who it was she was dealing with. But bravado won the day and she shot him an almost defiant look which made him want to pin her over the bonnet of the car and kiss her senseless.

‘You’re not in a position to insist, Dante,’ she said, sliding inside with a graceful movement which made him wish she could do it again, in slow motion. ‘I have something you want and you have to pay for it.’

He switched on the engine and wondered if she was aware that she had something else he wanted, and that by the end of the day he would have taken it... ‘So where are we going?’ he said.

‘My family home. It’s in Sussex. I’ll direct you.’

‘Women are notoriously bad at directions, Willow—we both know that. So why don’t you just give me the postcode and I can program it into the satnav?’

She turned to look at him, a frown creasing her brow. ‘Are you for real, or did you just complete a crash course in being patronising? I think I can just about find my way to my family home without needing a robot to guide me.’

‘Just don’t fall asleep,’ he warned.

‘I’ll do my best. But you’re not exactly an aid to relaxation, are you?’ Settling back in her seat, she gave him a clear list of instructions, then waited until he had negotiated his way out of London towards the south, before she asked, ‘So what’s in the bag which makes you want it so much?’

‘Boxer shorts.’ He shot her a look. ‘But you already know that.’

Willow didn’t react, even though the mention of his boxer shorts was threatening her with embarrassment, which she suspected was his intention. Because this was the new Willow, wasn’t it? The woman who had decided to take control of her own destiny instead of having it decided by other people. The woman who was going to live dangerously. She studied his rugged profile as he stared at the road ahead. ‘A few items of underwear wouldn’t usually be enough to get a man like you to take a complete stranger to a family wedding and pretend to be her boyfriend.’

‘Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we, Willow? Firstly, I have no intention of discussing the contents of that bag with you,’ he said as he powered the car into the fast lane. ‘And secondly, I intend to play your lover—not your damned boyfriend—unless your looks are deceiving and you happen to be fifteen.’

‘I’m twenty-six,’ she said stiffly.

‘You look much younger.’

‘That’s what everyone says.’

There was a pause. ‘Is that a roundabout way of telling me I’m unoriginal?’

She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what they say...if the cap fits...’

A reluctant smile curved the edges of his lips. ‘You need to tell me something about yourself before we get there,’ he said. ‘If you’re hoping to convince people we’re an item.’

Willow stared out of the car window as they drove through the sun-dappled lanes, and as more and more trees appeared, she thought about how much she loved the English countryside. The hedgerows were thick with greenery and in the fields she could see yellow and white ox-eye daisies and the purple of snake’s head fritillary. And suddenly she found herself wishing that this was all for real and that Dante Di Sione was here because he wanted to be, not because she was holding him to ransom over some mystery package.

She wondered how much to tell him. She didn’t want him getting scared. She didn’t want him to start treating her as if she was made of glass. She was worried he’d suddenly start being kind to her if he learned the truth, and she couldn’t stand that. He was rude and arrogant and judgemental, but she rather liked that. He wasn’t bending over backwards to please her—or running as fast as he could in the opposite direction, which was the usual effect she had on people once they knew her history.

His words interrupted her silent reverie.

‘We could start with you explaining why you need an escort like me in the first place,’ he said. ‘You’re a pretty woman. Surely there must be other men who could have been your date? Men who know you better than I do and could have carried off a far more convincing performance.’

She shrugged, staring at the toenails which were peeping through her open-toed sandals—toenails which had been painted a hideous shade of peach to match the equally hideous bridesmaid dresses, because Clover had said that she wanted her sisters to look like ‘a team.’

‘Maybe I wanted to take someone who nobody else knew,’ she said.

‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Or you could—and I know this is controversial—you could always have chosen to attend the wedding on your own. Don’t they say that weddings are notoriously fertile places for meeting someone new? You might have got lucky. Or are you one of those women who believes she isn’t a complete person unless she has a man in tow?’

Willow couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Had she really thought his rudeness was charming? Well, scrub that. She found herself wishing she’d asked around at the magazine to see if anyone there could have been her guest. But most of the men she worked with were gay—and the place was a hotbed of gossip. It wouldn’t have done her image much good if she’d had to trawl around for a suitable escort, because the biggest sin you could commit in the fashion industry was to admit to being lonely.

She sneaked a glance at Dante. Whatever his shortcomings in the charm department he was certainly a very suitable escort—in every sense of the word. The formality of his pristine two-piece looked just as good against his glowing olive skin as the faded denim jeans had done. Perhaps even more so. The made-to-measure suit hugged his powerful body and emphasised its muscularity to perfection—making her shockingly aware of his broad shoulders and powerful thighs. The slightly too long black hair appeared more tamed than it had done the other day and suddenly she found herself longing to run her fingers through it and to muss it up.

She felt a rush of something molten tugging at the pit of her belly—something which was making her wriggle her bottom restlessly against the seat. Did she imagine the quick sideways glance he gave her, or the infuriatingly smug smile which followed—as if he was perfectly aware of the sudden aching deep inside her which was making it difficult for her to think straight.

She licked her lips. ‘I’m not really like my sisters,’ she began. ‘You remember I’m one of four?’

‘I remember.’

‘They’ve always had millions of boyfriends, and I haven’t.’

‘Why not?’