‘It’s for the best, Bronte,’ he said. ‘In time, you will see that. I know it is a lot to ask of you to relocate, but your mother can visit any time she likes. And you can fly back for visits. You will not be under lock and key.’
She turned and paced what little space she had. ‘I need some time to think about this,’ she said, pressing her hand to her temple where a cluster of tension was gathering.
‘There isn’t time,’ he said. ‘We have to get moving on this. We have a wedding to arrange. I want it to be a proper one, not some hole in the corner affair.’
Bronte swung back to face him. ‘I haven’t said I will marry you, Luca. Don’t rush me. I told you I need some time to think about this.’
He came over to where she was standing, his expression so in control, so commanding, so indomitable, it sent a tremor of unease through her. ‘If you say no to our marriage, you are never going to see your daughter again,’ he said. ‘Have I made myself clear enough?’
Bronte bristled with outrage. ‘You bastard,’ she said in a snarling hiss. ‘You arrogant, cruel, heartless bastard.’
His eyes glinted as they roamed her furious features, his body so close now she could feel the male heat of him. She had nowhere to escape. She was backed up against the wall, her heart going like a jackhammer in her chest as he planted his hands either side of her head, his strongly muscled arms making a cage around her quaking body. She sent the tip of her tongue out over her lips, a rush of unruly desire gushing through her like a flash flood.
His eyes went to her mouth, his lashes lowering in a smouldering manner. She held her breath as he came closer, the soft waft of his breath over the surface of her lips making her heart kick-start in reaction. When he finally touched down on her lips she felt an explosion of desire in her body. It roared like petrol thrown on a fire. Leaping flames of need rose up and consumed her. She opened her mouth to the possessive thrust of his tongue, a hollow pit opening in her stomach as it mated erotically with hers. This was no poignant tender kiss of a revisited relationship. This was a kiss of anger and out of control needs. Bronte tasted Luca’s anger and frustration and gave plenty of her own back. She used her teeth on his lower lip, not the tender teasing little nips of the past, but savage wildcat bites that drew blood. He took control of the kiss, pushing her further back against the wall, his aroused body hot, hard and urgent against hers.
It shocked her how much he wanted her.
It shocked her how much she wanted him.
Her body had superseded any counter argument her mind tried to throw up to resist him. The simple truth was she wanted him to make love to her, to reclaim her body, to imprint it with the potency of his.
His mouth was still locked on hers as his hands lifted her cocktail dress, searching for the slick wet heart of her. He cupped her first through the lacy barrier of her knickers, which were already damp with want. She arched her spine as he pushed the lace aside to slide one finger into her. The sensations rippled through her, making her want more and more of his touch. She whimpered against the crushing heat of his mouth as his hand left her moist heat to unzip his trousers. She blindly assisted him, her fingers stroking along his steely length, delighting in the feel of him so aroused. It was something to cling to, this need he had for her. He might not love her, he might never find it in himself to forgive her for denying him knowledge of his child, but he wanted her with a fervency that secretly thrilled her.
She could have pulled away. She could have stopped things before they went any further but she didn’t. She dug her fingers into the tautness of his buttocks and urged him on.
He thrust into her with a deep bone-melting thrust that sent her head thudding against the wall behind her. He set a furious pace but she matched it. It didn’t matter that they were still fully clothed; it didn’t matter that no one had mentioned protection.
The friction of his thickened body brought her undone within seconds. She had never been able to come without added stimulation before but this time her body shattered into a thousand pieces, the convulsions of her inner core setting off his equally powerful release. She felt the pumping of his body as he emptied himself.
His breathing was still uneven as he stepped back from her and re-zipped his trousers. ‘That should never have happened,’ he said grimly. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you.’
Bronte smoothed down her dress. ‘I thought that was your intention—to hurt me as much as possible for keeping Ella a secret from you.’
His expression was contorted with regret. ‘Anger is a dangerous emotion when it’s out of control,’ he said. ‘I had no right to take it out on you in such a way. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Bronte felt a little sideswiped by his sudden mood change. She wasn’t sure how to deal with her own feelings, let alone his. Her body was still humming with the aftershocks of his lovemaking. She could still feel his presence inside her even now, the twinge of unused muscles and the damp heat of him reminding her of how much passion simmered between them. Those out of control needs were satiated for now, but how long was that going to last? If she were to marry him and live with him there would be no way of ignoring the sexual tension that crackled like a current of electricity between them. She stepped away from the wall and wasn’t quite able to disguise a little wince as her body protested at the movement.
Luca’s frown deepened. ‘I did hurt you, didn’t I?’
Bronte felt her cheeks heat up. ‘I’m fine. It’s just been a long time… well, you know…’
There was an awkward little silence.
‘It’s been a long while for me too,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck again.
Bronte looked at him, wondering whether to believe him or not. When she’d met him he had a reputation as a playboy. What he wanted, he got. No woman could resist him. She couldn’t quite see him adhering to a celibate lifestyle for longer than a week or two. He was too full of life, too full blooded, too intensely and potently male.
He looked at her with a wry expression. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘Why should I?’ she asked. ‘You’ve told me practically nothing of your life over the past two years. For all I know, you’ve probably had numerous affairs, one after the other. A long time between lovers for you might mean a couple of days.’
He held her look for a long moment before shifting his gaze. ‘It’s not been like you think, Bronte. I’ve had other things going on in my life. There has been no one of any significance for quite some time.’
‘How very restrained of you,’ she said with an attempt at sarcasm.
He ignored her comment and wandered over to the small bookcase and picked up a photograph of Ella. ‘You mentioned you had photos and DVDs of her. I would like to have copies made, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Bronte said. ‘I’ll get them together for you. I’ll have to bring them to your hotel tomorrow, however. Mum has most of them at her house. There’s not much storage space here.’
He turned and looked at her. ‘Why do you live here instead of in the main house with your mother?’
‘I thought it was important to maintain some element of independence for me and for Ella,’ she said. ‘My mother—as you saw—is rather protective. She means well but at times she can be quite smothering. I make allowances for her because she’s been alone for so long. Living here is a sort of compromise. Mum is close by to help me with Ella but there is enough distance, small as it is, to establish some boundaries.’
‘How do you think she will take the news of our marriage?’
‘The same way I am taking it,’ she answered. ‘With a great deal of apprehension.’
Luca came back over to her and ran a fingertip down her cheek. She didn’t veer away, but he saw the way her eyes flickered with wariness. Her mouth