He’s the billionaire she loves to hate...

And now she’s having his baby!

Notorious Italian playboy Dante Cardinali lives life on the edge. So when Stella Montefiore dramatically confronts him, vowing to settle a family vendetta, he’s intrigued by her bravery...and enticed by their passionate attraction! It explodes into an intense and sizzling encounter...that leaves innocent Stella shockingly pregnant! Now to claim his heir, Dante must marry this dangerously alluring woman...

Feel the heat in this sizzling revenge romance

JACKIE ASHENDEN writes dark, emotional stories, with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, the inimitable Dr Jax, two kids and two rats. When she’s not torturing alpha males and their gutsy heroines she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media or being forced to go mountain biking with her husband. To keep up to date with Jackie’s new releases and other news, sign up to her newsletter at jackieashenden.com.

Also by Jackie Ashenden

Shocking Italian Heirs miniseries

Claiming His One-Night Child

Mills & Boon DARE

The Knights of Ruin miniseries

Ruined

Destroyed

Kings of Sydney miniseries

King’s Price

King’s Rule

King’s Ransom

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Claiming His One-Night Child

Jackie Ashenden

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08809-1

CLAIMING HIS ONE-NIGHT CHILD

© 2019 Jackie Ashenden

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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 Text to speech

To my dad.

He’ll probably never read this book,

but just in case he does…

Hi, Dad.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

AS ONE OF Europe’s most notorious playboys, Dante Cardinali was used to waking up in strange beds. He was also used to beautiful women standing beside said beds and looking down at him. There had even been a couple of instances where he’d woken up with his wrists and ankles still cuffed, the way they clearly were now.

What was unfamiliar was the barrel of the gun pointed at his head.

Dante had never been a man who cared over much about anything, but one thing he did care about was himself. And his life. And the fact that the beautiful woman standing over him was holding a gun in a very competent grip.

The same beautiful woman who’d been in the VIP area of his favourite Monte Carlo club and with whom he’d spent some time...talking...because he hadn’t been in the mood for seduction—something that had been happening to him more often than not of late. It was a worrying trend if he thought about it too deeply, which he didn’t. Because he didn’t think about anything too deeply.

Whatever. He couldn’t remember how long he’d spent talking to her, because he couldn’t remember full-stop. In fact, he couldn’t remember much at all about the evening and, given his current situation, it probably meant he’d blacked out at some point.

What he did remember was the beautiful woman’s piercingly blue eyes, fractured through with silver like a shattered sky.

Those eyes were looking at him now with curious intentness, as if she was trying to decide whether or not to shoot him.

Well, considering his wrists and ankles were cuffed and he wasn’t dead already, it meant there was some doubt. And if there was some doubt, he could probably induce her to give in to it.

He could pretty much convince anyone to give in to anything if he put his mind to it.

‘Darling,’ he drawled, his mouth dry and his voice a little thick. ‘A gun is slightly overkill, don’t you think? If you want to sleep with me, just take your clothes off and come here. You don’t need to tie me to the bed.’ He frowned, his head suspiciously muzzy but beginning to clear. ‘Or put something in my drink, for that matter.’

The woman’s cool gaze—she had told him her name but he couldn’t remember it—didn’t waver. ‘I don’t want to sleep with you, Dante Cardinali,’ she said, her icy tone a slap of cold water on his hot skin. ‘What I would like very much is to kill you.’

So. She was trying to kill him and she was very serious.

He should probably be a little more concerned about that gun and the intent in her fascinating eyes, and he definitely was. But, strangely, his most prevalent emotion wasn’t fear. No, it was excitement.

It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like excitement.

It had been a long time since he’d felt anything at all.

He stared at her, conscious of a certain tightening of his muscles and a slight elevation in his heartbeat. ‘That seems extreme.’

‘It is extreme. Then again, the punishment fits the crime.’

The barrel of the gun didn’t waver an inch and yet she hadn’t pulled the trigger. Interesting. Why not?

He let his gaze rove over her, interest tugging at him.

She was very small, built petite and delicate like a china doll, with hair the colour of newly minted gold coins, falling in a straight and gleaming waterfall over her shoulders. Her precise features were as lovely as her figure—a determined chin, finely carved cheekbones and a perfect little bow of a mouth.

She wore a satin cocktail dress the same kind of silvery blue as her eyes and it looked like silky fluid poured over her body, outlining the delicious curves of her breasts and hips, skimming gently rounded thighs.

A lovely little china shepherdess of a woman. Just his type.

Apart from the gun in his face, of course.

‘What crime?’ Dante asked with interest. ‘Are you Sicilian by any chance? Is this a vendetta situation?’ It was a question purely designed to keep her talking, as he knew already that she wasn’t Sicilian. Her Italian held a cadence from a different part of the country and one he was quite familiar with.

The sound of the island nation from where he’d been exiled along with the rest of the royal family years and years ago.

The island nation of which he’d once been a prince.

Monte Santa Maria.

‘No.’ Her tone was flat and very definite. ‘But you know that already, don’t you?’

Dante met her gaze. He was good at reading people—it was part of the reason he was so successful in the billion-dollar property-investment company he owned with his brother—and although this woman’s cool exterior seemed completely flawless he could see something flickering in the depths of her eyes. Uncertainty or indecision, he couldn’t tell which. Interesting. For all that she seemed competent and in charge, she still hadn’t pulled that trigger. And if she hadn’t done it now, she probably wouldn’t.

He’d seen killers before and this woman wasn’t one. In fact, he’d bet the entirety of Cardinal Developments on it.

‘Yes,’ he said, discreetly testing the cuffs on his ankles and wrists. They were firm. If he wanted to get out of them, she was going to have to unlock them. ‘Good catch. I love an intelligent woman.’

She took a step closer to the bed, the gun still unerringly pointed at his head. ‘You know what I love? A stupid man.’

Her nearness prompted a heady, blatantly sexual fragrance to flood over him, along with bits and pieces of his memory.

Ah, yes, it was all coming back to him now—sitting in his club in Monte Carlo, this pretty little thing catching his eye and smiling shyly. She’d been innocent and artless, a touch nervous and, despite her strongly sexual perfume, when she’d said it was her first time in a club he’d believed her.

He hadn’t been in the mood for small talk but, as he hadn’t been in the mood for seduction, and there had been something endearing about her nervousness, he’d sat beside her and chatted. He couldn’t remember a single thing about that conversation other than the fact that he hadn’t been as bored as he’d expected to be, as he so often was these days.

He was not bored now, though. Not in any way, shape or form.

She was looking at him coolly, like a scientist ready to dissect an insect, no trace of that shy, nervous woman he’d talked to in the club. Which must mean that it had been an act. An act he hadn’t spotted.

Oh, she was good. She was very good.

His heart rate sped up even further, the tug of interest becoming something stronger, hotter.

Are you insane? She wants to kill you and you want to bed her?

Was that any surprise? It had been too long since he’d had any kind of excitement in his life, too long since he’d had anything like a challenge. The closest he’d come to interesting had been when his older brother Enzo had married a lovely English woman and Dante had been tasked with making sure Enzo’s son behaved himself. A shockingly difficult task, given the boy had already decided that Dante was less uncle than partner in crime.

Dante had had to spend at least a week afterwards in the company of various lovely ladies simply to recover.

Marriage and children were not the kind of excitement he was after. They were too restrictive and far too...domestic for his sophisticated tastes.

Though, given the state of his groin, if a lovely woman could get him hard simply by waving a gun at him maybe his tastes had grown a little too sophisticated even for him.

Then again, it didn’t look as though he was going to be able to escape any time soon, unless he charmed his way out. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d used his considerable physical appeal to manipulate a situation and this was a situation that definitely required some degree of manipulation.

And besides. It might be fun.

‘Stupid, hmm? Maybe I am.’ He allowed himself to relax, looking up at her from underneath his lashes. ‘Or maybe I knew who you were all along and simply wanted to see what you wanted from me.’

Her lovely mouth curved in a faint, cool smile. ‘I see. In that case, care to enlighten me on why you’re here?’

Dante raised a brow. ‘Isn’t that your job? I’m still waiting for your villain monologue.’

‘Oh, no, you apparently know all about it already, so don’t let me stop you.’ She cocked her head, the light gleaming on her golden hair. ‘I’d like to hear it so, please, go on.’

Adrenaline flooded through him in a hot burst. This was getting more and more interesting by the second. And so was she, playing him at his own game. Little witch.

He allowed his gaze to roam over her, giving himself some time to collect his thoughts. If she wanted him to give her the run down on what he thought was going on so far, then he was happy to oblige her. Especially as he was starting to get some idea.

If she was from Monte Santa Maria—and that seemed certain—then the most obvious explanation for his current predicament was an issue with his family. The Cardinalis had once been rulers of Monte Santa Maria, at least until Dante’s father had mismanaged the country so badly that the government had removed him from his throne and exiled their entire family.

Luca Cardinali hadn’t earned them any friends during his troubled reign.

So, did that mean she was from a family whom Luca had wronged? She looked young—younger than he was—and he’d only been eleven when their family had had to leave, so she was likely to be someone’s daughter.

He didn’t remember much of his Monte Santa Marian history—he’d tried his best to forget about his country entirely—but he seemed to recall an aristocratic family who’d been famous for their beauty, and most especially their golden hair.

‘Well, if you insist,’ he said. ‘Your accent is familiar—from Monte Santa Maria, if I’m not much mistaken—and, given your general antipathy towards me, it’s likely you’re someone my father wronged at some point.’ He watched her lovely face intently. ‘But you’re young, so I don’t imagine Luca wronged you personally, but your family. And, given your accent again, I would say you’re from one of the aristocratic families. Probably...’ His brain finally settled on the name it had been looking for. ‘Montefiore.’

Something in her shattered sky eyes flared. Shock.

So. He’d been right. How satisfying.

‘Guess work,’ she said dismissively, her chin lifting, her hold on the gun tightening. ‘You know nothing.’

‘And you are very good at pretending.’ He smiled. ‘If you’re going to pull the trigger, darling, you’d better do it now. Or do you want the suspense to kill me before you do?’

‘You think this is a joke?’

‘With that gun in my face? Obviously not. But, if you imagine this is the first time I’ve woken up tied to a bed, you’d be wrong.’

‘This isn’t some sex game, Cardinali.’

‘Clearly. If it was, you’d be naked and so would I, and you’d be calling me Dante. Or screaming it, rather.’

A whisper of colour stained her pale cheekbones and he didn’t miss the way her gaze flicked down his body and then back up again, as if she couldn’t help herself.

Excellent. It would appear she wasn’t immune to him after all.

His satisfaction with the whole situation deepened, not to mention his excitement. This was indeed going to be a lot more fun than he’d initially envisaged.

Her jaw had tightened. ‘You seem very casual for a man who’s about to die.’

Apparently she didn’t like his attitude. Well, not many people did.

‘And if I was really about to die, I would be dead already. But, no, you put something in my drink, dealt with my bodyguards, somehow managed to transport me to...’ he took a brief glance around the room which looked like a standard five-star hotel room ‘...wherever this is. Cuffed me to the bed. Waited until I woke up, then started talking to me instead of pulling that trigger.’ He allowed his voice to deepen and become lazier, more sensual. ‘And, darling, considering that little look you gave me just now, it’s not killing that you want to do to me. It’s something else entirely.’ He let his smile become hot, the smile that had charmed women the world over and had never failed him yet. ‘In which case, be my guest. You’ve already got me all tied up. I’m completely at your mercy.’

* * *

Stella Montefiore had never thought killing Dante Cardinali would be easy. He was rich, important and more or less constantly surrounded by people, which made getting an opportunity to take him down very, very difficult.

But since she’d taken on the mission she’d spent at least six months planning how to get access to him and, now she had, her family was counting on her to go through with it. Especially her father.

It was a just revenge for his son’s death and a chance to reclaim the lost honour of the Montefiores. It was also her chance at redemption for her brother’s death, a death for which her parents still hadn’t forgiven her, and she did not want to make any mistakes. There was no room for error.

In fact, everything had gone completely to plan, and here he was, at her mercy, just as he’d said.

So why couldn’t she pull that trigger?

He was lying on the bed in the hotel room she’d managed to get him into with the help of the hotel staff, having told them he was drunk, and he was cuffed hand and foot. He shouldn’t be dangerous in the slightest.

And yet...

There was something about the way he took up space on the bed, all long and lean and muscular, the fabric of his expensive black trousers and plain white shirt pulling across his powerful chest and thighs. Not to mention the lazy way he looked at her from underneath his long, thick, black lashes, the glints of gold in his dark eyes like coins on the bottom of a lake-bed. Completely unfazed. As if he dealt with guns in his face every day and it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

And it didn’t help that he was so ridiculously beautiful in an intensely masculine way. All aristocratic cheekbones, a hard jawline, straight nose and the most perfectly carved mouth she’d ever seen. A fallen angel’s face with a warrior’s body, and the kind of fierce sexual magnetism that drew people to him, whatever their gender.

She hadn’t anticipated that, though she should have, given she’d put a lot of work into researching him.

In fact, there was quite a lot about Dante Cardinali that she hadn’t anticipated, including her own response to him.

Her heartbeat was strangely fast, though that was probably due to the sheer adrenaline of the moment and the unexpected success of her mission, nothing at all to do with the seductive glint in Cardinali’s dark eyes.

Not that she should be thinking about how seductive he was when she was busy trying to work up the courage to pull that trigger.

‘In which case,’ she said, trying to maintain her cool, ‘Perhaps you should be begging for your life instead of making casual comments about me sleeping with you. Which, I may add, I would rather die than do.’

He laughed, a rich sound that rolled over her like velvet, all warm and soft with just a hint of roughness. ‘Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t.’ That fascinating hint of gold gleamed from underneath his lashes. ‘In fact, give me five minutes and you’ll be the one who’s begging. And it won’t be for your life... Stella Montefiore.’

Shock trickled like ice water down her back, smothering the heat his sexy laugh somehow had built inside her, and distracting her totally from his outrageous statement.

He knew her name.

Kill him. Kill him now.

Her palm was sweaty, the metal of the gun cool against her skin. She’d practised this, shooting at tin cans in the makeshift gun range her father had set up in the barren hills behind the rundown house they’d had to move into after her brother had been arrested, working on her aim in between shifts as a waitress at a local restaurant—the only employment she could get, as no one wanted to hire a Montefiore. Not when they were such a political liability.

But shooting a can was very different from shooting an actual man. A man who would have his life snuffed out. By her.

She swallowed, her mouth dry.

Don’t think of him as a person. This is revenge. For Matteo. For yourself.

Yes, all she needed to do was pull that trigger. A muscle twitch, really, nothing more. And then all of this would be over—her father’s quest for blood done, Matteo’s death avenged and her role in it redeemed.

You asked for this, remember?

Her father had wanted to hire someone and she’d told him, no, that it was better for one of the family to undertake the mission, to minimise discovery, and that the person who did it should be her. He’d told her she was too weak for the job, too soft-hearted, but she’d insisted she wasn’t. That she could do it.

And she could. It should be easy.

But still her finger didn’t move.

‘You’re wrong,’ she said, not quite sure why she was arguing with him when a single movement would solve all her problems. ‘That’s not my name.’

‘Is it not?’ His eyes glinted, the curve of his beautiful mouth almost hypnotising in its perfection. ‘My mistake.’ His voice was as deep and rich as his laugh and the sound of it did things to her that she didn’t want.

The same things it had done to her all evening from the moment she’d seen him in the flesh and not as an image in a photo or an online video. She’d spent months studying him, reading up on his history, his lifestyle, his business practices and personality. Basically everything she could find on him, building up a picture of a dissolute yet charming playboy who seemed to spend more time in his string of clubs than he did in the offices of Cardinal Developments, the huge multi-national that he owned with his brother Enzo. He ruled the gossip columns and the beds of beautiful women everywhere, apparently.

‘The world won’t miss him,’ her father, Santo Montefiore, had said viciously. ‘He’s selfish, just like Luca was. Another useless piece of Cardinali trash.’

Yet when she’d stepped into that club in Monte Carlo, sick with nerves—unable to adopt the veneer of icy sophistication she’d perfected to get past the VIP bouncer—and Cardinali had appeared out of nowhere telling the bouncer that it was fine and she could come in, it wasn’t trash she’d been thinking of. Not when he’d smiled at her. Because it hadn’t been a practised seducer’s smile. It had been kind—reassuring, almost—and inexplicably comforting. In fact, he’d been kind all evening. He’d taken her under his wing, sitting her down in a quiet end of the club and getting her a drink. Then he’d sat opposite and talked easily to her about everything and absolutely nothing at all.

She’d been expecting predatory and cynical and he hadn’t been either of those things. To make matters worse, she’d found him so utterly beautiful, so magnetic, so charming, that she’d almost forgotten what she’d come to do. He’d overwhelmed her.

The attention he’d given her had made her feel like she was the centre of the world and, for a girl who’d come second best most of her life, it had been an intoxicating feeling.

Until he’d looked at his expensive, heavy gold watch that highlighted the bones of his strong wrist and said that he was going to have to leave soon. And she’d realised that if she wanted to make a move she was going to have to do it then. One more drink, she’d said. Just one more. And he’d agreed, not noticing when she’d slipped the drug into it.

Cardinali was watching her now and the smile turning his mouth wasn’t kind this time. No, there was something else there. A hint of the predatory seducer she’d been expecting, along with a certain calculating gleam. Almost as if he now saw her as an equal and not the nervous, inexperienced woman she’d been in the club, or the soft-hearted, weak girl her parents had always thought her.

It made her heart thump hard in her chest, an inexplicable excitement flickering through her.

‘My name is Carlotta,’ she said. ‘I told you that in the club.’

‘Ah, then you’ll have to forgive me my poor memory. Someone must have spiked my drink.’ He shifted on the bed, as if he was getting himself more comfortable, a lazy movement that drew attention to his powerful body. ‘So, are you going to stand there all night talking at me or are you going to murder me in cold blood? If it’s the former, I hope you don’t mind if I go to sleep. All this excitement is exhausting.’ He shifted again and she caught a hint of his aftershave, warm and exotic, like sandalwood. It was delicious.

She took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the scent. ‘Don’t you care at all which one it is?’

‘Since you’re not going to kill me, not particularly.’

Her finger on the trigger itched. ‘You don’t know that.’

‘Please, darling. Like I’ve already told you, if you’d really wanted to kill me you would have done it by now.’

He’s right. You would have.

Except she hadn’t. She’d told herself she couldn’t shoot an unarmed and unconscious man. Plus, he needed to know why he had to die, otherwise what would be the point? But now he was awake and she wasn’t telling him why he had to die. She was lying and pretending to be someone else instead.

What was she doing?

You don’t want to kill him.

A shiver passed through her. She had to kill him. This was the job she’d undertaken months ago, for her father and for the sake of her brother’s memory. For the honour of the Montefiores.

An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.

One of Luca Cardinali’s sons had to die and, as his older brother Enzo was untouchable, that left only Dante.

Except...

His eyes were inky in the dim light of the room and they seemed to see right into her soul. There was no sharpness in them, only a velvet darkness that wrapped her up and held her tight.

‘Lower the gun, sweetheart,’ he said quietly. ‘No matter what I’ve done, nothing is worth that stain on your soul.’

No, she shouldn’t lower the gun. She needed to keep everything her father had told her about blood, honour and revenge in the forefront of her mind. She needed to be strong and, most important of all, hard. There could be no emotional weakness now.

And yet...her hand was shaking and she didn’t understand why he should be so concerned with her soul when she herself didn’t care about what happened to her after this was over.

‘My soul is none of your business.’ She tried to keep her voice firm and sure.

‘If you’re preparing to risk it to kill me, then it most certainly is my business.’ His dark gaze held hers and there was no fear in it at all, only an honesty that wound around her heart and didn’t let go. ‘I’m not worth it, believe me.’

How curious. He made it sound as if her soul was actually worth something.

She should have shot him right then and there, but instead she found her hand lowering, exactly as he’d told her to.

He didn’t glance at the gun, his dark eyes steady on her instead.

The weapon was heavy in her hand and she didn’t understand why she hadn’t pulled that trigger when she’d had the chance. Because now that chance had gone. The moment when she could have fired was lost.

You failed.

Shame rushed through her like the tide. How had he done it? How had he got under her guard? And, more importantly, why had she let him?

She’d worked hard ever since Matteo’s death to excise all the soft, weak emotions inside her, the ones her parents had despised, and there shouldn’t have been any room at all for mercy. But it seemed as if there was some small part of her that was still weak. Still flawed.

Anger glowed in her gut, hot and bright, overwhelming the shame, and before she realised what she was doing she’d put the gun on the bedside table and was bending down over him, putting one hand on the pillow on either side of his head. His hair was inky black on the pillows, his eyes almost the same colour as they stared challengingly back at her.

He smelled so good, the heat rising off him making her want to get close, to warm herself against him.

‘What is it, kitten?’ Dante murmured, staring straight up at her, gold glinting deep in the darkness of his gaze. ‘Is it time to show me your claws?’

Again, there wasn’t an ounce of fear or doubt in him, just as there hadn’t been right from the start. He’d seen through her. He’d seen through her completely.

Her anger flared hotter, a bonfire of rage. How dared he find that weakness inside her? How dared he exploit it? And what was wrong with her that she had allowed him to do it?

Her perfectly executed plan was now in ruins and all because she hadn’t had the guts to do what needed to be done.

Because, somehow, she’d let this man undermine her.

Well, if he wanted to see her claws, then she’d show them to him. And she knew exactly what to do to in order to cause maximum damage.

Her experience with men was non-existent, but she’d studied Dante Cardinali and she’d studied him well. Including what she could find on his sexual predilections. He was a man who liked being in control and who always, always, got what he wanted.

And it was clear that he wanted her.

Which gave her the perfect leverage over him.

‘Not my claws,’ Stella murmured, staring right back into his eyes. ‘You can feel my teeth instead.’

Then she lowered her head and bit him.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LOVELY WOMAN who was probably Stella Montefiore, but definitely wasn’t Carlotta, closed her teeth delicately around Dante’s lower lip and every nerve-ending he had lit up with sweet, delicious pain.

He was hard instantly, his whole body tight, his wrists and ankles instinctively pulling against the cuffs with the urge to grab her, hold her.

He hadn’t been expecting this particular move, though really the glittering flare of anger he’d seen in her eyes just before she’d bent her head should have warned him.

She wasn’t as cool as she seemed, which was a delightful surprise.

In fact, the whole of her bending over him with that rich heady scent, her silky golden hair falling over one shoulder, her pale skin glowing against the fluid fabric of her blue dress, was a delightful surprise.

He’d been hoping for some fight and he’d certainly got it.

If only his hands were free.

Instead, he opened his mouth and touched his tongue to the softness of lower lip, a gentle coax.

She went still, her teeth releasing him, her lips a breath away from his.

So he bit her back, but not hard. A light nip to see what she’d do.

Her head jerked back and she looked down at him, her blue eyes glowing with anger, her cheeks pink. ‘Damn you,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’ His own voice had roughened. ‘Because I stopped you from doing what you didn’t want to do anyway? Because you’re not a killer?’

She didn’t reply, merely bent her head again, and this time her mouth was on his in a hard, furious kiss.

That she was inexperienced was immediately obvious, but she also tasted of anger and of passion, and his interest, already piqued, deepened even further.

He’d had inexperienced before, though he tended to steer clear of women who didn’t know what they were dealing with when it came to him. He’d had plenty of anger before too, not to mention passion. But not all three at once, and not when the woman dealing them out had been on the point of shooting him in the head.

It made him even harder than he was already.

Still, that inexperience was a warning sign that this woman, no matter how cool and strong she seemed, no matter that she’d had him at gunpoint, had her vulnerabilities. And it was interesting that the mention of her soul had been the thing that had made her lower the gun.

But what had been even more interesting to him was the definite shame that had flared in her eyes after she’d put the gun down, only to be swiftly overtaken by rage. She hadn’t liked failing her mission, that was for sure. And yet, instead of shooting him anyway, she’d kissed him.

Yes, that was very, very interesting.

Not only was she a woman with vulnerabilities, she also seemed to be a woman of strong passions. Which made for an intoxicating combination.

‘Kitten,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

In response she bit him again, harder this time, the tips of her breasts brushing against his chest as she leaned in closer. Holy God, her nipples were tight and hard. He could feel them through the cotton of his shirt.

Lust uncurled in his gut, thick and hot, making him catch his breath.

It had been a long time since a woman had made him feel like this, he had to admit. And he wasn’t a man who denied himself anything he wanted. Self-control was all very well in certain situations, but when it came to sex he would freely admit to being a glutton.

Then again, she’d had the gall to drug him then tie him to a bed, so why should he give her everything she wanted right now?

He moved his head on the pillow, pulling his mouth away from her. ‘Sweetheart, if you want that, you’re going to have to ask for it.’

She made an angry sound and tried to kiss him again but he closed his mouth against hers.

The breath went out of her and she lifted her head. Her eyes were electric with anger, her cheeks pink. She said nothing, merely looked at him for a long moment. Then she straightened and took a step back from the bed.

But he didn’t think she was going to move away. No, he’d seen something shift in that furious blue gaze of hers. She’d made a decision.

Anticipation coiled inside him, his breath catching yet again.

This woman was proving to be more and more intriguing with every second that passed and he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next, how she would answer this particular challenge.

He didn’t have anywhere to be or anything much to do beyond the usual round of PR work that he undertook on behalf of Enzo’s and his company, plus the running of the more pleasurable side of the business, the resorts and clubs he owned all over the globe.

Anyway, he was bound to a bed. He couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to. Luckily he didn’t want to.

His lovely captor stood there a moment, her breathing fast in the silence of the room. Then she lifted her hands and pushed the straps of her silky blue dress off her shoulders, allowing the fabric to slide slowly down her body before pooling at her feet.

She was naked underneath it apart from the scrap of white lace between her thighs.

Okay, that was a move he hadn’t anticipated her making. Not that he was complaining. Not in the slightest.

He’d seen a lot of beautiful women in his lifetime—more than he could count. But it wasn’t this woman’s physical beauty that felt like a punch to the gut, though she was indeed lovely: small, delicate and pale, her breasts the sweetest curves, her nipples pink and pretty.

No, it was the way she stood there with her chin lifted and her back straight, proud as a queen, her gaze full of challenge. As if she was daring him to break his bonds and come to her. Kneel at her feet. Worship her the way she was obviously used to being worshipped.

His pulse accelerated, the ache in his groin becoming acute. He almost jerked against the damn cuffs again, but managed to control himself at the last minute.

‘Is this a request?’ His voice was uneven even though he tried to mask it. ‘Because, if so, it’s a very persuasive one.’

She said nothing. Her hands went to her hips and very slowly she eased down the lacy underwear she wore then stepped out of it.

Dio, she was golden between her thighs too.

His mouth watered, his heartbeat hammering in his head.

What is it with you? It’s not like you to let yourself get all hot under the collar for a woman.

It really wasn’t. He didn’t care about much of anything these days, but he found he cared about this. He wanted her hands on him. He wanted her skin against his. He wanted to be inside her. Preferably right now.

It was concerning. He didn’t want to want anything at all.

He gritted his teeth, for the first time in a long while considering denying himself. Because he shouldn’t care if she didn’t touch him or kiss him, or get that delicious body on his. It shouldn’t matter to him in the slightest.

If it doesn’t matter, why are you even thinking of refusing her?

Dante had no answer to that.

He smiled, though for the first time in years it felt forced, more like a grimace than a smile. And he tried to make himself sound nonchalant. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, kitten. Come closer and let me see you.’

And perhaps she heard the strained note in his voice, because an expression that looked an awful lot like satisfaction flickered over her lovely face. Then she moved back over to the bed, clearly in no hurry at all, and looked at him very deliberately, the same way he’d looked at her. She was flushed now, the pink extending down her throat and over the pale curves of her breasts, and it deepened as her gaze dropped to where he was hard and ready and aching.

And stayed there.

Electricity crackled the length of his body.

What the hell was she doing to him? He didn’t let himself get like this, not with anyone.

‘I can get hard for any woman,’ he murmured lazily, trying to keep the hoarse note out of the words. ‘But it’ll take more than you being naked to get me off.’

She gave him a brief, scorching glance. ‘Who says I want to get you off? Maybe I just want to play with you.’

Sneaky kitten. So this was a power play, was it? She’d seen the general state he was in and thought she could take advantage, clearly.

Well, she could try. He might be finding it a tad more difficult to be his usual cool self, but when it came to bedroom power games he was the master. Even cuffed to the bed.

‘Obviously I’m not going to object to that.’ He let his voice get lower, become seductive. ‘But, if you want to play, you’d better know what you’re doing.’

‘Who’s to say that I don’t?’ She reached out and stroked lightly over the hard ridge just behind his fly.

More electricity crackled along his nerve-endings, the light brush of her fingertips maddening. Dante ignored the sensation. Instead, he gazed at her from beneath his lashes, letting the look in his eyes burn hot.

She was inexperienced—that kiss she’d given him had proved it well enough—and even though it wasn’t something he’d normally use to his advantage, given the circumstances, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

‘That kiss for a start.’ He let his gaze roam over her, blatantly sexual. ‘Best to know what you’re getting into, darling. I’m a lot for a little kitten to handle.’

A deep-blue spark glittered in her eyes as she stroked him yet again. ‘You’re very arrogant for a man tied to a bed.’

‘And you’re very confident for a virgin.’

The deep pink flush staining her skin became scarlet, gilt lashes sweeping down, veiling her gaze and hiding her expression. And he was conscious of a very particular kind of satisfaction spreading through him. Firstly, for guessing right and, secondly, for the fact that he was perhaps the first man she’d ever touched like this. The first man with whom she’d ever been naked.

He normally steered clear of virgins, as he wasn’t a man an innocent should get entangled with, but he couldn’t deny that for some reason he liked the thought of this particular woman being a virgin. He liked it very much.

A virgin with a gun. How...intriguing.

‘Don’t be embarrassed, darling,’ he said, watching her intently. ‘Even I was a virgin once.’ Though, thinking back, he honestly couldn’t remember how or when he’d lost it.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then suddenly she lifted her head and moved to the bed, climbing on top of it and straddling him. The weight of her was slight, but the heat of her bare skin seeping through his clothes was astonishing.

His breath caught as the blatant sweetness of her perfume surrounded him, but underneath that was something light and fresh, combined with the musk of feminine arousal.

Pretty, pretty kitten.

She rose above him, the pressure of her body against his groin an agony, the sway of her lovely breasts making his mouth go dry. Her skin was glowing, a sheen of perspiration at her throat, the look in her eyes all fire and challenge.

There was not a hint of shyness in her, or at least none that she let him see.

‘I’m not embarrassed.’ She reached for the top button of his shirt. ‘Why would I be?’

Her naked heat had sharpened his hunger while her refusal to back down ignited something far hotter. Something he’d thought he’d killed long ago.

His determination to win.

He smiled, allowing some of his sexual hunger to show. ‘No reason at all. But if you want to play with me then I do suggest learning the rules of the game first.’ He paused. ‘You don’t want to lose on your first try, do you?’

For the merest second an uncertain expression flickered over her face. Then it was gone.

‘But I’m not going to lose,’ she said coolly, pulling open the buttons on his shirt one by one then spreading open the white cotton, baring his chest. ‘I might be a virgin, but I’m not stupid. And a man is only a man.’ She pressed her palms to his skin, the heat of her touch like a brand, her blue eyes burning into his. ‘Like you said, Mr Cardinali. You’re at my mercy. And there’s nothing you can do about it.’

* * *

Dante laughed that intensely sexy laugh of his, the sound heating everything inside her to boiling point, making her skin feel hot and tight, as though she wanted to claw it off and step out of it.

He was giving her the most blatantly sexual look from underneath his lashes, all liquid darkness and heat, and the feel of his muscular, powerful body made her lose all her breath.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Biting him, taking off her dress, touching him, was supposed to tease him, taunt him with what he couldn’t have. Prove her strength to him and also punish him for making her lose her nerve so badly.

And yet the only one feeling as if all of this was a punishment was her.

She hadn’t expected that bite to ignite something inside her. She hadn’t expected his mouth to be quite so soft or for him to taste quite so delicious, like dark chocolate, fine whisky and all the seven sins rolled up into one.

She hadn’t expected the way he’d looked at her naked body to make her feel as if she was going to burn to ash where she stood. Or that touching the hard length that pressed against the wool of his trousers would feel so astonishingly good.

She hadn’t expected the intense throb between her thighs to be quite so demanding either.

Damn him. This was supposed to be a strong moment for her, not one where she felt as though she were standing naked in the path of an oncoming storm with nothing to protect her.

You’ve only got yourself to blame.

It was true. Sadly. She’d been the one who’d decided to bite him, to kiss him, to get naked and touch him. And now here she was, sitting on top of him, completely at the mercy of the desire inside her that had gripped her by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Sexual desire was supposed to be another of the weaknesses she’d cut out of her life. And yet his bronze skin beneath her palms was so smooth, the muscle under that so very, very hard, and all she wanted to do was press harder, test his strength, spread her fingers out and soak in all his heat.

But the hidden glints of gold in his dark eyes held her completely hypnotised and she couldn’t look away.

‘Poor kitten.’ His voice was rough and deep, the rich amusement in it like a caress against her skin. ‘You don’t understand, do you? I’m not at your mercy. You’re at mine.’

It seemed a ridiculously arrogant thing to say, when he was the one on his back and cuffed to the bed. Yet...

He was fluid and powerful underneath her, and hard, like granite carved direct from a mountain. She could see that power beneath her hands, feel it in the tight coil of his muscles and in the heat running through his body. It was there in his eyes too, an arrogant certainty of his power that made her want to tremble.

She felt that certainty within herself, in the desire that wound through her, exposing her. In the way her breath came short and fast, and in the relentless throb of heat between her thighs. In the tightness of her skin and the acute awareness of every part of her that touched him and every part of her that didn’t. In the delicious, warm scent of him that made her mouth water and her heart beat faster.

You’re weak. You’ve always been weak.

Stella shoved the thought from her head. There was only one answer to that and that was simply to be stronger. She had to be if she was to overcome the insidious dragging need to surrender to him and the relentless pressure of her desire.

Dante Cardinali had seemed to be a simple man. A man driven by the single-minded pursuit of pleasure, a slave to any pretty face that came his way.

But it wasn’t him who was the slave. It was her.

‘No,’ she whispered, both to him and to herself. ‘I’m not at anyone’s mercy.’

‘Prove it, then.’ Deep in the velvet darkness of his eyes, golden fire burned. ‘Get off me and walk away. Put on your dress and leave this room.’ His hips lifted as he said the words, the hard length behind the wool of his trousers brushing up against the soft, sensitive tissues of her sex.

Pleasure bolted like lightning straight through her and she couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped.

‘Do it.’ His voice was rough with heat. ‘If you think you can.’

She could. Of course she could.

Except he was moving subtly against her and the rhythmic pressure against that aching place between her thighs was making her shiver with delight. She’d denied herself many things in the quest to become better and stronger than the girl who’d betrayed her own brother into prison, and that included physical pleasure. She hadn’t thought she’d missed out on anything, but...

Get off him. Walk out. Deny him. That’s what you were going to do, wasn’t it?

Of course it was. And, yes, she would get off him. Right now.

Except...the heat of him, and the power of his body beneath her, and the gentle rocking of his hips were all mesmerizing and she didn’t want it to stop.

You have to do something.

He wasn’t expecting her to get off him. That was obvious. He was expecting her to stay, to be at his mercy, exactly as he’d said. And her body simply wasn’t going to let her leave. Which meant she was going to have to do something else to prove her strength.

She shifted back on him, shivering at the brush of the fabric of his trousers against her. Then, with shaking hands, she pulled at the buttons of his fly.

He stilled, his big, rangy body tensing beneath her. ‘Oh, kitten,’ he breathed. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

She ignored him, tugging down his zip and reaching inside his boxers. Her fingers closed around him and she blinked, her breath sticking in her throat at the feel of him in her hand. So long and hard and hot.

She pulled the fabric away from him, staring at the length she held in her hand, completely fascinated.

‘Stella.’ Her name this time, in a rough and hungry growl. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

But it was too late. Backing down was an impossibility. It would make this entire evening an even bigger disaster, not to mention reveal the depths of her weakness, and she’d already revealed more of that than she wanted to when she’d put down her gun.

She lifted her gaze to his, the molten heat in his dark eyes making lightning crackle in her blood. ‘What did you want me to prove again?’ It was another challenge and she didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she lifted her hips and fitted that hard shaft of his against the entrance to her body. Then she lowered herself down on him.

The feel of him pushing inside her was exquisite. There was no pain, only a wonderful stretching sensation and a pressure that tore a groan from her throat.

His smile vanished, his mouth twisting into a snarl, a rough, masculine sound breaking from him as she slid down on him even further.

Then she had to move and she was helpless to stop herself, the urge overwhelming. Rising and falling on him, at first hesitant and uncertain, then finding a rhythm. He’d gone silent, his hips lifting with hers, the fierce hunger on his beautiful face holding her captive.

They stared at each other as pleasure began to unwind in a shining cord, wrapping around both of them and pulling tight. Getting tighter. Then tighter still.

Stella braced herself with her hands on his chest, the world narrowing down to the rock-hard body under hers and the astonishingly good push-pull of him inside her...to the coil of pleasure that was tightening and tightening and tightening.

Her skin felt raw and over-sensitive, the desperation inside her growing teeth. She hadn’t thought sex would be like this, that she’d be so feverish and hungry. That she’d be so desperate.

The room was cool and yet she’d broken out into a sweat, her palms damp on his chest. A moan escaped her, because somehow he was dictating the pace now, the movement of his hips faster, her body trying to catch up, chasing some kind of glory she didn’t understand and which agonisingly kept moving out of reach.

‘Touch yourself,’ he murmured, his rich voice rough with dark heat, no trace of the polished playboy in it now. ‘Do it now.’

And she found herself obeying him without hesitation, driven by her own hunger, moving her hand between her thighs and touching her own slick flesh. And as she did so he lifted his hips, thrusting up hard into her.

Pleasure suddenly detonated like a bomb, and she cried out, throwing back her head, feeling herself come apart in the most incredible blaze of light.

Dimly she felt his body tense, another roughened growl escaping him, but she couldn’t seem to focus on that, not when her whole body was busy being flooded with such sharp, intense ecstasy.

As it faded, she fell forward onto his hard chest and for a second or two simply relaxed there, her cheek against his hot skin, breathing in the delicious scent of sandalwood, salt and musk. It was like lying on a rock in the sun and she wanted to close her eyes and drift, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The sound was reassuring in some way, as powerful and enduring as the sea...

‘Kitten,’ Dante Cardinali said, his deep voice echoing through her.

The delicious warmth was fading, the feeling of reassurance going out like the tide, leaving her cold and shaking, and not in a good way.

Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up and met the darkness of his gaze staring back.

What have you done? You were supposed to kill him, not get into power games. And you definitely weren’t supposed to have sex with him.

Shame flooded through her, crushing her. This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

‘Stella,’ Dante said.

But she couldn’t stand being in this room a second longer, surrounded by the ruins of her mission and the evidence of her weakness.

She slid off him, pulling on her dress and underwear with shaking hands, pausing only to grab the little clutch she’d brought with her. Then she moved quickly to the door on legs that felt as if they might give way at any moment.

‘Stella,’ Dante repeated, more forcefully this time.

But she didn’t turn. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

She opened the door and fled, the sound of him roaring her name one last time ringing in her ears.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT DO YOU THINK, Dante?’ Enzo asked. ‘Do we want to go with Tokyo on this one or stick with the New York office’s plans?’

Dante wasn’t listening, too busy restlessly pacing around in front of the windows of the boardroom in Cardinal Developments’ London office. Rain pelted against the glass, obscuring the view of the city below but, just as he wasn’t listening to his brother, he wasn’t paying much attention to the view either.

He was in England with Enzo to work out some of the details of a new project in the City, which had been hijacked by some disagreement between their people in New York and Tokyo, and quite frankly he didn’t have the patience for either thing right now.

Not when his head was full of Stella Montefiore.

It had been over a month since she’d left him cuffed to a bed in that hotel room in Monte Carlo, running out on him mere minutes after the most unexpectedly intense sexual experience of his life, and to say he was annoyed about it would be to understate things massively.

He wasn’t simply annoyed. He was furious.

And he wasn’t furious that she’d not only drugged him and cuffed him but then tried to kill him. No, he was furious firstly because she’d run out without even a thank you, and secondly because, try as he might, he simply could not stop thinking about her.

That brief moment of excitement and pleasure should have been more than enough for him. After all, there were a great many other lovely women in the world, so he shouldn’t be fixating or caring about one particular woman.

But for some reason he hadn’t been able to stop.

For weeks all he’d thought about was the feel of her tight, wet heat around him and the scent of her arousal, the unbelievable pleasure that had licked up his spine the moment she’d lowered herself down on him.

Of the challenging look in her beautiful eyes as her fingers had closed around him, upping the ante on their little game in a way he hadn’t expected. Or the way that look had turned to wonder as she’d lowered herself down on him and the heat and the pleasure between them had taken hold.

He’d never seen that look on a woman’s face in bed before and he’d been riveted. Caught too by the knowledge that she was experiencing this for the first time and he was the one who was giving it to her.

Maybe it was simply because she’d been trying to kill him that had heightened everything, including the pleasure.

Whatever it was, one thing had become very, very clear to him: given that she had in fact been trying to kill him, and that he had no guarantee she wouldn’t try again, he couldn’t simply leave her to run around on the loose.

So for the past month he’d spent most of his efforts on investigating her and, more importantly, finding her. Efforts that had all ended up with frustrating dead ends.

Until now.

‘Dante, for God’s sake,’ Enzo said curtly. ‘You’re giving me a damn headache.’

Dante blinked then turned around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers. Enzo was leaning against the long, sleek black table that dominated the boardroom, his arms folded, his golden eyes disturbingly sharp.

‘Are you going to tell me what the matter is?’ he asked. ‘Or are you going to continue to pace around, pretending to be me?’

His brother wasn’t wrong. Pacing was definitely Enzo’s speciality, not Dante’s.

With an effort, Dante tried to relax. He didn’t want Enzo to know about Stella, not yet. His brother was happy for the first time in his life and Dante didn’t want anything to worry him, such as attempts on Dante’s life from enemies back in the old country.

Besides, Enzo would no doubt start taking charge of the operation if Dante did tell him, and there was no way Dante wanted him to do that. This was his problem and he was going to handle it his way.

Nothing at all to do with wanting Stella Montefiore in your bed again, naturally.

Naturally. He’d had her once. He didn’t need to have her again, no matter how beautiful she was or exciting he’d found her. He just wanted her found, any threat she presented negated.

‘There’s nothing the matter.’ Dante consciously tried to relax his tense muscles. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said and you’re pacing around like Simon does when he’s restless and wants to go outside and play.’

‘Though presumably with fewer tantrums,’ Dante muttered. He loved his nephew but, as Simon was only four, Dante didn’t much appreciate the comparison.

One of Enzo’s black brows rose. ‘Is that a comment on my son’s behaviour? Because if so—’

‘Of course not,’ Dante snapped, unaccountably irritable.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Enzo stared at him.

‘What?’ He stared back. ‘There’s no problem.’

‘And our father is alive and well and ruling peacefully at home,’ Enzo commented dryly. ‘Tell me. And it had better be work related. Simon starts school in a couple of months and the last thing he needs is one of his uncle’s scandals all through the media.’

Since Enzo had married Matilda six months ago, he’d got very protective of his little family. Annoyingly so, in Dante’s opinion. His brother had never minded his affairs before, but in the past few months he’d turned into a damn prude. It was irritating.

Dante had managed successfully to build a life that consisted entirely of seeing to his own comfort and he was more than happy with the present arrangement. He did not want anything to change it.

‘It’s nothing that need concern Cardinal Developments,’ he said, trying to find his usual casual smile. ‘Or Simon. It’s merely a distracting entanglement.’

Enzo frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound promising. She’s not married, is she?’

‘Brother, please. A married woman? It’s like you don’t know me at all.’ There, that sounded more like his usual self, didn’t it?

Enzo’s gaze narrowed, studying Dante in that sharp way he had. ‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not,’ Dante said with perfect truth.

‘She must be very distracting to get you tied up in knots like this.’

Enzo didn’t know the half of it, but Dante wasn’t going to enlighten him.

It had indeed been Stella Montefiore who’d drugged him and cuffed him. As soon as he’d got out of the hotel room, he’d called his personal assistant and asked her to find out everything she could about the Montefiore family. She’d given him a complete dossier the next day and he’d spent most of the day going through said dossier, trying to work out why on earth Stella had targeted him.

Not that it was all that difficult to find out once he knew her family history.

The Montefiores had been one of the leading aristocratic families on Monte Santa Maria until Dante’s father, the king, had been exiled.

After that, because the Montefiores had supported the old regime, they’d suffered a terrible fall from grace that had led to Stefano Montefiore sinking everything he owned into Luca Cardinali’s plans to retake his throne. The family had been beggared and then, to add insult to injury, the authorities somehow had found out about Stefano’s machinations. While Stefano had escaped being implicated, his oldest son Matteo had not. Matteo had been imprisoned, along with various other of Luca’s supporters, and then, years later, had died while still incarcerated.

It didn’t take a genius to work out why Stella Montefiore had been trying to kill him: she and her father wanted Dante’s blood in return for the death of a brother and son.

It was a vendetta worthy of a Sicilian.

Except she hadn’t gone through with it.

‘You know how it is,’ Dante said aloud. ‘The right woman can be...lethal in certain circumstances.’ Though not so much in his case, except for the lethal blow she’d dealt to his self-control.

Enzo lifted a brow. ‘Is that a fact? Care to talk about this particular woman?’

Dante looked back blandly. ‘Not really.’

‘In that case, can I please have your attention concerning this—?’

Dante’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he forgot about his brother entirely, pulling it out and turning round to look down at the screen.

It was a text from one of the private investigators he’d hired to locate Stella, giving him an address in Rome.

He smiled, an intense feeling he couldn’t quite name filling him. It was mainly satisfaction, but there was something else there too. An undeniable, feral kind of excitement.

It had been frustrating not being able to find her, that she’d somehow managed to escape all the people he’d sent out looking for her.

But now, now, he had her.

She wasn’t going to escape him again.

Seems like you do care about something after all.

Of course he cared when it was about his own life. Though what he was going to do with her once he’d found her, he hadn’t quite decided. Probably, if he was feeling particularly merciful, he’d give her a warning that if she made another attempt on his life he’d report her to the police. And, if he wasn’t feeling merciful, he might just call the police then and there.

That’s not what you want to do to her...

Well, no, of course it wasn’t. He wanted to punish her a little too, for how she’d taken up so much space in his head and for the sensual memories that had tormented him for the past month. The memories that she’d given him.

It wouldn’t be a painful punishment, naturally, but she’d definitely scream. With pleasure.

‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ Enzo murmured. ‘Does this mean you’re going to listen now or are you going to interrupt me yet again?’

‘It means,’ Dante said, putting his phone back in his pocket, ‘that something’s come up. Looks like I have to head back to Italy.’

‘I see,’ Enzo said dryly. ‘Nothing at all to do with a woman, I suppose?’

He gave his brother a brilliant smile. ‘Not in the slightest. You won’t need the jet? Good. I’m flying out ASAP.’

Enzo snorted. ‘What about Tokyo?’

But Dante was already heading to the door. ‘You know what to do about Tokyo,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Don’t wait up, brother mine.’

It only took a few hours for him to land in Rome, but he was impatient as he went straight from the jet to the car his assistant had organised for him.

Dante had never bothered with his own car, or even his own home for that matter, preferring the number of hotel suites in various different cities that he kept for his private use. He didn’t like to stay in one place for too long, as he didn’t like getting too attached to anything, so hotels suited his impermanent lifestyle.

He gave his driver the address the investigator had sent to him and told the man to get there ASAP. The traffic as per usual was hideous, and Dante tried to curb his impatience but, as the driver turned down increasingly narrower sets of streets lined with rundown-looking apartment buildings, his impatience turned into uneasiness.

The area reminded him of the dirty tenements in Naples where he and his mother had ended up after she’d dragged him away from his father and Enzo back in Milan. She’d told him they’d be going somewhere exciting where they’d begin a new life. A better life far away from Luca’s petty rages and selfishness. And wouldn’t that be nice? No, he wouldn’t have his brother, but he’d have her and wasn’t that important? Didn’t he love her?

Naturally, he’d loved her, so he hadn’t argued. Not that he’d minded leaving his frightening father, but he’d been upset at leaving his big brother behind. He’d hidden his distress, though, as it had upset his mother and he hadn’t liked upsetting her. Especially when it had made her drinking worse.

The driver pulled up onto the narrow footpath and gave a dubious look out of the window at the graffiti on the walls of the nearest apartment block and the garbage in the gutter. ‘You want me to get your bodyguard, Mr Cardinali?’ he asked, glancing at Dante in the rear-view mirror.

Dante snorted. ‘Please, Giorgio. I was raised in the gutters of Naples. I think I can handle a few tenements in Rome.’

He pulled open the door and stepped outside, giving the area a quick scan, his unease deepening still further.

The Montefiores had little money these days, but as far as he was aware they were still on Monte Santa Maria. So why was Stella living here? Presumably because it was easier to hide in a slum, but still. Not a good place for the small, delicate, lovely looking woman he remembered from back in Monte Carlo. Then again, she’d seemed very capable with a gun, so maybe she was perfectly able to fight off all manner of thugs.

He approached the address the investigator had given him—a large and rundown apartment block—ignoring the group of surly youths standing around outside the door. One of them said something to him as he went past, but all he did was pin the boy with a look. He still remembered the street-fighting skills he’d learned back when he’d been thirteen and he’d been beaten up for the fifth time while his mother had done nothing, passed out from another of her drunken binges. He’d decided that night that he was sick of being the neighbourhood punching bag and so had gone out to find someone to teach him how to defend himself. That was the last time anyone had laid a punch on him.

The teenagers, making the right choice in deciding they didn’t want to take him on, didn’t say anything else, leaving him to enter the building.

It was dark and dingy inside, the lift out of order, half the lights in the lobby out.

He ended up walking all the way to the fifteenth floor, grimacing at the dirty floors, stained walls and huddled shapes of people in the doorways and clustered in the stairwells. It was all too familiar to him. It was the ‘new life’ his mother had promised him when she’d taken him away. Only it had ended up with her dead a few years later, and him alone to fend for himself at sixteen.

An old anger twisted inside him, but he ignored it, as he’d been ignoring it for years.

There was nothing to be angry about, not now. Things had turned out well despite that. Enzo had come for him four years later, and together they’d eventually claimed that new life for both of them. His mother would have been proud.

On the fifteenth floor Dante scanned the hallway for the number the investigator had given him and eventually found it right down the end. He paused outside the door, aware that there was some kind of complicated emotion burning in his veins. However, since he didn’t care to examine his more complicated emotions, he ignored it, lifting his hand to knock hard on the door instead.

There was silence.

‘I know you’re in there, Stella Montefiore,’ he said without raising his voice. ‘So you’d better open up, darling. Or, if you prefer, I can get the police involved. I’m sure your father would love that.’

There was another brief moment of silence and Dante found his heart rate accelerating for no good reason that he could see.

He had his hand in his pocket ready to pull out his phone and call the police when the door suddenly opened, a small, fragile-looking woman in jeans and a faded red T-shirt standing in the doorway. Her golden hair was in a messy ponytail, loose strands hanging around her lovely, if rather pale, face. Familiar cool blue eyes fractured through with silver met his.

And desire hit him in the gut like a freight train.

‘There’s no need for that,’ Stella Montefiore said calmly, looking for all the world like she’d been waiting all day for him to show up at her door unannounced. ‘Though, if you’re afraid to be in a room alone with me, then by all means call the police.’

* * *

Stella’s heart was racing, fear coiling tightly in her gut. The hard edges of the door handle were digging into her palm, but she didn’t want to let go. Given the weak state of her knees, she’d probably collapse onto the floor without support, and there was no way in hell she was doing that. And definitely not right in front of him.

He’d found her. Somehow, he’d damn well found her.

Dante Cardinali stood in the doorway of her grotty apartment, blazing like an angel sent straight from God, the reality of his physical presence hitting her like a blow.

In the past five weeks, when she’d gone over that night in her memory—and she went over it a lot—she’d told herself that what had happened between them was an aberration. A momentary weakness on her part, brought on by inexperience and a failure to prepare herself properly for what she’d had to do. She’d also told herself that she’d overestimated the intensity of his personal magnetism. But all it took was one look to know that, if anything, she’d underestimated it.

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