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He felt the same, she could tell. There was the undeniable evidence of the hard swell of arousal pressed into the bowl of her pelvis, the faint groan that escaped from between their joined lips before he brought his mouth down harder, stronger, crushing her lips back against her teeth.
‘Dario...’
Somehow she choked it out, not wanting to lose the pressure of his mouth on hers. He tasted wonderful, and the moment that his tongue slid over her lips, tracing the seam where they joined, had her sagging against him, losing her breath, losing all sense of where she was.
Would the lift never reach its destination? She wanted to be there—somewhere, as Dario had said, they could be alone together, private, intimate. Yet at the same time she didn’t want this moment to end. She wanted to go on and on for ever in this warmth and closeness.
But even as the thought crossed her mind the compartment jolted slightly, came to a halt, throwing her off balance and right into Dario’s arms as the doors slid open again.
‘We’re here.’
Somehow he managed to ease his keys from his pocket and unlock the door while still holding her close, never easing his grip on her arm, her waist.
In spite of the darkness it was obvious that the room was huge, no light illuminating it other than the reflection of the buildings and the streetlamps far below. The faint gleam of the heavy swell of the river was like a silver ribbon, and over to the left the ethereal spider web of a blue circle that looked impossibly delicate to be the London Eye.
She barely had time to adjust to the change in light or look round any more before Dario had tossed his jacket away to the side, heedless of whether it landed on a nearby chair or not, and reached for her again.
‘Come here,’ he muttered, his voice rough, his accent thickening on the words. ‘I’ve been waiting—wanting to do this ever since the moment I saw you.’
His hands were clamped around her shoulders, rough and bruising, but Alyse neither fully registered it nor truly cared. All that mattered was the passion of that beautifully cruel mouth on her lips, on her skin, the pressure of the hard frame of his chest crushing her breasts. The heat of him surrounded her, flooding her body along with the burn of her own arousal until she was astonished that the pair of them didn’t go up in flames.
‘I—I—yes...’
It was all she could manage, all she could snatch in, in the moment he allowed her to breathe before his mouth took hers again. His hands closed over her arms as he swung her round, half walking, half carrying her towards the shadowy shape of a huge dark sofa. Her shoes slipped from her feet as he lifted her up, left behind on the soft carpet as his right hand reached round to the back of her neck, finding the zip at the neckline of her dress, swiftly and expertly tugging it down. The release from even the slight constriction of her clothing was like a rush of release to her feelings. Inside the delicate lace of her bra, her breasts stung, pressing against the soft silk, seeming to demand the attention of those strong, rough-palmed hands, and she moaned her encouragement as he stroked his powerful fingers down her body, making her writhe upwards to meet his touch, wanting it stronger, harder. Wanting more.
Then she was lying on her back on the settee, the soft buttery leather cool against the skin that his hands had exposed. And Dario was coming down on top of her, the heavy heat of his skin, the weight of his frame crushing her back into the cushions. One long, finely trousered leg pushed between hers, easing them apart so that she could feel the swollen heat of him pressing against her, crushing into her pelvis, coming so close to the throbbing core of her femininity where the bite of primal need fought against the restriction of their clothing.
‘Dario...’
She was reaching for his hands, wanting them on her, wanting to place them where she needed his touch most. She was trying to draw them down to her yearning flesh, but at the same time she wanted to reach for him, hungry for the heat of his skin, the taste of him hard upon her mouth.
‘I want—I wa...’
But her scrambled words were halted, all train of thought shattered by a sudden violent sound. Someone was at the door, banging hard and slamming a fist against the wood until it seemed that it might actually shatter under its force.
‘What?’
Braced hard against the leather settee, Dario froze, his whole body stiffening, his dark head coming up, slightly cocked towards the door, listening intently.
‘Who?’ Alyse whispered, but he stilled her with a glance, laying one finger across her mouth to silence her. And now, although the scent of his skin was so very close, when all she had to do was to open her mouth and take him in, taste the intensely personal flavour of him as she had wanted just moments before, it was suddenly the last thing she could do. The last thing she dared to do until she knew who had intruded on their seclusion, blasting their way into the heated intimacy they had created and threatening to destroy it totally.
‘Olivero!’ Another bang at the door clashed with the darkly furious use of Dario’s name. ‘Open this door, damn you! Open it now!’
A slight gleam in the moonlight showed how Dario’s eyes slanted once, briefly, towards where Alyse’s head rested against the leather-covered arm of the sofa, then swung back again in the direction of the door.
‘Open this door, you bastard! I know you’re in there—and Alyse with you too.’
‘No!’
The word escaped Alyse in a panic as she recognised the sound, even though distorted through the wood. She knew just who was on the other side of that door, and the fury in his tone reminded her uncomfortably of his threatening warning earlier that day.
‘Olivero, you coward, come out and face me...’
‘Dario—no!’
Alyse’s cry was drowned by another slam of a heavy fist against the wood, and as she reached for him Dario was already levering himself up and off her, that last insult clearly too much for him to take.
Not troubling to rake a hand through his disordered hair or even to smooth down his rumpled clothing, he was striding towards the door, twisting the handle with a violent movement and yanking it open ferociously.
‘Well?’
The momentary silence that greeted his appearance, the angry demand of his single word, made Alyse’s skin crawl, a cold slimy trail of apprehension sliding down her spine. From where she lay she could see the door, and the man who stood on the other side of it. She had been right, as she knew she’d had to be. The red-gold hair, clashing painfully with a furious scarlet face, the blazing blue eyes were unmistakable. The furious intruder was Marcus Kavanaugh.
But what was he doing here? And how?
He had seen them leave the hotel, had watched them drive off together. She had seen him staring after them when she had looked back through the rain. But how had he known just where to find them? He wouldn’t have had time to catch a cab and trail them to Dario’s apartment, so how had he known to come straight here and to catch them...?
‘Alyse...’
Marcus had turned his attention to her now and, with a small sound of horrified embarrassment, she scrambled up from her place on the settee, forcing herself to her feet. She might have wanted him to get the message—but not like this.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
Marcus’s spluttering blaze of fury was bad enough, but the edge of laughter in Dario’s retort was far worse, setting her teeth on edge and bringing home to her just how dreadful this must all look. She had been sprawled on the settee, her hair tumbling down around her face and shoulders, her legs wide apart, and her clothes...
Cheeks flaming, she tugged her skirt down, struggled to pull her dress up around her shoulders once again, desperate to restore her appearance to a degree of order. Her hands shook so badly that she couldn’t reach the zip to pull it up and when she tried to draw Dario’s attention to the fact, telegraphing wildly with her eyes and her brows that she needed help, his only response was a blank-eyed stare. Either he didn’t understand or...
Her heart quailed inside her, her stomach turning over in sudden nausea. Was it possible that Dario knew only too well what was troubling her but had no intention of making any move to help her? It certainly looked that way. He had barely spared her a glance; instead, all his attention was focused on his raging adversary.
‘I— This isn’t what you think, Marcus...’
She stumbled over the words, lost them completely when she saw the way that Dario turned, casting a darkly contemptuous look in her direction as if he could barely believe that she had actually said such a stupid thing. Listening to herself as the idiotic comment hung in the air between them, she couldn’t believe it either. There was only one possible interpretation of the scene in front of Marcus, and that was the right one. It had also been the one she had wanted him to have, but that had been before this dark fury had erupted around her—and before Dario had seemed to turn away from her.
‘And what the hell else would I think it might be?’ Marcus spat at her now, making her flinch from the poisonous venom of his tone. ‘Unless you’re trying to claim that he forced you?’
‘I— He... No—I’m not claiming that...’
How could she do any such thing, even to save herself from this hellish embarrassment? She just wished that Dario would say something—anything—to break the tension that stretched tight between the three of them. But after that one demonic touch of humour, the coldly blazing scorn he had turned on her just moments before, he had now frozen where he stood, arms crossed over his broad chest, dark brows drawn together, a silent, watchful observer of the scene in front of him.
‘Not that I’d put it past him,’ Marcus stunned her by declaring now. ‘A man with his reputation.’
‘Rep...reputation?’ Alyse managed, stunned to learn that Marcus seemed to know something about Dario—more, in fact, than she did herself. ‘What...?’
But Marcus wasn’t listening, intent instead on turning the venom he had directed at her previously onto Dario himself.
‘Dragged up in the gutter by a mother who was anyone’s for the price of—’
It was only the tiniest movement. Just a tensing of Dario’s long body, a curl of his fists, a hint of a step forward. But that, when combined with the black thundercloud of his frown, the way his sensual mouth was clamped hard and tight into a thin line, was enough of a warning to have Marcus biting off the last of his insulting sentence and clearly backing down. He obviously didn’t think that it was safe to risk baiting Dario any further, however much he might want to.
And the other man’s reaction turned Alyse’s legs to water at the memory of the way that this had been just what she had planned as part of her original scheme in the first place. It had all seemed so exciting, so brilliant—so possible when she had come up with the idea as a way of getting rid of Marcus’s unwanted attentions. Give him the impression that she was involved with another man, that she was seeing someone else—maybe even sleeping with someone else—and then surely he would back off and leave her in peace?
But now, finding herself in exactly the situation she had anticipated, with Marcus at the door, having found her and Dario in a decidedly compromising situation—far more compromising than she had ever planned—things were not at all as she had foreseen. For one thing, Marcus, though looking disgusted and furious, didn’t seem to have the intention of turning round and walking away, as he had in her mind when she’d imagined this happening.
And Dario...
She risked a glance at the tall, dark, glowering man to her left, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He wasn’t actually snarling but he might as well have been and she could practically see his hackles rising in hostile threat to the intruder into his territory. The sparks that seemed to flash between the two men made her feel like some tasty but already wounded prey that was the subject of a face to face confrontation between two powerful and equally ravenous lions.
Giving up on trying to fasten her dress, she folded her arms tightly around her waist, as much to hold herself together as to keep the blue silk from falling into a pool on the carpet at her feet.
‘No matter what my reputation,’ Dario drawled now, making Alyse start because she was so used to him being silent, ‘it seems that Alyse doesn’t give a damn about it, mi caro fratello.’
My—what? Alyse shook her head faintly, unable to believe she had heard right. The stress must be getting to her so that she was imagining things. He couldn’t have said...
But, whatever he had said, it had been deliberately provocative. And it had the desired effect, enraging Marcus so that his whole face went white with fury, pulling taut over his bones.
‘Marcus...’ she tried, desperate to have this appalling stalemate broken, to avoid what she was now starting to fear might actually bring these two to blows. There was something here between these two that was evil. Something she didn’t understand but if she could just avoid an actual fight...
‘Look, I’m sorry if this has upset you, but really you know I never said...’
He wasn’t listening, all his attention focused on Dario’s hard, set face. But, even as she watched, Alyse was stunned to see the faint flicker of a smile on the Italian’s sensual lips. A smile that was there and gone again in a moment and had nothing warm about it at all.
‘I could kill you...’
Marcus’s threat, directed at Dario’s impassive face, was a low, savage mutter, one that sent a horrified shiver slithering down Alyse’s spine. In a panic she stepped forward, her hand coming out as she forgot about holding her dress up and could only think about stopping him.
‘Marcus, I tried to tell you that I couldn’t see any future for us, so I thought—’
‘Thought you’d teach me a lesson?’
‘No—I...’
But her voice had no strength, no conviction. Wasn’t that really what she had wanted to do? To convince him that she was not for him? That she wasn’t at all interested in the proposal he had pushed at her so unexpectedly and had kept pushing for days.
‘You thought you’d rub my face in it,’ he snarled, the look he turned on her scraping over her body like the burn of acid.
It was only now, when that hateful look paused and lingered deliberately, that Alyse became aware of the betraying damp, darkened patches directly over her breasts where Dario’s hot mouth had sought out the sensitive peaks that had strained against her bra. The realisation dried her throat in a moment.
‘No...’ she tried but, even though her lips moved, no sound managed to come out. And when she glanced uncertainly at Dario, the darkness and focus of his eyes told her that he had something else on his mind other than belief in her declaration.
From a shadowy corner of her thoughts came an uncomfortable memory of the time in the car when she had looked back and seen Marcus staring after them. She’d been careless enough to smile just briefly. And Dario had caught it. Could he think this was what she had wanted?
‘Well, you couldn’t have made a better job of it than this, you bitch.’ Marcus was continuing his rant. ‘You must have known if there was one thing that would guarantee I’d want nothing more to do with you—something that would turn my stomach—it was the sight of you getting down and dirty with my bastard brother.’
CHAPTER THREE
MY BASTARD BROTHER.
This time there could be no doubt about it, though Alyse’s thoughts reeled in disbelief at what she heard. She hadn’t been sure earlier—mi caro fratello—but in plain, straightforward English it couldn’t be clearer.
But that just wasn’t possible—was it? Marcus was a solid, stolid Englishman with the pale colouring and eyes that marked him out as pure Anglo-Saxon. He had nothing of Dario’s stunning golden skin and sleek black hair. Those blue, blue eyes that met hers in a stare of blank confrontation were the only thing that could seem to connect the two. And bastard brother...
‘Half-brother, to be more accurate,’ Dario put in now, though it stuck in his throat to even acknowledge that connection. ‘Though definitely the bastard.’
She hadn’t known that—or certainly not all of it, he realised. If the confusion that was written on her pale face was genuine. Somehow she had managed to avoid hearing about the scandal that had exploded in the gossip columns years ago when he had turned up at the Kavanaugh home to carry out his mother’s last wishes and claim acknowledgement from his family. But that was impossible, surely. When her father was employed by Marcus and his father, tangled up in everything the younger man did, then even Lady Alyse Gregory must know something of what was going on.
‘I...’
That unsettled stare went from his face to Marcus’s and back again, no sign of anything but confusion showing in it. So it hadn’t been because of who he was that she had chosen him. Obviously any man would have done.
So would she have gone through with it if they hadn’t been so rudely interrupted? Or had she calculated this down to the precise second so that they would be caught together at just the last possible moment?
‘The last man whose leavings I’d want to touch.’ Marcus was really feeling savage now.
Oh, that had hit home. He had caught her on the raw there, and Dario had to admit to a twist of admiration at the way her head came up, her eyes flashed. At last she looked like the woman she was. The product of years of aristocratic heritage, of pure blue-blooded breeding. The woman Henry Kavanaugh dreamed of having as the mother of his grandchildren.
‘I’m nobody’s leavings! And if you hadn’t refused to take no for an answer, then I wouldn’t have been forced to...’
The impetus given her by the rush of indignation had obviously ebbed, and she turned a wary, uncertain look on Dario, clearly realising that she had just dug herself even deeper into the hole she found herself in. There was more to that look too. She wasn’t asking but summoning him to her aid. She actually expected him to come to her assistance, confirm her story. But if she thought he was going to give her a helping hand, then she had better think again. That ‘forced’ had hit home, barbs sticking into his skin.
‘I wouldn’t have had to...’
The careful amendment did nothing to soothe Dario’s mood. He was keeping out of this one until she had decided which way she was going to jump.
‘You’ll regret this.’ Marcus’s tone was low and savage.
‘I already do.’
So now they were getting closer to the truth. That last comment had the ring of conviction in it. Obviously Lady Alyse Gregory would regret her unthinking and indiscreet lapse of control. Particularly as she had now discovered that she had thrown herself into the arms of the Italian bastard that Marcus had revealed him to be.
Clearly his half-brother thought so too. There was actually a smile of triumph in those pale eyes.
‘And nothing happened? Then come with me now and we’ll forget all about this foolishness.’
Wrong move, brother, Dario thought to himself. Even on his short acquaintance with her, he was pretty damn sure that Alyse would not respond well to that autocratic ‘come with me now’. The only way he could have made matters worse would have been by snapping his fingers at her as if he was calling a dog to heel.
And Alyse Gregory was no obedient pet. That was plain from the way her mouth tightened, and she shook back the mane of golden hair.
‘No.’
She had to say it, Alyse acknowledged inwardly. There was no other option. Given a choice in the matter, she would have walked out of here right now and never looked back at either Dario or Marcus. She had no idea just what these two brothers—brothers!—were up to but she had no wish to get caught in the middle of whatever personal war they were intent on fighting.
But leaving meant letting Marcus think that he had won. And that was the last thing she wanted. Hadn’t she set out on this crazy venture in the first place as a way of making sure that he left her alone? That he stopped plaguing her with expressions of how beneficial it would be for the two of them, blending the aristocratic blood of her line with the wealth and security that he could bring to the table. She had never been able to get him to accept her refusal, and if she left with him now then it would all be to do again.
‘No,’ she tried again when he looked unconvinced.
‘Alyse...’
‘The lady said no,’ Dario drawled unexpectedly from behind her. ‘You lose.’
You lose! If earlier she had felt like some vulnerable prey, now the sensation was much more like some tasty bone being fought over by two bad-tempered dogs.
What did he think she was? Some sort of trophy—just a notch on his bedpost? Not that they had got as far as the bed! Just let them get rid of Marcus and she would make him pay for that.
Dario moved past her, taking hold of the door and moving it to block Marcus’s entrance.
‘Goodnight, Marcus,’ he said pointedly.
‘I swear you’ll regret this.’ It was so different this time. The voice of darkness with threat threaded through every word. ‘You’ll...’
‘Goodnight, Marcus.’
Dario pushed the door even closer to being shut, blocking out the sight of Marcus’s enraged face. Alyse found that she was holding her breath, not knowing what she would do if he refused to leave. Would they have to call the police?
She could just imagine what her father’s reaction would be if she was involved in some scandal that hit the newspapers, tonight of all nights. He had asked her—begged her—not to rile Kavanaugh, to keep the family name out of the gossip columns. It would just destroy her mother, who had recently retreated into one of her black depressions. That was why she had decided on the plan that was supposed to make Marcus reject the idea of marriage. A plan that now seemed to have had more effect than she could ever have dreamed of.
‘Damn you to hell, Olivero!’ Marcus flung one more violent outburst at the other man.
But then, to Alyse’s relief, he finally turned and marched off down the corridor, swearing as he went.
‘At last.’
Dario kicked the door shut behind him, his smile an expression of grim satisfaction as he turned back to Alyse.
‘I think we’ve seen the back of him.’
‘Mmm...’
Alyse was preoccupied with finally hitching her dress up so that it sat securely on her shoulders again, struggling to get her hands on the pull of the zip at her waist, to restore her appearance to normality.
‘So where were we?’
She hadn’t seen him come closer, prowling soft as a hunting cat, so she jumped violently when he touched her, warm and soft on her cheek.
‘What?’ Her head snapped up, her fumbling grip freezing on the tab of the zip.
His hand was on her hair, long fingers tangling in the fall of blonde, smoothing through the silky strands when she realised just what he meant and tensed up sharply.
‘You think we— You can just take up from where you left off?’
‘Why not?’ He actually sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘What’s changed?’
‘What’s... You...’
The words spluttered to a halt inside her head, shock, disbelief and sheer blind fury warring to find the uppermost spot. Fury won. It was the memory of that casually triumphant ‘You lose
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