The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (54 page)

‘Cassandra.'

She rose to her feet, unwilling to appear at a disadvantage by having him loom over her.

‘My apologies for keeping you waiting.' He
crossed to the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window, turned his back on the magnificent harbour view, and thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.

Her expression was coolly aloof, although her eyes held the darkness of anger. ‘Really? I imagine keeping me waiting is part of the game-play.'

Sassy, he mused, and mad. It made a change from simpering companions who held a diploma in superficial artificiality.

‘If you had telephoned, my secretary could have arranged a suitable time,' Diego inferred mildly.

‘Next week?' she parried with deliberate facetiousness, and incurred a cynical smile.

‘The very reason I suggested we share dinner.'

‘I have no desire to share anything with you.' She paused, then drew in a deep breath. ‘Let's get down to business, shall we?' She indicated the sheaf of papers tabled together in a thick folder. ‘I have the requisite proof, and a copy of your offer. Everything appears to be in order.'

‘You sound surprised.'

Cassandra swept him a dark glance. ‘I doubt there's anything you could do that would surprise me.'

‘I imagine Cameron has relayed the deal is subject to a condition?'

Her eyes glittered with barely repressed anger. ‘He said it was personal.
How
personal?'

‘Two separate nights and one weekend with you.'

She felt as if some elusive force had picked her
up and flung her against the nearest wall. ‘That's barbaric,' she managed at last.

‘Call it what you will.'

It took her a few seconds to find her voice. ‘Why?'

‘Because it amuses me?'

Was this payback? For all the invitations he'd offered and she'd refused…because she could. Now, her refusal would have far-reaching implications. Did she have the strength of will to ruin her father, the firm he'd spent his life taking from strength to strength?

‘An investment of twenty-three million dollars against all sage advice, allows for—' he paused deliberately ‘—a bonus, wouldn't you say?'

She didn't think, or pause to consider the consequences of her actions. She simply picked up the nearest thing to hand and threw it at him. The fact he fielded it neatly and replaced it down onto his desk merely infuriated her further.

‘Who do you think you are?' Her voice was low, and held a quality even she didn't recognise.

Stupid question, she dismissed. He knew precisely who he was, what he wanted, and how to get it.

‘I'd advise you to think carefully before you consider another foolish move,' Diego cautioned silkily.

Her eyes sparked brilliant blue fire. ‘What did you expect?' Her voice rose a fraction. ‘For me to fall into your arms expressing my undying gratitude?'

She didn't see the humour lurking in those dark
depths. If she had, she'd probably throw something else at him.

‘I imagined a token resistance.'

Oh, he did, did he? ‘You realise I could lay charges against you for coercion?'

‘You could try.'

‘Only to have your team of lawyers counter with misinterpretation, whereupon you withdraw your financial rescue package?'

‘Yes.'

‘Emotional blackmail is a detestable ploy.'

‘It's a negotiable tool,' Diego corrected, and in that moment she hated him more than she thought it possible to hate anyone.

‘No.' Dear God, had she actually said the verbal negation?

‘No, you don't agree it's a negotiable tool?'

‘I won't have sex with you.'

‘You're not in any position to bargain.'

‘I'm not for sale,' Cassandra evinced with dignity.

‘Everything has its price.'

‘That's your credo in life?'

He waited a beat. ‘Do you doubt it?'

She'd had enough. ‘We're about done, don't you think?' She tried for calm, and didn't quite make it as she hitched the strap of her shoulder bag as she turned towards the door.

Damn Cameron. Damn the whole sorry mess.

‘There's just one more thing.'

She registered Diego's silky drawl, recognised the
underlying threat, and paused, turning to look at him.

‘Cameron's homosexuality.'

Two words. Yet they had the power to stop the breath in her throat.

Diego del Santo couldn't possibly know. No one knew. At least, only Cameron, his partner, and herself.

Anxiety meshed with panic at the thought her father might catch so much as a whisper…

Dear God,
no.

Alexander Preston-Villers might find it difficult to accept Cameron had steadily sent Preston-Villers to the financial wall. But he'd never condone or forgive his son's sexual proclivity.

An appalling sense of anguish permeated her bones, her soul. Who had Diego del Santo employed to discover something she imagined so well-hidden, it was virtually impossible to uncover?

How deep had he dug?

No stone unturned.
The axiom echoed and reechoed inside her brain.

It said much of the man standing before her, the lengths he was prepared to go to to achieve his objective.

‘I hate you.' The words fell from her lips in a voice shaky with anger. She felt cold, so cold she was willing to swear her blood had turned to ice in her veins.

Diego inclined his head, his eyes darkly still as
he observed her pale features, the starkness of defeat clearly evident in her expression. ‘At this moment, I believe you do.'

He'd won. They both knew it. There was only one thing she could hope for…his silence.

‘Yes.' His voice was quiet. ‘You have my word.'

‘For which I should be grateful?' she queried bitterly.

He didn't answer. Instead, he indicated the chair she'd previously occupied. ‘Why don't you sit down?'

He crossed to the credenza, extracted a glass, filled it with iced water from the bar fridge, then placed the glass in her hand.

Cassandra didn't want to sit. She preferred to be on her feet, poised for flight.

Diego moved towards his desk and leaned one hip against its edge. ‘Shall we begin again?'

Dear heaven, how did she get through this? With as much dignity as possible, an inner voice prompted.

‘The ball's in your court.'

Did she have any idea how vulnerable she looked? The slightly haunted quality evident in those stunning blue eyes, the translucence of her skin.

He remembered the taste of her, her fragrance, the soft, tentative response… He'd sought to imprint her with his touch, unclear of his motivation. A desire
to shock, to punish? A lesson to be wary of men whose prime need was sex?

Instead, it had been she who'd left a lingering memory, unexpectedly stirring his soul…as well as another pertinent part of his anatomy. A pubescent temptress, unaware of her feminine power, he mused, wondering at the time how she'd react if he took advantage of her youth.

Sixteen-year-old girls were out of bounds. Especially when this particular sixteen-year-old was the cherished daughter of one of the city's industrial scions. Her brother, the elder by two years, should have known better than to bring her to a party where drinks were spiked and drugs were in plentiful supply. A fact he'd cursorily relayed before bundling brother and sister out of the host's house, then following in their wake.

Relationships, he'd had a few. Women he'd enjoyed, taking what was so willingly offered without much thought to permanence. As to commitment…there hadn't been any woman he'd wanted to make his own, exclusively. Happy-ever-after was a fallacy. Undying love, a myth.

For the past year one woman had teased his senses, yet she'd held herself aloof from every attempt he made to date her, and he'd had to content himself with a polite greeting whenever their social paths crossed.

Until now.

‘As soon as our personal arrangement has satis
factorily concluded,' Diego drawled, ‘I'll attach my signature to the relevant paperwork and organise for funds to be released.'

Cassandra registered his words, and felt her stomach contract in tangible pain. ‘And when do you envisage our
personal arrangement
will begin?'

‘Anyone would think you view sex with me as a penance.'

‘Your ego must be enormous if you imagine I could possibly regard it as a pleasure.'

‘Brave words,' Diego drawled, ‘when you have no knowledge what manner of lover I am.'

The mere thought of that tall, muscular body engaged intimately with hers was enough to send heat spiralling from deep inside.

Instinct warned he was a practised lover, aware of all the pleasure pulses in a woman's body, and how to coax each and every one of them to vibrant life with the skilled touch of his mouth, his hands.

It was there, in the darkness of his gaze…the sensual confidence of a man well-versed in the desires of women.

A tiny shiver started at the base of her spine, and feathered its way to her nape, settled there, so she had to make a conscious effort to prevent it from appearing visible.

‘Wednesday evening I'm attending a dinner party. I'll collect you at six-thirty. Pack whatever you need for the night.'

The day after tomorrow?

An hysterical laugh rose and died in her throat. So soon? Oh, God, why not? At least then the first night would be over. One down, one and a weekend to go.

‘The remaining nights?' Dear heaven, how could she sound so calm?

‘Saturday.'

She felt as if she were dying. ‘And the last?'

‘The following weekend.' His gaze never left hers. ‘One million dollars will be deposited into the Preston-Villers business account following each of the three occasions you spend with me. Monday week, Preston-Villers' creditors will be paid off.'

‘A
condition
, tenuously alluded to in the documentation as “being met to Diego del Santo's satisfaction”, doesn't even begin to offer me any protection. What guarantee do I have you won't declare the offer documented as null and void on the grounds the
condition
hasn't been met to your satisfaction?'

‘My word.'

She had to force her voice to remain steady, otherwise it would betray her by shattering into a hundred pieces. ‘Sorry, but that won't cut it.'

‘Do you know how close you walk to the edge of my tolerance?'

‘Don't insult my intelligence by detailing a
condition
that has so many holes in it, even Blind Freddie could see through them!'

‘You don't trust me?'

‘No.'

He could walk away from the deal. It was what he
should
do. Twenty-three million dollars was no small amount of money, even if in the scheme of things it represented only a very small percentage of his investments.

He enjoyed the adrenalin charge in taking a worn-down company, injecting the necessary funds and making it work again.

‘What is it you want?'

It was no time to lose her bravado. ‘Something in writing detailing those nights, each comprising no more than twelve hours spent in your company, represents my sexual obligation to you, as covered by the term
condition
, and said obligation shall not be judged by my sexual performance.' She took a deep breath, and released it slowly. ‘The original copy will be destroyed when you release funds in full into the Preston-Villers business account.'

She watched as he set up a laptop, keyed in data, activated the printer, proofread the printed copy, then attached his signature and handed her the page.

Cassandra read it, then she neatly folded the page and thrust it into her shoulder bag. Un-notarised, it wouldn't have much value in a court of law. But it was better than nothing.

The melodic burr of his cellphone provided the impetus she needed to escape.

Diego spared a glance at the illuminated dial, and cut the call. He moved to the door, opened it, then
he led the way out to the main foyer and summoned the lift.

‘Six-thirty, Wednesday evening,' he reminded as the electronic doors slid open.

It nearly killed her to act with apparent unconcern, when inside she was a quivering mess. ‘I won't say it's been a pleasure,' Cassandra managed coolly as she depressed the appropriate button to take her down to ground level.

As a parting shot it lacked the impact she would have liked, but she took a degree of satisfaction in having the last word.

Two weeks from now she would have fulfilled Diego del Santo's
condition
.

Three, no, four nights in his bed. She could do it…couldn't she, and emerge emotionally unscathed?

T
WO
evenings later Cassandra stood sipping excellent champagne in the lounge of a stunning Rose Bay mansion.

Guests mingled, some of whom she knew, and the conversation flowed. However, the evening, the venue, the fellow guests…none had as much impact on her as the man at her side.

Diego del Santo exuded practised charm, solicitous interest, and far too much sexual chemistry for any woman's peace of mind. Especially hers.

Worse, she was all too aware of the way her nervous tension escalated by the minute.

She didn't want to be here. More particularly, she didn't want to be linked to Diego del Santo in any way.

Yet she was bound to him, caught in an invisible trap, and the clock was ticking down towards the moment they were alone.

Even the thought of that large, lithe frame, naked, was enough to send her heartbeat into overdrive.

‘More champagne?'

His voice was an inflected drawl as he indicated her empty flute, and he was close, too close for com
fort, for she was supremely conscious of him, his fine tailoring, the exclusive cologne, and the man beneath the sophisticated exterior.

‘No,' she managed politely. ‘Thank you.' There was some merit in having one drink too many in order to endure the night. However, the evening was young, dinner would soon be served, and she valued her social reputation too much as well as her self-esteem to pass the next few hours in an alcoholic haze.

Choosing what to wear had seen her selecting one outfit after another and discarding most. In the end she'd opted for a bias-cut red silk dress with a soft, draped neckline and ribbon straps. Subtle make-up with emphasis on her eyes, and she'd swept her hair into a careless knot atop her head. Jewellery was an intricately linked neck chain with matching ear-studs.

Packing an overnight bag had been simple…she'd simply tossed in a change of clothes and a few necessities. A bag Diego had retrieved from her hand as she emerged from the foyer and deposited in the trunk of his car.

Quite what she expected she wasn't sure. There had been nothing overt in his greeting, and he made no attempt to touch her as he saw her seated in his stylish Aston Martin.

During the brief drive to their hosts' home he'd
kept conversation to a minimum…presumably influenced by her monosyllabic replies.

What did he expect? For her to smile and laugh? Act as if this was a
date
, for heaven's sake?

He'd made her part of a deal, and she hated him for it. Almost as much as she hated being thrust among a coterie of guests for several hours.

Guests who were undoubtedly curious at Diego's choice of partner for the evening. Or should that be curiosity at
her
choice of partner?

Had whispers of Preston-Villers' financial straits begun to circulate? And if they had, what context was placed on Cassandra Preston-Villers appearing at Diego's side? Would gossip allude the amalgamation had moved from the boardroom to the bedroom?

Cassandra told herself she didn't care…and knew she lied.

Dinner. Dear heaven, how could she
eat
? Her stomach felt as if it were tied in knots, and primed to reject any food she sent its way.

‘Relax.'

Diego's voice was a quiet drawl as they took their seats at the elegantly set table, and she offered a stunning smile. ‘I'm perfectly relaxed.'

There were numerous courses, each a perfect complement served with the artistry and flair of a professional chef.

Compliments were accorded, and Cassandra
added her own, painfully aware her tastebuds had gone on strike.

She conversed with fellow guests, almost on autopilot, playing the social game with the ease of long practice. Although afterwards she held little recollection of any discussion.

Diego was
there
, a constant entity, and the buildup of tension accelerated as the evening progressed. The light brush of his hand on hers succeeded in sending her pulse into overdrive, and she almost forgot to breathe when he leaned close to refill her water glass.

She began to pray for the evening to end, to be free from the constraints of polite society. At least when they were alone she could discard the façade and fence verbal swords with him!

Somehow she made it through the seemingly endless meal, and it was a relief to retreat to the lounge to linger over coffee.

Diego seemed in no hurry to leave, and it was almost eleven when he indicated they bid their hosts goodnight.

The short drive to nearby suburban Point Piper was achieved in silence, and Cassandra felt her body stiffen as he activated the electronic gates guarding the entrance to a curved driveway illuminated by strategically placed lights leading to a large home whose architecturally designed exterior and interior
had featured in one of the glossy magazines soon after its completion.

The Aston Martin eased beneath electronic garage doors and slid to a halt as the doors closed behind them with an imperceptible click.

Trapped.

Take me home.
The words rose as a silent cry, only to die unuttered in her throat.

You have to go through with this, a silent voice prompted pitilessly. Think of Alexander, Cameron.

But what about
me
?

Diego popped the trunk, then emerged from behind the wheel and retrieved her bag as she slipped out of the passenger seat.

In silence she preceded him indoors, then walked at his side as he moved into the main foyer.

With a sense of increasing desperation she focused on the generous dimensions, the gently curving staircase with its intricately designed balustrade leading to the upper floor. A crystal chandelier hung suspended from the high ceiling, and solid mahogany cabinets added to the Spanish influence. Art graced the walls, providing an ambience of wealth.

Had he personally chosen all this, or consulted with an interior decorator?

Diego deposited her bag at the foot of the staircase, then he indicated a door on his right. ‘A nightcap?'

Cassandra watched as he crossed the foyer and
revealed a spacious lounge. The thought of exchanging polite conversation and playing
pretend
was almost more than she could bear.

The entire evening had been a preliminary to the moment she'd need to share his bed. Drawing it out any further seemed pointless.

‘If you don't mind, I'd prefer to get on with it.'

She was nervous. He could sense it in her voice, see the way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat, and he took pleasure from it.

‘Cut to the chase?'

His query was a silky drawl that sent an icy feather sliding down her spine. ‘Yes.'

Diego gave an imperceptible shrug as he closed the door and indicated the staircase. ‘By all means.'

Was she
mad
? Oh, for heaven's sake, she chided silently. He's only a man, like any other.

They'd have sex, she'd sleep, he'd wake her at dawn for more sex, then she'd shower, dress, and get a cab to work.

How big a deal could it be?

The way the blood fizzed through her veins, heating her body was incidental. The rapid thudding of her heart was merely due to nervous tension. Stress, anxiety…take your pick. A direct result of the sexual price she'd agreed to pay with a man she told herself she didn't like.

Together they ascended the curved staircase, then
turned left, traversing the balustraded gallery to a lavishly furnished master suite.

Cassandra entered the room, only to falter to a halt as uncertainty froze her limbs.
Think,
she silently cajoled. Slip off your stiletto-heeled pumps, remove your jewellery…

The ear-studs were easy, but her fingers shook as she reached for the clasp at her nape.

‘Let me do that,' Diego said quietly, and moved in close.

Far too close. She could sense him behind her, almost
feel
the touch of that powerful body against her own. How much space separated them? An inch? If she leant back, her shoulders would brush his chest.

Oh, hell,
should
she, and make it easy for herself? Play the seductress and melt into his arms?

His fingers touched her nape and she unconsciously held her breath as he dealt with the clasp. Then it was done, and she took a step away from him as he dropped the jewellery into her hand.

Cassandra crossed to where Diego had placed her bag and tucked the jewellery into a pouch. When she turned he was close, and her stomach clenched as he reached for the pins in her hair.

His fingers grazed the graceful curve of her neck, and sensation shivered the length of her spine.

‘Beautiful.'

His silky murmur did strange things to her equi
librium, and she fought against the almost mesmeric fascination threatening to undermine her defences.

It would be so easy to sway towards him, angle her head, fasten her mouth on his and simply sink in.

Yet to meekly comply meant she condoned his actions, and there wasn't a hope in hell she'd ever forgive his manipulation.

‘Let's not pretend this is anything other than what it is.'

Cassandra reached for the zip fastener on her dress, and managed to slide it down a few inches before his hand halted its progress.

‘Highly priced sex?' Diego queried in a faintly accented drawl.

‘You got it in one.'

She was nervous, and that intrigued him. Any other woman would have played the coquette, and provocatively stripped for his pleasure. Teasing, before undressing
him
, then moving in to begin a practised seduction before he took control.

‘If you want to unwrap the package…' Cassandra managed what she hoped was a negligent shrug ‘…then go ahead.'

Diego's eyes narrowed, and his voice was a husky drawl. ‘How could a man resist the temptation?'

He slid the zip fastener all the way down, then lifted his hands to the shoestring straps, slipping
them over each shoulder so the gown slithered to a heap on the carpeted floor.

The only garment that saved her from total nudity was a silk thong brief, and she forced herself to stand still beneath his studied appraisal.

Her eyes blazed blue fire as his gaze lingered on her breasts, skimmed low, then lifted to meet the defiant outrage apparent.

With slow, deliberate movements he removed his shoes and socks, shed his jacket, loosened his tie and removed it, then he freed his trousers before tending to the buttons on his shirt.

He was something else. Broad shoulders, lean hips, a washboard stomach, olive-toned skin sheathed an enviable abundance of hardened sinew and muscle. Fit, not pumped, with a sleekness that denoted undeniable strength.

Black silk briefs did little to hide his arousal, and she hated the warm tinge that coloured her cheeks as he swept back the bedcovers.

With unhurried steps he closed the distance between them, and her eyes widened fractionally as he touched a gentle finger to her lips and traced the lower curve. Warmth flooded her body and became pulsing heat as he cupped her face, and a soundless groan rose and died in her throat as he lowered his head down to hers.

Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't the slow, evocative touch of his mouth on her own, or the way
his tongue slid between her lips as his hands cupped her face.

She felt his thumbs brush each cheek, and the breath caught in her throat as he angled his mouth and went in deep.

He tugged at her senses and tore them to shreds, destroying the protective barrier she'd built up against him.

Her hands lifted to his shoulders in a bid to hang on, only to rest briefly, hesitantly there as he slid a hand to capture her nape while the other skimmed the length of her spine to curve over her bottom and pull her close.

In one fluid movement he dispensed with the scrap of silk, and she gasped as he sought the warm heat at the apex of her thighs.

There was little she could do to prevent his skilled fingers wreaking havoc there. He knew where to touch and how…light strokes that almost drove her wild, and just when she thought she couldn't stand any more he eased off, only to have her gasp as the oral stimulation intensified to another level.

‘Let go,' Diego instructed huskily, and absorbed her despairing groan.

Her body might be tempted, but her mind wasn't in sync. Had it ever been? she registered cynically, aware that for her intimacy, while pleasurable, was hardly a mind-blowing experience. Why should it be any different this time?

Fake it,
a silent imp prompted. Just…get it over with, then it'll be done. For tonight.

His hands shifted to cup her face. ‘Don't.'

Cassandra stilled at his softly voiced admonition, and cast him a startled glance. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

He traced the lower curve of her mouth with the pad of his thumb, and saw her eyes flare. ‘Yes, you do.'

She could feel the warmth colour her cheeks. What was it with this man that he could lay bare her secrets?

Her previous partners had been so consumed with their own pleasure they hadn't cared about her own.

A strangled laugh rose and died in her throat. It wasn't as if she'd had numerous partners…only two, each of whom had declared undying devotion while fixing an eye on her father's wealth.

‘I don't want to be here with you.'

‘Perhaps not.' He waited a beat. ‘Yet.'

‘Are you sure there's enough space in this room for both you and your ego?'

His husky laugh was almost her undoing. ‘You doubt I can make you want me?'

‘It would be a first.' The words were out before she thought to stop them, and she saw his eyes narrow.

He was silent for what seemed an age, then he released her. In one fluid movement he reached for
the bedcovers, restored them to their former position, then he indicated the bed. ‘Get in.'

Uncertainty momentarily showed in her features.

‘You prefer the bed?'