The Trophy Husband

‘Not like this,’ Alex swore, his eloquent mouth hardening. ‘And not tonight.’

She had been stumbling round like a clown half the day under his gaze. No doubt whatever imagined attraction he had endowed her with had evaporated fast when he had been faced with such pathetic reality. Alex Rossini was accustomed to sophisticated women and none of those experienced ladies would ever have made such a fool of herself in his presence as she had. As he released her a semi-hysterical laugh was torn from her. It came out of nowhere and shook her.

‘Don’t…’ Alex reproved her thickly. ‘I want to make love to you very badly. I’ve wanted you for a long time but I won’t take advantage of you when you don’t know what you’re doing.’

But she did know, for she knew herself far better than he did and she wasn’t the type to have an affair with her boss, or the sort of woman who longed to see herself made notorious in newsprint as Alex Rossini’s latest bedpartner for a few adventurous weeks. There would be no tomorrow for them; there was only tonight. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she registered in fascination.

‘Sara…?’ he prompted rawly, his blunt cheekbones overlaid with dark colour and prominent with ferocious tension.

Green eyes gazed back at him in defiant challenge. ‘One night…and it won’t cost you two million. It won’t cost you anything. I don’t put a price on myself,’ she told him with a bitter edge to her voice because she knew now that once she had put a price on her body and that price had been a wedding ring.

‘Cristo…’ Alex seethed down at her in sudden incredulous frustration. ‘What’s come over you that you’re talking like this?’

Her jewel-like eyes were relentlessly nailed to his as an unfamiliar feeling of power took her over. ‘I want…I want to be wanted tonight…’

‘OK…’ Alex sprang upright in one driven motion and stared fulminatingly down at her. ‘But you remember that this is not how I wanted it to be between us.’

And how had he imagined it would be? The two million for one wild night? Had that been his sexual fantasy? Or a few candlelit dinners, a lot of Italian charm and compliments and so to bed? Alex usually conducted his affairs with style. With flowers, gifts, country weekends, cruises on his fabulous yacht, Sea Spring. This was more honest—much more honest—than either proposition and she did know exactly what she was doing, didn’t she…? Didn’t she? For an instant Sara had a frightening glimpse of her own emotional turmoil and knew that she was actually on the brink of an abyss, knew that she simply couldn’t bear the thought of the long, lonely hours of the night which stretched ahead, knew that Alex’s desire was balm to her savaged ego.

But had any woman but her ever wanted Alex Rossini for company rather than physical gratification? She wasn’t expecting the latter, wasn’t expecting any rolling waves to hit any metaphoric seashores, could be honest enough now to admit to herself that she had never been particularly interested in that aspect of human relations, even with Brian. It had been no sacrifice for her to practise celibacy. All that clumsy, awkward, heavybreathing stuff had, frankly, left her cold, but she was intelligent enough to accept that other women didn’t feel that way. She had often heard her own sex talk unashamedly about their sexual urges and once she had worried that there was something lacking in her because she did not feel the same needs as they apparently did. Then she had come to terms with her own essential coolness in that field.

She heard the shower switch off, the door open again, the sound of his footfalls on the thick carpet and thought, Dear heaven, what am I doing? Am I crazy, am I on the edge of a breakdown to be inviting an intimacy that I don’t even want? And then Alex reached for her, pulling her up against him with a long, powerful arm. A stifled gasp of shock escaped her as he drew her into remorseless contact with every lean, hard line of his masculine physique. He rolled lithely over on the bed, taking her with him, and gazed down at her with burning golden eyes.

‘You can change your mind,’ he told her not quite evenly.

Eyes to drown in, eyes to tempt a saint, so wickedly beautiful in that hard male face that they took her breath away. Sara looked up at him, bereft of words, suddenly hopelessly entrapped by that all-enveloping gaze. She wondered, in a state of complete abstraction, what it would be like to be kissed by him, which was about as far as her craven imagination was inclined to take her.

‘I want the lights on…I don’t want you to forget…bella mia,’ he murmured with a sudden fractured roughness that tingled down her spinal cord and made her shiver. Forget what? she almost asked, but she couldn’t make her voice work and it didn’t seem important.

He wound his forefinger into a silky strand of her hair and slowly lowered his dark head, almost as if he expected her to shout, No! at the last possible moment, but Sara was wholly entranced. Bella… beautiful, she was savouring dreamily.

And then she found out what his mouth felt like on hers and she froze when his tongue probed between her parted lips. She had never liked that… but his sensual mouth became more insistent, more demanding and she trembled, pulses suddenly racing, heart accelerating madly, and she discovered that she had no resistance, no urge to pull back from that intoxicating pleasure.

Her head swam, a kind of stunned disbelief threatening to demand utterance, but he kissed her breathless and it would have taken restraint to initiate dialogue and she had none at all. She was carried blindly from one seductive kiss to the next, as badly hooked as an addict on heady delight.

Sure fingers moved against the full thrust of her breasts and a surge of such tormenting excitement took her in its grasp that her mind was a complete blank. She couldn’t think, indeed she could barely breathe as she felt her own flesh swell, her nipples pinching into tight, prominent buds. He ran his mouth down the extended line of her throat, strung a line of inflaming kisses along her collar-bone, dallied on pulse-points and places she didn’t know she had until that moment, and left her weak but with every skin cell alive with quivering, devastating anticipation.

‘Look at me…’ Alex demanded.

Her lashes flew up on command. She looked, lingered, drowned in smouldering gold. ‘Alex,’ she mumbled shakily, the fingers of one seeking hand pushing through his thick dark hair, shaping his head in an involuntary caress that also held him fast.

A brilliant smile flashed across his sensual mouth. He ran the tip of his tongue teasingly down the valley between her breasts and she shivered violently. ‘Alex,’ she said again without the smallest shade of doubt.

He peeled the nightdress out of his determined path, slowly shaped the quivering thrust of her achingly sensitive flesh with expert hands and then imprisoned a throbbing pink nipple in his mouth, suckling hungrily at the tender bud. Her whole body jerked in the surge of scorching heat that he evoked, the sudden, shattering, first-time pull of nerve-endings awakening to sexual passion taking her over. What remained of her control vanished simultaneously.

She heard a voice moaning, didn’t recognise it as her own, her fingers tightly gripping the hot, sleek smoothness of his shoulders as her back arched. Pleasure she had never dreamt of was shooting through her in agonising waves and there was hardly a pause between one peak and the next. She twisted beneath him, couldn’t stay still, wanting, needing, her thighs trembling, tightening on the ache building inside her.

He said something caressing in Italian, and the last thought that she would afterwards recall was that Italian was definitely the language of love in that incredibly rich, deep voice of his, and then he skimmed a hand through the damp curls at the base of her taut stomach and the world became a delirious, multicoloured shower of lights behind her lowered eyelids as he discovered the moist heat at the very heart of her. She cried out, gasped, shuddered. The hungry ache fired higher and higher, the strength of her own need biting so deep that it hurt, driving her to the edge of torment and making her plant desperate little kisses over any part of him that she could reach, her tongue tasting him, her teeth grazing him as her slender hips rose pleadingly against his most intimate caresses.

‘Wait…’ Alex groaned raggedly.

A split second after he drew back from her Sara tugged him back again with insistent hands and covered his mouth wildly, feverishly with her own, automatically utilising everything that he had taught her to keep him in the circle of her arms. He stiffened and then with an earthy groan surrendered with raw enthusiasm, his long, muscular length shuddering as his hands settled on her thighs and he moved against her, freeing her swollen lips, gazing down at her with ferocious hunger. ‘If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up,’ he confessed with passionate conviction.

‘Alex…’ she gasped tautly, her entire quivering body reaching up to his in helpless need, reacting with liquidhoney-enticement to the tantalising, hot, hard probe of his flesh against hers.

The surge of pain caught her on the crest of tortured anticipation. She gasped in shock, eyes flying wide to meet similar shock in his startled gaze. ‘Cristo cara…’ he said in hoarse disbelief, but the momentary frown etched between his ebony brows was swiftly wiped away and the dark eyes glittered more golden than ever.

And then he moved again lithely, powerfully deepening his penetration, and a truly stunning wave of breathtaking sensation swept her back into that wild oblivion where only the demands of her own hungry body held sway. With every driving thrust he took her with him, made the fire burning inside her flame ever higher, ever more unbearably, until her teeth clenched and her heartbeat thundered and her nails raked fiercely down his damp back because the wild, hot pleasure that went on and on only made her more desperate. The explosive burst of her own climax was electrifying. It blew her apart, left her trembling in devastated aftershock from a sheer overload of pleasure.

‘I feel better in my bed.’ Alex was sweeping her up, letting his mouth caress hers again tenderly, then there was movement. That was all her punch-drunk senses could recognise. She felt the faint chill of colder air and then a cool sheet against her back before the heat and muscularity of Alex connected with her again.

‘Don’t go to sleep,’ he instructed her, his dark drawl impossibly vibrant and wide awake as he wrapped his arms around her possessively and vented a deeply satisfied sigh of slumberous relaxation.

Not waves on shores so much as a golden sun of glory around which she had revolved, she conceded sleepily. So much effort to think…so much easier simply to feel, and she felt wonderfully at peace.

‘We spend the weekend on the yacht. I’m in Paris on Monday…you’ll love Paris, cara. What do you think?’ he probed.

What did she think? Sara struggled valiantly to think. She thought that he sounded as if he had closed a tremendously difficult and lucrative business deal which had lost some poor fool a fortune and made him another mountain of money that he didn’t need: immensely, shamelessly self-satisfied. At that point her brain switched off and she shifted with positive contentment into the warm, comforting solidarity of him.

Her nose twitched on the heady scent of flowers. She lifted heavy eyelids slowly, focused on a giant, beribboned basket of flowers and then another basket…and then another. Her mouth went dry. She woke up in a hurry, jerking upright in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom and gaped at all the flowers surrounding her. Her attention lodged on a man’s silk tie lying in a tiny splash of crimson on top of a dense, creamy carpet and her heart plunged as if she had gone down at supersonic speed in a lift.

She nearly fell out of the bed in her haste to vacate it. Memory took her back and then forward. She turned as white as a sheet and suddenly knew without any prompting what being sober really felt like. A case she recognised as her own was sitting by the window. With a pained groan of disbelief, she stared at it. He had somehow got her clothes out of the flat? Oh, dear Lord, what had she done? What had she done?

With frantic hands she tore into the case. Taped to the inner lid was a big piece of paper, slashed with Antonia’s untidy scrawl. ‘What the hell is going on?’ it said.

Sara grabbed up a handful of clothes and dived into the en suite bathroom. She studied herself in the mirror-red, swollen mouth, shadowed eyes, wildly tousled black hair. Trollop, tart, she castigated herself with tears of rage and shame burning her eyes. How could she have behaved like that with Alex Rossini? She wanted to sink into a great black hole—no, she wanted to put him into a great black hole and pour tons of concrete over him so that he could never escape and she would never have to meet his eyes again!

Thankfully he had already left for the office…Oh, dear heaven, the office! It was already after nine. She would say that she had missed the bus. Nobody would think anything of that; nobody need ever know…but if she had had any choice she wouldn’t have walked into Rossini Industries ever again. However, there would certainly be talk if she suddenly disappeared and failed to work out the last ten days of her notice—much better to grit her teeth and finish her time there. In any case, she conceded bitterly, she badly needed her month’s salary because her bank account was almost empty.

Fumbling, with little of her usual dexterity, she contrived to confine her hair into a murderously tight bun at the nape of her neck.

She crept out of the bedroom, her arm nearly falling off from the weight of the case she was hauling with her. Tight-mouthed, she dragged it along to the landing at the top of the stairs. With every movement, she was more and more aware of the complaint of newly discovered muscles in unmentionable places and the undeniable ache in the least mentionable place of all, and her rage thundered higher with very step.

‘Buon giorno, cara…’

Her throat thickened. Slowly she straightened, stricken eyes flying to the tall, devastatingly attractive male standing at the head of the staircase.

‘I was coming up to see if you wanted to join me for breakfast…but we can do without the luggage,’ Alex assured her very softly, measuring dark eyes speeding over her furiously flushed face and lingering with incipient shrewdness. ‘Don’t do it—don’t say what’s brimming on your lips…Don’t disappoint me, cara.’

She wanted to kick him down the stairs. A temper that she had never had any trouble controlling until now was suddenly threatening to explode. She sucked in air, freezing her facial muscles. ‘I happen to be late for work, Mr Rossini.’ Ice dripped from every syllable.

She hit her lowest ebb as she watched his sensual mouth twist and then compress. She didn’t need to be told how ridiculous she had sounded. Then his strong dark face tautened. Brilliant dark eyes rested on her. ‘Sara…I want you to count to ten and think about last night without prejudice. Is that possible for you?’

‘No,’ she said woodenly, honestly, dragging her mortified gaze from his—an act which took so much willpower that she felt drained.

‘We shared something very special which I don’t want… or intend…to lose. It doesn’t matter that you were on the rebound…the only thing that matters is how we both feel now,’ Alex drawled very quietly. ‘Clean page, open book.’

‘Close it,’ Sara said between gritted teeth.

‘I don’t mind you cutting off your nose to spite your face…per Dio, I mind very much if you attempt to make a similar sacrifice of me!’ Alex covered the space between them in one long, fluid stride.

‘I made a mistake, damn you!’ Sara spat, tears scorching her eyes.

‘No, cara. That’s where you’re wrong. What happened between us was no mistake—not for me and not for you either.’

‘Am I entitled to voice an opinion of my own?’

‘Not right now…no.’ Alex lifted the case from her, set it arrogantly aside. ‘The prudish streak is threatening to go on the rampage.’

Sara flinched as though he had struck her.

‘Bella mia…’ Alex sighed reprovingly, smoothing long brown fingers caressingly over one pale, taut cheekbone, his accented drawl low and very soft. Even though she didn’t want to stand there and allow him to touch her again, something frightening, something stronger than she was kept her still, unresisting, her slender length leaning involuntarily closer as if she wanted to curve into that hand and stretch like a sensual cat. ‘Don’t leave. I promise not to try and force anything more. You need time and space to think. I’ll give it to you. I’ll be patient…I’ll stay in the background.’

‘Alex…’ Her voice fractured as she fought to free herself from the spell he cast even while she mentally reeled at the impossible image of Alex Rossini endeavouring to sink into the woodwork.

‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to regret—’

‘But I don’t want this!’ Sara gasped, suddenly finding that freedom to speak her own thoughts. She jerked her head away from him. ‘I don’t want to have an affair with you. Last night was madness—’

‘Sweet insanity that worked like a dream…Don’t deny what you’re feeling right now.’

‘I feel nothing…nothing!’ she swore violently, and, snatching up her case again with an energy born of desperation, she started down the stairs.

‘Sara, you cannot possibly go back into the office after this.’

He caught up with her in the hall. A firm hand closed round hers and tugged her back and round to face him again.

‘You think I’m going to be your mistress, you think wrong!’ Sara threw at him rawly.

‘What did I tell you to be sure to remember today? That this was not how I wanted it to be between us,’ Alex reminded her with controlled anger. ‘But you wouldn’t settle for anything less and now you blame me for it. That’s very female but bloody unfair.’

Her shocked eyes fell from his. ‘I’m not blaming you. I just want to forget this happened, that’s all.’

‘But I will not play that game…and take your hair out of that excruciatingly ugly old-maid style!’ Alex suddenly gritted, and hauled her even closer, banding one strong arm round her narrow back as his free hand roved free to the thick coil of hair and released it from its confinement. ‘You’re a beautiful young woman; rejoice in that beauty…don’t stifle it!’

‘Let go of me!’ Sara told him shrilly.

‘All I want to do is take you back to bed,’ Alex confided in an undertone of angrily suppressed passion as he brought her up against him, a lean hand splaying to the feminine swell of her hips with a lover’s intimacy.

Appalled cat-green eyes collided with his gaze and the atmosphere sizzled. She blinked bemusedly, feeling the piercingly sweet heat reawaken low in the pit of her stomach, the sudden ache of her nipples as her breasts stirred beneath her bra. Her soft mouth trembled. Alex smiled lazily down at her, shifted with fluid emphasis against her and she felt the force of his arousal with shock. Her lower limbs turned to cotton wool. Her ability to breathe and think for herself diminished with terrifying rapidity. ‘Stop it…’ she whispered breathlessly.

‘One kiss, bella mia, and I’ll let you go into work,’ he bargained mockingly.

‘No!’ she spat as her heartbeat pounded like a trapped bird in a cage.

‘Stubborn…’ Alex breathed thickly, amused. ‘You want that kiss as much as I do.’

‘I’m sorry…I didn’t realise…I used the rear entrance,’ another voice intervened.

Alex’s hand dropped instantly. Sara sprang back from him, eyes wide with horror when she saw Pete Hunniford standing several feet away, his mobile features momentarily transfixed with incredulity and then swiftly rearranged into total impassivity.

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