Fascination

And she already knew that falling in love with Cesare Gambrelli would be sheer madness—for any woman!

No, loving Marco, and being this man’s unwilling wife, was as far as she was willing to go.

‘True,’ she acknowledged. ‘Nevertheless, for my father’s sake, I really think if we are to go ahead with this marriage that we will have to behave for a few weeks as if we’re in love with each other.’

Cesare looked at her frustratedly, knowing what she was demanding was her own price for agreeing to marry him without further argument or delay. A high price, granted, and not one that he would normally have even considered. But perhaps the pretence would have benefits to himself that even Robin had not considered yet.

He gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘In that case I suggest we begin the pretence this evening, with your not returning to your father’s home as expected. It will tell him, without any word having to be spoken between the two of you, that you have taken a lover.’

Robin sat back in her chair to look at him admiringly. ‘Touché, Cesare,’ she finally admitted ruefully. ‘No one could ever accuse you of losing control of a situation, could they?’ she added wryly.

Losing control in any situation was never in Cesare’s plans.

He had taken many women to his bed, and considered himself a considerate as well as attentive lover for as long as his interest lasted. But all his relationships had been completely under his control. His emotions, other than desire, had never been engaged.

And, no matter what he might decide to pretend for the sake of her father, they would not be with Robin, either.

Love made fools of people—as it had his father and Carla. It was a trap that Cesare never intended falling into.

He shrugged. ‘I suggest that once we have eaten you call your father and inform him you will not be returning tonight.’

At which time, as Cesare meant him to do, Robin knew her father would draw his own conclusion.

Charles would probably be pleased with the development too.

He had made no secret of his concern about the way she had become almost reclusive since her separation and divorce, burying herself in her work at Ingram Publishing and avoiding a social life, and would probably view any sign of her being involved with a man as a good thing, rather than something he should be concerned about.

Until he learnt that Cesare Gambrelli was the man she was involved with, of course—when his reaction would probably be completely the opposite!

But she would deal with that later. For now she had to concentrate on getting through this evening, on talking to her father on the phone before staying the night in one of the many bedrooms in this penthouse suite of the Gambrelli Hotel—Unless.

She looked across at Cesare with accusingly suspicious eyes. ‘I have no intention of sharing your bedroom tonight, Cesare!’ she told him determinedly.

He raised his dark brows calmly. ‘I did not ask you to.’

‘I’m quickly learning that you don’t ask—you just take!’

Cesare eyed her mockingly, enjoying this angrily rebellious Robin much more than the icy socialite who had arrived at his suite a short time ago. ‘I can assure you I do not intend for you to share my bedroom tonight,’ he drawled.

She didn’t look at all convinced by his reassurance. As she should not. His assurance that she wouldn’t share his bedroom did not mean that he didn’t intend to share hers …

‘Come, Robin,’ he encouraged briskly as he picked up the fork beside his plate. ‘Let us eat our food and talk of more general things. Was the charity dinner a success last weekend?’

She still felt suspicious as she picked up her own fork. ‘Very much so,’ she finally confirmed. ‘In fact, one anonymous benefactor—who coincidentally couldn’t stay for the dinner—left us a donation of fifty thousand pounds,’ she explained, with a pointed look in his direction.

Cesare smiled. ‘It was for a good cause.’

She nodded. ‘Disabled children.’

Cesare’s mouth tightened. ‘You think me as uncharitable as your father does?’ he rasped.

Robin wasn’t really sure what she thought of this man any more. He was obviously the anonymous donor, and his love for Marco was unquestionable, and yet for reasons of retribution he was also capable of forcing a woman he didn’t love, who didn’t love him, to marry him. He was an enigma.

One that held an inexplicable fascination for her.

She had certainly found herself thinking about him more than she should the last few days!

‘Only to people called Ingram,’ she came back challengingly.

‘Then it is as well that your name will soon become Gambrelli, is it not?’

She looked across at him for several seconds before sighing. ‘As you said, Cesare, let’s eat,’ she replied, and she avoided meeting his eyes.

He remained very still and silent for several long, tense seconds, Robin only breathing comfortably again when he finally joined her in eating.

‘You do not like oysters?’ he asked several minutes later, as Robin pushed her plate away without even attempting to touch the two succulent shellfish that remained on the platter.

Robin gave him a knowing look. ‘If you think they’ll do you any good, you’re quite welcome to them!’ she came back tartly, well aware of the aphrodisiacal reputation oysters possessed.

‘Oh, I think two will be quite enough for one night,’ he returned sardonically.

Well, that attempt at mockery had backfired on her, hadn’t it? Robin acknowledged to herself, as Cesare stood up to remove their plates, standing close beside her as he did so, his warm proximity making her shiver slightly.

Perhaps staying here tonight wasn’t such a good idea …

After all, just because she was going to tell her father she was staying out tonight it didn’t mean it actually had to be here, in Cesare Gambrelli’s hotel suite, did it? Of course it didn’t.

‘Would you like me to do that?’ she offered as she looked across to where Cesare was taking the serving dishes containing their main course from the trolley, feeling more confident now she had made the decision to leave.

‘Why not?’ He straightened as she stood up to join him beside the trolley. ‘The sooner you become accustomed to your wifely duties the better, hmm?’ he added provokingly.

There was one ‘wifely duty’ she knew she would never become accustomed to!

There was no way she would ever be comfortable as this man’s lover.

Oh, physically she wanted Cesare; there was no way she could deny that after the way she responded to his slightest touch. But she had always believed that physical pleasure should be accompanied by love. She had been a virgin on her wedding night, and had taken no other lovers since her marriage ended, either.

‘Perhaps,’ she began slowly, as she served thinly sliced beef fillets and vegetables onto their plates, a large portion for Cesare, a much smaller one for herself, ‘it’s time we discussed the terms of this as yet mythical marriage.?’ She placed the plates on the table in front of them before sitting down again.

‘I have already agreed to satisfy your father’s … sensibilities concerning a marriage between the two of us,’ Cesare replied. ‘I do not think you are in any position to dictate any further terms to me, Robin.’ Though he admired her nerve, he had absolutely no sympathy for her sentiment.

‘Nevertheless,’ she told him firmly, ‘if I do agree to marry you—and it’s still a big if—then I also intend having some input into the … nature of the marriage.’

Cesare found himself smiling, sure that he knew exactly which part of the marriage she was referring to. ‘Go on,’ he invited dryly, deciding he had better quickly eat some of the delicious beef in front of him. From the little experience he had of dealing with this woman, his appetite could desert him at any moment.

Her chin rose defiantly, those violet-coloured eyes glittering purple. ‘Perhaps we could start by having you drop this mocking way you have of responding to everything I say!’ she snapped.

His smile widened. ‘Perhaps if you stopped coming out with comments that I find amusing, I might be able to do so,’ he came back laconically.

‘I’m glad you find it so amusing, Cesare!’ Robin glared. ‘Personally, I find absolutely nothing to laugh about in this situation!’

Yes, he had been correct—he was losing his appetite. For food, anyway.

He liked that heated flush to her cheeks, the way her eyes sparkled deeply purple with emotion, her breasts thrusting against the thin material of her dress as she tensed her shoulders with indignant reproval at what she viewed as his inability to take her seriously.

But he seriously wanted to strip that dress from her body right now and make love to her!

‘I am not laughing, Robin,’ he assured her huskily. ‘But perhaps we should postpone this conversation until after we have eaten?’

‘I’m not hungry!’ She pushed her plate away, her whole body rigid with her anger.

Neither was he. His appetite was for something much more … tactile than food now.

‘Do not behave like a child, Robin,’ he said sternly.

‘Is that what I’m doing?’ she came back swiftly.

‘I believe so,’ he responded.

‘And if the great Cesare Gambrelli believes it to be so, then it must be so!’ Robin scorned.

Cesare looked at her consideringly. ‘Why are you deliberately provoking an argument between the two of us, Robin?’ he finally asked.

‘I’m being provocative, am I?’ she said heatedly.

‘You must know that you are.’

Because Robin knew she wanted him!

Because she had seen the way he had looked at her seconds ago, seen the desire in his eyes before he’d masked it, and at this moment her whole body was singing with the knowledge of her own need!

Because she didn’t want to want him!

‘Forgive me.’ She didn’t even attempt to hide her sarcasm. ‘Obviously I become a little argumentative when a man is blackmailing me into his bed!’

Cesare’s breath hissed from between his clenched teeth. ‘Your primary roles as my wife will be as Marco’s mother and as my lover!’

‘I don’t wish to become your lover at all!’ Robin told him with conviction, even as her body warmed in betrayal of her claim.

‘All evidence is to the contrary, my dear Robin.’ Cesare raised an eyebrow.

‘Bastard!’ she breathed furiously, stung by his confidence. ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard!’ she repeated recklessly, and she stood up to glare down at him. ‘I dislike you intensely, Cesare Gambrelli—’

‘Perhaps you should once again show me how much you dislike me, Robin?’ he invited, as he too stood up to move purposefully around the table towards her.

Too far. She had gone too far, Robin acknowledged as she began to back away from him.

She had meant to get him to listen to her, to have him take her requests seriously, not provoke him into this totally physical response.

Hadn’t she?

As her pulse leapt, the breath caught in her throat, and Cesare’s mouth captured hers in a kiss that was hot, hungry and sensually demanding, allowing her no opportunity to deny her own response.

His tongue slid intimately into her mouth, stirring her body into throbbing awareness, and Robin wasn’t sure what she had intended any more—only knew that she didn’t want this to stop, that she needed this man’s lovemaking in a way she had never needed or wanted any other man.

Her lips widened and she kissed him back hungrily, her hands becoming entwined in the dark thickness of his hair as she held him to her, her tongue duelling with his as she pressed her body into him.

Fire. This woman was pure, molten fire. And Cesare wanted to lose himself in her flames. As he wanted her to lose herself in the inferno that raged inside him.

He deepened his kiss and freed Robin’s hair once again to entangle his hand in its silky scentedness. His other hand moved the length of her body restlessly as he touched and caressed her slender curves. Feeling her quiver of response, he raised the hem of her dress and began to caress a path upwards.

She breathed low in her throat as his hand touched the bare flesh above her stockings, that sigh becoming a groan as that hand moved assuredly towards the warmth between her thighs.

Cesare’s fingers easily pushed aside the silk of her panties, and he touched the silky curls before moving unerringly to the centre of her desire, touching her, feeling the way she instantly blossomed and opened to him.

Wet. Robin was so wet. So wet and ready.

Cesare continued to kiss her as he untangled his other hand from her hair, moving that hand to the back of her dress, lowering the zip down the length of her spine to allow the dress to fall in a heap at her sandalled feet. He bared the pert arousal of her breasts to his caress, finding she fitted perfectly into the palm of his hand. His thumb moved to caress the fiery peak, and he could feel the moistness increase between her thighs as his fingers stroked the throbbing nub of her arousal.

Robin had been lost from the first touch of Cesare’s mouth on hers—had no will to fight the volcanic passion that had been burning barely beneath the surface between them all evening. Her breathing was shallow as Cesare moved his mouth from hers and bent to capture her hardened nipple between his lips, teeth and tongue, tasting before he suckled her deeply into the heat of his mouth, at the same time as his finger moved into the heat between her thighs.

Her breath became a sob as she moved rhythmically against him, the earthquake building deep within her, increasing her thrusts against him as her shuddering release convulsed around and against his stroking hand—a release that seemed to go on and on as Cesare continued those caresses, filling her whole body with a bone-melting pleasure that she never wanted to stop …

CHAPTER SIX

WAS THERE ANY dignified way in which she could extract herself from this situation, Robin wondered with aching embarrassment seconds later, as her composure slowly returned to her.

No, there wasn’t, she decided, feeling a cringing awkwardness at her total lack of control. For one thing, she was wearing only panties, stockings and her evening sandals, while Cesare was still dressed in his black silk shirt and trousers.

Not that he looked completely together, she realised, as she looked at him from beneath lowered lashes: his shirt was unbuttoned where her questing fingers had sought to touch his bare flesh, and his dark, overlong hair was slightly tousled from the way those same fingers had become entangled in its thickness as she’d clung to him. There was a flush of arousal on his high cheekbones.

An arousal that he hadn’t satisfied.

That she hadn’t satisfied!

It might have been some time since she’d known a man intimately, but she knew she had never been a selfish lover, that a lack of physical consideration for her partner was not something Giles had ever been able to accuse her of.

Although she could never remember responding to her husband in the abandoned way she had to Cesare!

But, although only minutes had passed, wasn’t it just a little too late for her to even attempt to give Cesare the release that his throbbing body, pressed against hers, so obviously craved?

‘What are you thinking now?’ Cesare’s voice was harsh in the pregnant silence that had grown between them.

Robin hesitated before answering. ‘That this is the most embarrassing moment of my entire life,’ she told him honestly.

‘Embarassing?’ Cesare repeated, standing back slightly to look at her, her hair rumpled and silky, her eyes overbright, her mouth slightly swollen from the force of his kisses. Her breasts were still aroused from the touch of his hands and lips, and there was a lethargy to her limbs that spoke of recent arousal and release. ‘You are beautiful, Robin,’ he assured her. ‘In fact, once we are husband and wife, I wish for you to hate me in that way every night of our married life!’

‘You’re so sure, after … after that … that I’ll marry you, aren’t you?’ she accused with an indignant glare, and she bent down to snatch up her dress from the carpeted floor and hold it against her bare breasts.

Cesare sensed that she was once again being deliberately provocative, but the unsatisfied ache of his own body meant he was in no mood for yet another argument.

There was no way Robin could deny her physical response to him, or his response to her, and any more prevarication between them was pointless.

He gave a sharp inclination of his head. ‘I suggest you tell your father we are to be married as soon as a special licence can be arranged—’

‘Oh, you suggest, do you?’ Robin echoed sarcastically as she pulled her dress back on and zipped it firmly back into place.

‘Yes—I—suggest,’ Cesare repeated forcefully, the familiar ache of his body certainly not improving his temper.

What should have happened now was for the two of them to go to bed together and finish what they had started. But one look at Robin’s rebellious expression told him that definitely was not going to happen!

No matter. He had the rest of their lives together to take his fill of this highly sensuous woman. A few days, perhaps weeks, to wait; delay would only make his anticipation all the sweeter.

‘At least give me some credit for having the sense not to make it an order, Robin,’ he grated.

She gave a derisive snort. ‘I have no intention of giving you credit for anything, Cesare!’

He quirked dark brows over mocking brown eyes. ‘Not even for being a considerate lover?’ he taunted softly.

‘For being an experienced one, you mean!’ she came back self-disgustedly, and her cheeks burned anew at his reminder of her earlier loss of control.

And something else, if Cesare was not mistaken. Perhaps she had not had the same consideration for his own pleasure?

‘I have had other lovers, yes,’ he conceded. ‘But then, so have you.’

‘One lover,’ she corrected. ‘I would never—That … what happened just now would never have happened if—’ She broke off suddenly. ‘I have to go,’ she muttered almost inaudibly.

It wasn’t what they had planned for tonight, Cesare knew, but in view of what had just ocurred he was inclined to let Robin make her escape.

Before, no doubt, spending a frustratingly restless night himself.

Although there was some sweet consolation for him in the fact that Robin claimed her only lover had been her ex-husband.

It was a surprise, a very pleasant surprise, and her uninhibited response to him encouraged him in the belief that Robin would accept him as a husband much sooner than she thought she would.

‘Very well, Robin,’ he conceded. ‘I will allow you to—’

‘You aren’t allowing me to do anything, Cesare,’ Robin cut in impatiently. ‘My God, you’re arrogant,’ she added disgustedly. ‘I’m leaving now because I want to, not because you’re allowing me to! Don’t think—don’t ever think—that you’ll control me with physical pleasure, Cesare. Because you won’t!’

Had that been his intention? However, the physical pleasure they had just known together was not a weapon to be used but to be enjoyed—reveled in, even.

Did Robin think—did she really not know—that the pleasure she had experienced tonight was much rarer than people would have you believe? That, no matter what all those glossy magazines might say, many women went through the whole of their life without experiencing a single orgasm in the arms of their lover. Pleasure, yes, but not necessarily the deep, orgasmic response that Robin had just given so freely.

He was not about to refuse the gift she had given him, let alone throw it back in her beautiful face!

‘Just go, Robin,’ he told her sternly. ‘With your agreement,’ he added, ‘we will meet again tomorrow evening—’

‘At a restaurant this time!’ she came back swiftly, eyes flashing angrily.

He gave a humourless smile. ‘At a restaurant this time,’ he conceded. ‘Do not ever think you will control me with physical pleasure either, Robin,’ he warned.

Her eyes widened briefly, followed by a frown, before she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Cesare heard the lift doors open and then close seconds later as she left.

No matter.

He had tomorrow night. And the night after that. And all the other nights for the rest of his life …

‘You spent yesterday evening having dinner with who?’ her father said incredulously, as he sat across the breakfast table from Robin the following morning.

‘Oh, Daddy,’ she replied, her tone teasing, ‘As I know there is absolutely nothing wrong with your hearing, I’m sure you heard me the first time.’ She raised mock-reproving brows, her elbows resting on the table as she cradled her morning cup of coffee in her hands.

Although she hadn’t exactly had dinner with Cesare—or at least they had never finished eating!—she inwardly acknowledged ruefully, still writhing with embarrassment inside herself every time she so much as thought of the time she had spent in Cesare’s arms the previous evening.

Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.

Oh, the physical side of her marriage to Giles had been satisfying enough at the beginning. Less so as they’d become caught up in the tests and charts and temperature-taking that had been part of their effort to conceive the child Giles so wanted. The child Robin had wanted too.

That she was now going to have in Marco, if her marriage to Cesare Gambrelli took place.

And now she’d met Marco, she had every intention that it would.

She had woken up this morning—in her own bed, thank goodness—filled with what she could only describe as a feeling of satisfied langour. Caused by Cesare’s lovemaking, she knew.

But it was that langour, the knowledge that when she and Cesare were married she would become his wife in the full sense of the word, as well as her joy in the prospect of becoming Marco’s mother, which had encouraged her to start the awkward process this morning of breaking the news of their relationship to her father.

The sooner he knew, the sooner she could become mother to that enchanting little boy.

Her father looked stricken by her news as he stared across the breakfast table at her. ‘I—But … Cesare Gambrelli, Robin?’ he finally burst out disbelievingly. ‘I wasn’t aware that you even knew the man!’

‘You introduced the two of us last Saturday at the charity dinner, remember?’ she reminded gently.

‘Well, yes, but—’ He shook his head. ‘When did the two of you meet up again?’ His brow furrowed.

Robin was aware that this conversation was going to be delicate, to say the least, and also aware that Cesare wasn’t the most patient of men—that if she didn’t talk to her father then Cesare surely would. It would be so much better coming from her.

‘He called at the house to see me.’ She deliberately didn’t say he had come only yesterday. ‘To invite me out to dinner. And I accepted.’

‘He came here?’ Her father’s face was very pale.

‘Yes.’ Robin tilted her head to one side. ‘Is there some reason why he shouldn’t have?’ She kept her tone deliberately light.

Her father stood up to pace the room, still in his dressing gown as it was Saturday morning and he didn’t have to go in to work—although he had brushed his hair and shaved before coming down to breakfast.

‘Perhaps I should have talked to you about this earlier, Robin,’ he admitted, ‘but I had no idea you and Gambrelli would ever meet again after the charity dinner. Damn it, I hoped you would never meet again! You see, Robin, the other driver involved in Simon’s accident—’

‘Was Cesare’s young sister, Carla,’ she interrupted calmly. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘You know?’ her father breathed, and he stopped his pacing.

She nodded. ‘Cesare and I have talked about it—’