The Sicilian's Bought Cinderella

They would all be taken care of and he would carry on with his life.

For this weekend, though, he would take full advantage of the time they had together.

His vow to keep his hands off her and keep things platonic between them had been broken—and, Dio, how it had been broken—and he had no intention of denying himself more of the exquisite joy he’d found with her.

Dante pulled his gaze away from his Irish fox, now talking with real animation to Sabine about Italian medieval history. Dante had known Sabine for years. He’d steered Aislin to her as, of all the women there, she was the most likely to take her under her wing and not treat her as a rival.

He sensed Riccardo’s stare on them and the curiosity behind it. Everyone here was curious about Aislin.

He thought of Lola and the women who had come before her. Forget discussions of medieval history, they would have been too threatened by Sabine’s beauty to delve any deeper than a fake tribute to her outfit. They would have been friendly enough but their claws would have been primed, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness, anything to make a perceived potential rival feel small. Aislin had none of that cattiness.

She had a temper on her, though. Dio, she had fire in her soul that matched the russet of her flame-like hair.

A huge brass gong was brought out to the grounds, its clang ringing through the still spring air.

Dante breathed a sigh of relief. That was the champagne reception done with. Now it was time for dinner.

In a few hours he would make their excuses and take Aislin back to bed.

* * *

The dinner was held in the sumptuous banquet room and the food they were served was delicious and befitting a castle of this magnificence.

Close to a hundred people were seated around a horseshoe-shaped table and it made Aislin’s brain hurt to think double the number would be arriving tomorrow for the wedding itself. As Dante’s guest, she was on the special insider list of guests which consisted of close family and the closest of friends chosen to spend the whole weekend with the happy couple.

A waiter appeared at her shoulder with a fresh cocktail for her. When they had first filled everyone’s wine glasses, Dante had discreetly asked if she could be served something different. Feeling it would totally lower the tone if she had a beer, she’d asked the waiter to come up with something for her. The result was a colourful fruity cocktail that tasted divine. Thankfully, Katrina the Medusa was at the furthest end of the table to her and out of her eyeline, enabling Aislin to relax.

Dante was more relaxed than she’d known him too.

Making love had changed the tone of their relationship. The desire that bound them in its grip had revealed itself in glorious colour. There was nothing left to hide.

Over the seemingly ordinary words they exchanged throughout the meal ran an undercurrent, a seduction, every catch of his eye making her pulse jump, a heady promise in the air of what was to come when this me

al was over. Electricity zinged between them. She could feel it as clearly as the beats of her heart. The heat of his thigh pressed against hers lasered through the material of her dress, the effect the same as if she were naked.

She yearned to see him naked.

How many courses had they had? Five or six? She’d lost count.

Lifting her glass to her lips, she took a long drink and put it back down with a trembling hand.

Dear God, she was shaking.

She managed to breathe a little easier a moment later when the efficient serving staff filed back in and laid individual hot chocolate puddings before them all.

Aislin cut into hers and watched the thick chocolate goo spill out.

That chocolate goo was her, she realised helplessly.

Inside she was melting for him.

It was the most delicious dessert she’d ever tasted but she struggled to swallow even a small mouthful.

‘It’s not like you to leave food,’ Dante murmured when she put her spoon down and pushed her plate aside.

She looked into his eyes and searched desperately for a witty retort.

No retort came, only the truth. ‘This is your fault.’