He’d noticed the way her hair had tumbled like dark satin all the way down to her waist and her dress had skimmed the smooth expanse of her bare thighs. Their eyes had met across the dance floor—he had seen her eyes widen as if she had been surprised—and in that moment he had known. Just as he always knew when a woman wanted him. She was his for the taking and he wanted to take her as soon as possible—because one day very soon, this kind of sexual dalliance would be a thing of the past.
Kulal felt his mouth flatten in resignation, for the duty and the protocol of an arranged marriage loomed close on his horizon and his carefree playboy days were numbered. Even if he and his new bride were to agree to an ‘open’ marriage—or at least ‘open’ for him—he knew that in future he would have to conduct his affairs discreetly. He came from the kind of culture where wives turned a blind eye to their husbands’ indiscretions, but marriage brought with it certain responsibilities. Gone would be the days of walking into a nightclub alone, and walking out with a beautiful woman on his arm.
He pressed his lips against the warm, fleshy shell of her ear as they moved in time to the music. ‘What’s your name?’ he questioned.
‘Rosa,’ she replied, instinctively leaving off the ‘Corretti’ bit. He might have heard of her notorious family or he might not, but she wasn’t going to take that risk. Tonight might be her night for behaving recklessly, but not stupidly.
‘Rosa,’ he repeated, running his palm down over the thick spill of her dark hair as if he was stroking the flank of his favourite mount. He smiled as he felt her wriggle in response. ‘I like that too. Are you Italian?’
‘Yes,’ Rosa managed, even though it was difficult to speak when his earthy scent was overpowering her. Who cared that she was being a little economical with the truth? She was Sicilian through and through, and her family would have erupted with rage if they’d heard her claiming to being Italian! But it was easier this way. And she no longer owed her family anything, she reminded herself fiercely. Not a single thing. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And do you make a habit of pole dancing in nightclubs, Rosa?’
She shook her head. ‘Never done it before in my life.’
‘Interesting. Why not?’
Rosa screwed up her face because this was a path she didn’t want to venture down. She shook her head. ‘Tell me about you instead!’
But Kulal was coming to realise that he didn’t want to have to shout to make himself heard, and he didn’t dare stay on the dance floor with her much longer. Much more of her rubbing her voluptuous body against him and he would be unable to move. So why not cut to the chase and continue this conversation somewhere more private—like the seclusion of his villa complex, with the convenience of a nearby bed?
‘Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter?’ he suggested.
Rosa swayed. She wished he’d given her some kind of warning before he’d loosened his grip on her like that, because suddenly she felt like a ship which had broken anchor. ‘Like where?’
Kulal frowned as a flicker of irritation skittered over him. Why did women always do this? Why did they pretend total innocence when they both knew exactly how the night was going to end? Trying to suddenly play the innocent was never going to work for someone as foxy as her. He shrugged. ‘I know a place with an amazing view, where we could sit and watch the stars.’
‘Oh, I love the stars,’ said Rosa dreamily.
‘I love them too. So why don’t we get out of here and find our own little piece of heaven?’
He made the words sound so poetic, Rosa thought as a feeling of wooziness shimmered over her again. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten but it seemed like a long time ago. ‘Okay,’ she agreed carefully.
And Kulal smiled, for it was as easy as he had expected it to be. What Kulal wanted Kulal got. That’s what they always said about him. He’d never had to fight for anything or anyone—except for the one person he’d really wanted, and it hadn’t been possible to fight for her.
She was looking up at him now and the expression on her face was so soft and … trusting—and he didn’t want her to look at him that way. He wanted her hard and hot and sexy. ‘Let’s go and find my car,’ he said, his gaze skating over her bare arms and legs. ‘Do you have a jacket, or something?’
Rosa blinked. Did she? She couldn’t recall. She stared down at the satin minidress which was skimming her thighs. She remembered buying it in that ridiculously expensive boutique in Antibes just a few hours earlier, along with the towering shoes which complemented it. It matched the crimson bag which was hanging from her shoulder on a gilt chain, but she didn’t remember it coming with a jacket.