Di Sione's Virgin Mistress (The Billionaire's Legacy 5)

Willow swallowed. ‘That couch does look very uncomfortable,’ she agreed carefully. ‘It can’t be doing your back any good.’

‘It’s got

nothing to do with the damned couch, Willow, and we both know it.’

She leaned back against the pillows, wishing that he would stop snapping at her, and just end this impasse. Wishing he’d just take off those jeans and that stupid jacket and come and get in bed with her and do what was almost driving her out of her mind with longing. How many nights had they spent here now? And still her virginity was intact. Nothing had changed—at least, not in him—though her desire for him was as strong as ever. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to hold him. Yet he acted as if she was contaminated.

‘It was a mistake to come to this damned cottage,’ he bit out. ‘And an even bigger mistake to agree to stay on until after Natalia’s opening.’

‘So why did you agree to it?’

‘You know damned well why,’ he growled. ‘Because you managed to make yourself completely irresistible to my grandfather, didn’t you? So that I could hardly refuse his suggestion that we hang around for a few more days.’ His fingers tightened around his car keys as he glared at her. ‘Was this just more of the same kind of behaviour you demonstrated so perfectly at your sister’s wedding? Manipulating events so they’d turn out the way you wanted them to?’

‘That is an outrageous thing to say,’ she retorted, wrapping the duvet more tightly around herself and trying very hard to keep the sight of her tightening nipples away from his accusing eyes. ‘Unless you’re suggesting that I deliberately went out of my way to be nice to your grandfather, just because I had some sort of hidden agenda to trap you in this cottage?’

He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘Because, believe me, no one would deliberately angle to have more time alone with you, when you’re in this kind of mood!’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I guess not,’ he said.

‘And to be honest, I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this,’ she said. ‘Maintaining this crazy fiction of presenting ourselves as the happy couple whenever we’re with Giovanni or Natalia—and yet the moment we’re alone, we’re...we’re...’

Dante stilled as he heard the unmistakable break in her voice, which only added to his growing sense of confusion and frustration. Because he hated it when she acted vulnerable—something which was surprisingly rare. When her voice wobbled or she got that puppy-dog look in her eyes, it started making all kinds of unwanted ideas flood into his head. Was it possible that duplicity didn’t come as easily to her as he’d originally thought? That the sweet and uncomplicated Willow he’d seen here in his Long Island home—being endlessly patient with his grandfather and lovely towards his sister—was actually the real Willow? His mouth hardened. Or was she trying and managing very successfully to twist him around her little finger?

‘We what, Willow?’ he questioned silkily.

‘We circle each other like two wary animals whenever we’re together!’

‘Well, let me ease the burden by going out and making sure we’re alone for as little time as possible,’ he said. ‘Like I said, I’m going out for a drive. I’ll see you later.’

Walking across the room, he clicked the door shut behind him, and as Willow listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, she slumped dejectedly back into the pillows.

A heavy sigh escaped from her lips. She was living in a prison. A gilded prison where everything she wanted was right in front of her. The only man she’d ever wanted was constantly within touching distance—only she wasn’t allowed to touch. And the fiction of the happy front they presented to the outside world was cancelled out by the spiralling tension whenever they were alone together.

She’d thought she’d been getting close to him. She had been getting close to him. On the day they’d arrived, he’d dropped his formidable guard and told her things about his past—things about his childhood and his family which had made her want to reach out to him. She’d seen the bitter sadness distorting his features and had wanted more than anything else to comfort him.

And for a while he had let her. For a few moments he had held her tight and kissed her and something deep and strong had flickered into life as they’d stood, locked in each other’s arms. Her experience of men was tiny, but she had known that kiss was about more than sexual desire. It had been about understanding and solace. She’d thought it had been about hope.

But then he had pushed her away almost coldly, and since then he hadn’t come close. Only when they were being observed by other people did he soften his attitude towards her.

She’d met one of his sisters, Natalia—a talented artist who lived at the house. With her wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail and tomboyish clothes, she wasn’t a bit how Willow had imagined Dante’s sister to be. She had recently returned from a trip to Greece, but her clear hazel eyes became shuttered whenever anyone asked about it.

And Willow had at last met the legendary Giovanni, Dante’s grandfather. She’d felt a punch of painful recognition after being shown into his room and seeing the pills which the attendant nurse was tipping into a small plastic container. A sense of sadness had curled itself around her heart as she saw the unmistakable signs of sickness. She thought how the Di Sione family had so many of the things which society lusted after. With their lavish wealth and a sprawling mansion in one of the world’s most expensive areas of real estate, they were a force to be reckoned with...but nobody could avoid the inevitability of death, no matter how rich they were. And Dante’s grandfather’s eyes held within them a pain which Willow suspected was caused by more than his illness. Was he trying to get his affairs in order before the end? Was that why he’d asked Dante to trace the costly tiara and bring it to him?

On the first of what became twice daily visits, Willow would perch on a chair beside the bed and chat to the old man. She told him all about her life in England, because she knew better than anyone how being housebound made the dimensions of your world shrink. She was less enthusiastic about her fictitious future with his beloved grandson, even though the old man’s eyes softened with obvious emotion when he reached out to examine her sparkling engagement ring. And she hoped she’d done her best to hide her guilt and her pain—and to bite back the urge to confess to him that none of this was real.

After Dante had gone she lay in bed until the light came up, then walked over to the main house for breakfast. The dining room was empty but Alma must have heard her because she came in with a pot of camomile tea, just as Willow was helping herself to a slice of toast.

‘Where is everyone?’ asked Willow as she reached for a dish of jam.

‘Signor Giovanni is resting and Miss Natalia’s upstairs, trying on dresses for her exhibition,’ replied Alma. ‘Would you like Cook to fix you some eggs?’

Willow shook her head. ‘I’m good, thanks, Alma. This jam is amazing.’

Alma smiled. ‘Thank you. I made it myself.’

Slowly, Willow ate her breakfast and afterwards went for a wander around the house where there was always something new to discover. And it was a relief to be able to distract herself from her endless frustration about Dante by admiring the fabulous views over the Di Sione estate, and the priceless artwork which studded each and every wall of the mansion. She was lost in thought as she studied a beautiful oil painting of Venice when suddenly she heard a small crash on the first floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of Natalia’s voice exclaiming something.