The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

That stung. Her mother’s reputation had stained her own from the start. Men assumed that as she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she’d have her ‘skills’ too. But her mother had been discarded by every one of her many lovers. Which was partly why Bella was not the lover of anyone bold enough to make a move. And the truth was she was unmoved. Always.

She should shake him off with some glib retort and a smile and make her escape from a situation like this the way she’d done many times before. Or she should tell him exactly where to go and why.

‘What if I don’t want you to kiss me?’ she asked, determinedly standing in place despite the adrenalin rush urging her to run.

‘Don’t you?’ He laughed then. A low, sexy, mocking laugh.

That he’d laughed at all was a shock, but that he laughed like that? She just gazed at him, stunned by this glimpse of someone else altogether—a gorgeous virile man.

His smile disappeared as he neared, but there was still that glimpse of human behind the pale blue. ‘You are beautiful.’

Beneath that clinical assessment she heard huskiness. Heat washed over her, confusing her more.

‘Beauty isn’t everything,’ she pointed out.

Glossy magazines and plastic surgeons would argue otherwise, but Bella knew the truth. Beauty faded. Beauty depended on who was looking. Beauty didn’t count for anything at the end of the day.

‘No,’ he agreed softly.

The atmosphere thickened, building the tension both within her and between them. She wanted to duck and run. She already knew she wouldn’t feel anything if he kissed her. She never felt anything. That was the point. She’d tried but she wasn’t the hedonist the world wanted her to be. In ten seconds it would be obvious who the frigid one was. He’d know her secret. She gritted her teeth, angered by that old humiliation.

‘Go on, then,’ she finally snapped. ‘Try it and see what happens.’

‘Such an invitation,’ he mocked.

‘You’re hardly bounding over with unbridled lust.’

‘I don’t do unbridled lust, remember?’ He regarded her intently. ‘You’re not going to drive me crazy.’

It was almost as if he was challenging himself. Not her.

‘I don’t want to drive anyone crazy,’ she retorted. ‘People ought to take responsibility for their own actions.’

She just wanted to do her own thing. She hadn’t asked to be raised in the glare of paparazzi flashes. Yes, she’d chosen the ballet stage, but it wasn’t supposed to have intruded into her personal life as much. And now she did all that Internet sharing only to build something for the future—funding her escape route.

‘Indeed they should.’ He gripped her waist, his hands not too high or too low or too tight. He didn’t step closer so there was a clear two inches between them. He held her in the position perfect for a formal dance. But they weren’t in a ballroom. They were yards from her tiny bedroom.

Heart thudding, Bella fisted her hands and held them to her stomach, but she couldn’t bring herself to say stop. Instinctively she knew that if she did, he would. But she was curious to see how far perfect Prince Antonio would take this. She kept her eyes open, focusing intently on him. It was a trick she’d learned when amorous dates had moved closer than she’d wanted. Guys didn’t like to think they weren’t wowing a woman with their sensual prowess.

But Antonio kept his eyes open too. As he inclined his head she found herself sinking into their surprising depths—they were such a pale blue, but there was an echo of that smile glinting in the backs of them. That smile was what she really wanted more of.

He pressed his lips to hers in the lightest caress, offering less than a heartbeat of touch. But it delivered a lightning flash of heat. Bella froze, teetering on the edge of something unknown, so tempted to tumble over—but he didn’t take her there. He didn’t touch her again.

He remained a breath away but she couldn’t fathom his feelings in his unreadable eyes.

Finally it dawned on her that he had no feelings. He’d been teasing her. He’d intended to give her nothing but that chaste peck all along. Perfectly, bloodlessly executed. Any second now he’d step back and say, ‘I told you so’. He was utterly in control at all times.