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high ground.

      He waited for her to mention the speeches, but she didn’t. She was too busy weaving her fingers into his and squeezing them. He thought again about her father’s words and how her experience had affected her. It meant she’d probably learnt in the hardest way possible about the fragility of life and the random way that trouble could strike. He wondered if she’d plumped for recklessness as a result of that. Was that why she would have had sex with him before the wedding had even started, if her damned sister hadn’t interrupted them? He wondered if she was this free with everyone—an aristocratic wild child who’d learned to be liberal with her body. And he was unprepared for the sudden dark shaft of anger which slammed into him.

      They reached her room without meeting anyone and the sounds of celebration drifted up through the open windows as she shut the bedroom door behind them and switched on a small lamp. He could hear music and laughter and the rising lull of snatched conversation, but there was no joy in Dante’s heart right then.

      She leaned against the door, her shiny ruffled dress gleaming and her grey eyes looking very bright. ‘So,’ she said, darting a rather embarrassed glance at the bride’s bouquet she was still holding, before quickly putting it down on a nearby table. ‘Now what?’

      He wished he could wipe what he’d heard from his mind, leaving his conscience free to do what he really wanted—which was to walk over there and remove her dress. To take off her bra and her panties and strip himself bare, before entering that pale and slim body with one slow and exquisite thrust.

      He went to stand by the window, with his back to the strings of Chinese lanterns which gleamed in the trees.

      ‘Did you enjoy the wedding, Willow?’ he asked carefully.

      She walked across the room, pulling the wilting crown of flowers from her head and placing it on the dressing table, and a clip which clattered onto the wooden floor sounded unnaturally loud.

      ‘It was okay,’ she said, taking out another clip, and then another, before putting them down. She turned around then, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and there was a faint look of anxiety in her eyes, as if she had just picked up from his tone that something was different. She licked her lips. ‘Did you?’

      He shook his head. ‘No, not really. But then, I’m not really a big fan of weddings.’

      Her smile became a little brittle. ‘Oh, well, at least it’s over now,’ she said. ‘So why don’t we just take our minds off it?’

      She began to walk unsteadily towards him and Dante knew he had to stop this before it went any further. Before he did something he might later regret. But it was hard to resist her when she looked so damned lovely. There was something so compelling about her. Something pure and untouched which contrasted with the hungry look in her eyes and the wanton spill of her half-pinned hair. She looked like a little girl playing the part of vamp.

      He shook his head. ‘No, Willow.’

      But she kept on walking towards him until she was standing in front of him in her long dress. And now she was winding her arms around his neck and clinging on to him like a tender vine and the desire to kiss her was like a fever raging in his blood.

      Briefly, he closed his eyes as if that would help him resist temptation, but it didn’t—because the feel of her was just as distracting as the sight of her. And maybe she took that as an invitation—because she brushed her mouth over his with a tentative exploration which made him shiver. With an angry little groan he succumbed to the spiralling of desire as he deepened the kiss. He felt the kick of his heart as her hands began to move rather frantically over him, and what could he do but respond?

      She was tugging at his tie as he started to caress the slender lines of her body, his fingers sliding helplessly over the slippery material. He felt her sway and picked her up, carrying her over to the bed, like a man acting on autopilot. She lay there, almost swamped by the silky folds of her bridesmaid dress, and as his hand reached out to stroke its way over her satin-covered breast, he felt a savage jerk of lust.

      ‘Oh, Dante,’ she breathed—and that heartfelt little note of wonder was almost his undoing.

      Would it be so wrong to take her? To have her gasp out her pleasure and him do the same, especially when they both wanted it so badly? Surely it would be a good thing to end this rather bizarre day with some uncomplicated and mindless sex.

      Except that it wouldn’t be uncomplicated. Or mindless. Not in the light of what he’d learned. Because she was vulnerable. Of course she was. And he couldn’t treat her as he would treat any other woman. He couldn’t just strip her naked and pleasure her and take what he wanted for himself before walking away. She had gone through too much to be treated as something disposable.

      With an effort which tore at him like a physical pain, he moved away from the bed and went to stand by the window, where the darkness of the garden was broken by the flickering gleam of candlelight. Tiny pinpricks of light glittered on every surface, like fallen stars. Beneath the open window he could hear a couple talking in low voices which then abruptly stopped and something told him they were kissing. Was that envy he felt? Envy that he couldn’t just forget everything he knew and block out his reservations with a kiss?

      It took several moments for the hunger to leave him, and when he had composed himself sufficiently, he turned back to find her sitting up on the bed looking at him—confusion alternating with the desire which was skating across her fine-boned features.

      He drew in a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been so ill?’

      Willow’s first reaction was one of rage as his words fired into her skin like sharp little arrows. Rage that her father and Dominic should have seen fit to include the information in their speeches and rage that he should suddenly have started talking to her in that new and gentle voice. She didn’t want him to be gentle with her—she wanted him hot and hungry. She wanted him tugging impatiently at her clothes like he’d been before, as if he couldn’t wait to strip her bare.

      ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ she demanded. ‘I had leukaemia as a child. What’s the big deal?’

      ‘It’s a pretty big deal, Willow.’

      ‘Only if people choose to make it one,’ she gritted out. ‘Especially since I’ve had the all-clear, which makes me as disease-free as you or the rest of the general population. What did you want me to do, Dante? Tell you all about the drugs and the side effects and the way my hair fell out, or how difficult it was to actually keep food down? When it comes to interacting with men, it’s not exactly what they want to hear as a chat-up line. It doesn’t really make you attractive towards the opposite sex.’ She glared. ‘Why the hell did Dom and my father have to say anything?’

      ‘I think I might have worked it out for myself,’ he said slowly. ‘Because I’d had my suspicions ever since we arrived.’

      ‘You had your suspicions?’ she echoed angrily.

      ‘Sure. I wondered why your sisters were acting as if I was the big, bad ogre and I wondered why everyone was so protective of you. It took me a while to work out why that might be, but now I think I have.’

      ‘So once I was very sick and now I’m not,’ she said flippantly. ‘End of subject, surely?’

      ‘But it’s a little bit more complicated than that, Willow?’ he said slowly. ‘Isn’t it?’

      For a minute she stiffened as she thought he might have learned about her biggest fear and secret, before she told herself he couldn’t know. He wasn’t that perceptive and she’d certainly never discussed it with anyone else. ‘What are you talking about?’ she questioned.

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Something tells me you’ve never brought a man back here before. Have you?’

      Willow felt humiliation wash over her and in that moment she hated Dante Di Sione’s perception and that concerned way he was looking at her. She didn’t want him looking at her with concern—she wanted him looking at her

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