He did not want to love her.
Ariana awoke to a cold empty bed and the sound of the shower.
She could almost feel the weight of his regret in the air.
There was no sense of regret from her. In fact, she wanted to stretch like a cat and purr at the memory of their lovemaking.
She had thought nothing could beat the first time, but again Gian had surprised her.
In his arms, as he’d driven her to the very edge and then toppled them, it had felt as if they were one.
Not now, though.
She looked over to the bedside table and the cufflinks he had dropped last night; his tux was hanging over the suit holder.
Order had been brought to the bedroom.
Except for the hot mess that lay in his bed, Ariana thought.
Yes, an utter hot mess, because despite assurances and promises, both to Gian and herself, she had completely fallen for him.
Well, that was a given...
No, this was bigger.
This feeling was almost more than her head could contain.
It was a cocktail of affection and craving and desire and hunger but she refused, even to herself, to call it love.
It was lust, Ariana told herself.
He had turned on her senses, introduced her to her body, and she must not allow herself to believe that the kisses and intimacies shared last night were exclusively known to her.
Except it had felt as if they were.
It had felt, last night, when she had been trapped in his gaze, being kissed, being held, as if this feeling had been new to them both.
She heard the shower being turned off, and she imagined him in there naked, the mirrors all steamed up. She willed him to come out and face the woman who should not be in his bed and she hoped he wasn’t wondering how to get rid of her.
Oh, God, this was going to be a million times harder than the first time. Then, it had felt like she had been party to the rules, but this time, naked in his bed, she had to find the armour to brazen out a smile and leave without revealing her heart.
He came out of the bathroom with a distinct lack of conversation and a thick white towel wrapped around his lean hips.
‘Buongiorno,’ Ariana said, and looked at Gian with his black hair dripping and unshaven face.
Unshaven, for Gian had barely been able to bring himself to look in the mirror.
He had got too close, and what had felt like a balm last night now felt like an astringent. He couldn’t bear to let anyone in.
More, he couldn’t bear that he was about to hurt her.
‘I’ll call for breakfast,’ he said in a voice that attempted normality but failed. She noted that he did not get back into bed.
Ariana gave a half-laugh at his wooden response in comparison to the easy flow of words last night. ‘You sound like the butler.’
He said nothing to that and Ariana pulled herself up from the bed. ‘I’ll have a shower.’ It served two purposes: one, she refused to force a conversation on an unwilling participant and appear needy and pleading; and, two, she felt the sudden sting of tears and desperately wanted to hide it.
‘Sure.’ Gian said, fighting with himself not to dissuade her. He stepped back as she brushed past and he only breathed again when she closed the bathroom door.
Why the hell was he like this?
Gian generally fought introspection, but he sat on the bed and wrestled with his demons.
The panicked part of Gian wanted the maids to come in and service the apartment so he could get back his cold black heart, instead of fighting the urge to go into the bathroom and join her in the shower before spending a lazy Sunday in bed.
The buzz of his phone had him glancing at the bedside table. Luna calling at such an early hour on a Sunday morning would generally cause him to curse, yet now he leapt on the distraction and took the call.
It was not good news, to say the least.
Ariana, he knew, would freak.
When he’d ended the call, he made a couple of his own and by then Ariana had come out.
‘Don’t worry about breakfast,’ Ariana said, her voice a little shaken, though she was clearly doing her best to control it and keep things light. She had given way to a moment of tears in the shower but she’d pulled herself together and let the hot jets of water flow over her. She would serve herself better to wait until she got home so she could weep alone.
‘I’m not really hungry. I might head down to my own suite...’ She wouldn’t even bother putting on her gown. Wearing the robe and with wet hair, anyone who spotted her would assume she had been for a swim in the luxurious pool in the hotel spa. ‘If you could just send my things down to my suite, please...’
‘Ariana, wait.’
As she headed for the door, she stiffened, fighting the surge of hope that he was calling her back to apologise for the shift in mood and the silent row that had taken place. Slowly she turned around.
‘It’s better that you hear this from me,’ Gian said, and his voice was deadly serious.
‘Hear what?’
‘There was a photo taken last night at the ball...’
‘There were many photos taken.’
‘I mean, there has been an image sold to the press. It hasn’t got out yet and my team are doing all they can to suppress it, but I fear it is just a matter of time.’
‘What sort of photo?’
‘One of Dante...’
‘Dante?’ Ariana frowned. ‘What has Dante got to do with anything?’ Dante’s behaviour had been impeccable last night. He had delivered a speech that had encapsulated the essence of their father and he had worked the room like the professional he was. Though Dante was rather well known for his rakish ways, that had all been put on hold last night.
Or
