Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4. Cathy Williams

hear what you’re saying and I am prepared to take it on board. But be very clear that I am not a patient man, Willow—and I have a very low boredom threshold. Better not keep me waiting too long,’ he said roughly as he levered her away from him, in the direction of the door.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      DANTE GLANCED AROUND at the guests who were standing on the newly mown lawn drinking champagne. He risked another glance at his watch and wondered how soon this would be over and he could get Willow into bed—but like all weddings, this one seemed never-ending.

      The place had been a hive of activity all afternoon. The faded grandeur of Willow’s vast home had been transformed by legions of adoring locals, who had carried armfuls of flowers from the nearby village to decorate the house and gardens. Hedges had been trimmed and Chinese lanterns strung high in the trees. Rough wooden trestle tables had been covered with white cloths before being decked with grapes and roses and tiny flickering tealights.

      It quickly dawned on him that the Hamiltons were the kind of aristocratic family with plenty of cachet but very little cash. The ceremony had taken place in their own church—he found that quite hard to believe—a small but freezing building situated within the extensive grounds. The bride looked okay—but then, all brides looked the same, in Dante’s opinion. She wore a white dress and a veil and the service had been interminable. No change there. But he’d found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Willow as she’d made her way up the aisle. He thought how beautiful she looked, despite a deeply unflattering dress and a smile which suggested that, like him, she’d rather be somewhere else.

      Before the ceremony he had endured a meet-and-greet with her family over some unspeakable coffee, drunk in a room hung with dusty old paintings. Flora and Clover he’d already met and the remaining sibling was called Poppy—a startlingly pretty girl with grey eyes like Willow’s, who seemed as keen to question him as her sisters had been. Their attitude towards him had been one of unrestrained suspicion. They were curious about where he and Willow had met and how long they’d been an item. They seemed surprised to hear he lived in Paris and they wondered how often he was seeing their sister. And because Dante didn’t like being interrogated and because he wasn’t sure what Willow had told them, he was deliberately vague.

      Her parents had appeared at one point. Her mother was tall and still beautiful, with cheekbones as high as Willow’s own. She was wearing what looked like her husband’s old smoking jacket over a dress and a pair of wellington boots and smiled rather distractedly when Dante shook her hand.

      But her attitude changed the instant she caught sight of Willow, who had been over on the other side of the room, finding him a cup of coffee. ‘Are you okay, darling? You’re not tiring yourself out?’

      Just what was it with these people? Dante wondered. Was that a warning look from Sister Number Three being slanted in his direction? He got that Willow probably didn’t bring a lot of men home and he got that as the youngest daughter she would be a little overprotected. But they seemed to be fussing around her as if she was some kind of teenager, rather than a woman in her mid-twenties. And she seemed to be letting them.

      But now the wedding was over, the photo session was finished and he was standing on a warm summer’s evening with a growing sense of sexual anticipation. He felt his mouth dry as he glanced across the lawn, to where Willow was listening to something her mother was saying, obediently nodding her blond head, which was woven with blooms and making her look even more ethereal than before. Her dress emphasised the razor-sharp slant of her collarbones and the slenderness of her bare arms.

      Maybe her intrinsic delicacy was the reason why everyone seemed to treat her with kid gloves. And why her gaggle of interfering sisters seemed to boss her around so much.

      Her mother walked off and Dante put his untouched drink onto a table, walking through the growing dusk until he was standing in front of her. He watched as her expression underwent a series of changes. He saw shyness as well as that now-familiar wariness in her eyes, but he saw desire too—and that desire lit something inside him and made him want to touch her again.

      ‘Dance with me,’ he said.

      With a quick bite of her lip, she shook her head. ‘I’d better not. I have masses of things I need to do.’

      ‘It wasn’t a question, Willow,’ he said, pulling her into his arms. ‘It was a command and I won’t tolerate anyone who disobeys my commands.’

      ‘That’s an outrageous thing to say.’

      ‘So outrageous it’s made you shiver with desire?’

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’ Pulling her against his body, he breathed in the scent of flowers which made him long to remove that fussy dress and have her naked in his arms. He’d had enough of behaving like a teenager—only getting so far before another of her damned sisters interrupted them. He slid his hand over her ribcage, his heart thundering as his fingertips stroked the slippery satin. ‘So how long does this damned wedding go on for?’

      ‘Oh, ages,’ she said, but the sudden breathlessness in her voice coincided with his thumb casually beginning to circle the area beneath her breast. ‘We haven’t even had the speeches yet.’

      ‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ he said, swinging her round and thinking how slight she was. He remembered how feather-light she’d felt when he’d carried her over to that ridiculously tiny bed and he wished he was on that bed right now with his mouth on her breast and his fingers between her legs. ‘I don’t know how much longer I can wait,’ he said huskily.

      ‘Wait?’ She drew her head back and it was as if she had suddenly recognised her power over him, because her grey eyes were dancing with mischief. ‘Yes, I suppose you must be hungry. Well, don’t worry—supper won’t be long. Just as soon as my father and the best man have spoken.’

      In answer, he pressed his hardness against her with a sudden calculated stamp of sexual mastery and watched as her pupils dilated in response. ‘I want you,’ he said, very deliberately. ‘And I’m tempted to take you by the hand and get us lost in these enormous grounds. I’d like to find somewhere sheltered, like the shade of a big tree, so that I could explore what you’re wearing underneath that monstrosity of a dress. I’d like to make you come very quickly. In fact, I think I could make myself come right now, just by thinking about it.’

      ‘Dante!’

      ‘Yes, Willow?’

      She drew away from him, trembling slightly, and once again he was confused, because wasn’t she just a mass of contradictions? One minute she was so hot that he almost scorched his fingers when he touched her—and the next she was looking up at him with reproachful grey eyes, like some delicate flower he was in danger of crushing beneath the full force of his desire. And that was how her family treated her, wasn’t it? Like she couldn’t be trusted to make her own judgements and look after herself.

      ‘You’re very...’

      ‘Very what?’ He stalled her sentence with the brush of his lips against her cheek and felt her shiver again.

      ‘D-demanding,’ she managed.

      ‘Don’t you like me being demanding?’

      Willow closed her eyes as he tightened his arms around her, distracted by the heat of his body and acutely aware that they were being watched. Of course they were being watched. Dante Di Sione was easily the most watchable man here—and hadn’t that been one of the reasons she’d demanded his company? To show people that she was capable of attracting such a man? But suddenly it felt like much more than just pretending to be his lover; she wanted to be his lover. She wanted it to be real. She wanted to be like everyone else, but she couldn’t. So she was just going to have to make the best of what she was capable of, wasn’t she?

      ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I like it very much. It’s just not very appropriate