His Unexpected Legacy

Sergio nodded towards the sofa. ‘In that case, you had better sit down.’

Sitting seemed the safest option when her legs felt like jelly. Kristen sat, and immediately sank into the soft cushions. She tensed when he sat down next to her and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He extended his arm along the back of the sofa and she couldn’t restrain the little quiver that ran down her spine as she imagined his long, tanned fingers stroking her exposed nape where her hair was swept up into a chignon.

An awkward silence fell until he said abruptly, ‘So, what did you want to talk to me about?’

Kristen’s heart missed a beat and, to steady her nerves, she took another gulp of champagne.

‘I...’ While she was searching for the right words she made the mistake of looking at him, and whatever she had been about to say died on her tongue when she discovered that he was looking at her in a way that convinced her he was remembering her naked. The bold glitter in his eyes was inappropriate and outrageous, but the damning heat in her breasts as they swelled and strained against her suddenly too-tight bra was even more shocking.

‘As you probably know, the Castellano Group owns many hotels around the world,’ Sergio was saying. ‘Staff issues would normally be dealt with by the Hotel Royale’s manager, but I will try to be of help.’ He frowned. ‘I admit I am puzzled to find you working as a waitress, Kristen. As I recall, you left me to return to university and finish your studies.’

For a few seconds Kristen stared at him blankly, before realisation dawned that he had mistaken her for a waitress. She glanced down at the plain black skirt she had bought to wear to her mother’s funeral. As far as Sergio was aware, there was no other reason why she would have been at his private party.

He made the past sound so black and white, she thought bitterly. It was true she had left him to go back to university, but only because he had made it clear that in the long-term there was no place for her in his life. His offer for her to be his temporary mistress had not been enough to persuade her to give up everything she had worked for.

She darted a glance at his hard-boned face. There was no point in raking over the cold embers of their relationship. Everything had been said four years ago. Sergio had wanted her, but only on his terms. As much as she had loved him, she had been angry at his refusal to make compromises and ultimately his intransigence had been proof that he had not cared about her.

Sitting beside Kristen, Sergio inhaled the light floral fragrance of her perfume and he felt a sharp stab of desire. He tried to remind himself of the reason he had brought her to his suite. She owed him an explanation for the fiasco in the function room and he was determined to discover the reason she had interrupted the party. But, as he glanced at her and their eyes met, he was finding it hard to think about anything other than the fact that she was even more desirable than she had been four years ago.

Kristen stiffened when Sergio stretched out his hand and brushed a stray tendril of hair off her cheek.

‘You are even more beautiful than I remember.’ His deep voice caressed her senses like rough velvet. ‘Your eyes are the bright blue of a summer sky and your hair is the colour of ripe corn.’

From any other man the statement would have sounded corny, but Sergio’s sexy accent turned the words to poetry. It would be too easy to drown in the molten warmth of his eyes, to fall beneath his spell. Kristen trembled with anger, yet she could not deny the savage, shameful excitement that shot through her. At the party Sergio had been about to announce his engagement to another woman. How dared he now turn his effortless charm on her?

Determined to appear composed, even though she felt anything but, she finished her champagne and hoped he didn’t notice her hand was shaking as she placed her glass on the coffee table. ‘I should leave,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m sure Miss Denholm would be devastated if she knew you had invited me into your suite to...to...’

‘To what, cara?’ he drawled. ‘You asked to speak to me and I simply agreed to your request.’

‘You were flirting with me,’ she snapped, stung by the amusement in his voice. ‘You had no right to call me beautiful.’

‘Why not, when it’s the truth?’

Sergio stared at the pulse jerking at the base of Kristen’s throat before returning to linger on her mouth, and watched as she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. The anger he had felt earlier had been replaced with a primitive desire he could not control. She was as tightly wound as a coiled spring and he could almost taste the sexual awareness in the air. Four years was a long time and he had had plenty of other women since Kristen. But none had made his gut twist with raw need like she had done. Like she still did.

His senses were so finely tuned to her that he knew she was going to jump up from the sofa and, before she had time to move, he caught hold of her wrist and forced her to remain seated.

‘Let go of me!’ She was breathing hard, drawing his eyes to the thrust of her breasts beneath her high-necked blouse. There was something very tantalising about the row of tiny buttons that were fastened right up to her throat. He would never have the patience to unfasten each one, Sergio thought, sexual hunger corkscrewing through him as a memory came into his mind of her small, pale breasts with their rosy tips.

‘You are despicable,’ Kristen told him hotly. ‘You’re meant to be hosting a party to celebrate your engagement to a beautiful debutante.’

In truth, Kristen had forgotten about the party, but now guilt joined the gamut of emotions churning inside her. She knew full well that Sergio’s emotions were a barren wasteland, but presumably Felicity Denholm was under the illusion that he cared for her. ‘That poor woman...’

‘I’d save your sympathy if I were you,’ Sergio said drily. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the gutter press. The engagement story was pure fabrication.’

Kristen swallowed. ‘You mean you’re not going to marry Lady Felicity?’

‘You know my feelings about marriage, cara.’

Oh yes, Kristen knew. He had voiced his opinion of marriage loud and clear when they had been together, which had made his decision to marry a Sicilian woman with almost indecent haste after they had broken up all the more hurtful. She closed her eyes against the image in her mind of Sergio and his beautiful dark-haired fiancée. When she had seen the photograph of them in a magazine a few months after she had left Sicily, she had felt sick to her stomach.

Something fluttered against her cheek and she lifted her lashes to find Sergio’s face so close to her that she could see the tiny lines fanning around his eyes. The brush of his fingertips across her skin was as soft as gossamer yet she felt as though his touch had branded her.

‘What is the real reason you sought my attention tonight?’

Sergio was aware that his voice was not quite steady, but the shock of Kristen’s appearance was having a strong effect on him. In the ballroom he had been conscious of a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as he’d been about to address the party guests. He had felt an inexplicable sense of anticipation as he had scanned the room, but he hadn’t noticed Kristen until she had spoken.

‘First you interrupted the party and then you ran away from me, knowing, I am sure, that I would follow.’

This was the moment to tell him about Nico. Only the words were trapped in her throat, as if some primitive instinct she did not understand warned her to keep her son’s existence a secret. It was not a conscious decision. At that moment Kristen was incapable of logical thought. She felt light-headed, and it belatedly occurred to her that she had been too on edge about meeting Sergio to eat any dinner. Drinking a glass of champagne on an empty stomach had been foolish. It must be the effect of the alcohol that was making her heart race, she told herself. The dizzy sensation had nothing to do with the fact that Sergio had lowered his head so that she could feel his warm breath whisper across her lips.

‘Was this the reason you wanted to see me, mia bella?’ he demanded.

Her denial died on her lips, or rather it was crushed beneath Sergio’s lips as he slanted his mouth over hers and claimed her with the arrogance of a tribal chieftain intent on proving his dominance.

The kiss was hot and hungry, demanding a response from Kristen that, heaven help her, she could not deny, although at first she tried. Her common sense made a last ditch attempt to pull her back from the brink of insanity and gave her the strength of will to clamp her lips together while she tried to push him away. But he was too strong for her to fight him when the ache in her heart was so desperate to be healed.

Sergio traced the determined line of her lips with his tongue, tempting her, teasing her until her lips were no longer firm but soft and pliant. Her breath escaped on a soft gasp as she opened her mouth for him, and he made a gruff sound of pleasure that tugged on her heart. She had never been able to resist him, Kristen acknowledged ruefully. Four years ago she had sensed the loneliness inside him that he took such care to hide and she had responded to it as she did now, with tenderness as well as passion.

Sensing Kristen’s capitulation, Sergio gave a growl of triumph. But suddenly they were no longer locked in a battle of wills as the tenor of the kiss subtly altered and became deeper and more intense. The empty years melted away, leaving a scorching desire that had never been doused. When he finally lifted his head, he stared down at her lips—crushed like rose petals after a rain storm—and his eyes glittered.

‘For four years you have been in my blood.’

His words sounded almost like an accusation and snapped Kristen back to reality.

‘Even while you were married?’ she said bitterly. ‘If so, then you betrayed your wife as well as me.’ A sickening thought struck her. ‘Are you still married?’

His expression was unreadable. ‘No.’

He offered no explanation of why his first marriage had ended. It was none of her business, Kristen reminded herself. It had been over between her and Sergio a long time ago and it was time to let go of the past. She bitterly regretted coming to his hotel and she had changed her mind about asking him for financial help. Nico was her responsibility.

‘You look tired,’ he murmured. ‘I hope you are not working too hard at the hotel?’

The unexpected softness of Sergio’s tone caught Kristen unprepared, and her eyes flew to his face. She flushed when she realised that he still believed she was employed as a waitress at his hotel, but the truth was impossible to explain when she was drowning in his midnight-dark gaze.

She snatched a shallow breath as he lifted his hand and released the clasp that secured her chignon so that her heavy mass of hair uncoiled to midway down her back.

‘I’m glad you did not cut it,’ Sergio murmured, threading his fingers through the curtain of gold silk.

No way would she admit that she had kept her long hair because he had loved it. It had been easier for Kristen to assure herself that she eschewed having a more complicated style because she could not afford expensive trips to a hair salon.

She tore her eyes from him. ‘I should go.’ Her composure was balanced on a knife-edge. So why didn’t she stand up and walk over to the door? He was still holding her wrist, not tightly, but the rhythmic brush of his thumb pad over her pulse point was seductive, heating her skin, her blood, her desire.

‘It’s still there, isn’t it, cara?’ His husky voice scraped across her sensitive nerve-endings. ‘All it took was one look across a crowded room and the fire burned for both of us.’

It had been the same the very first time he had seen her on the private beach belonging to the Castellano estate, Sergio remembered. He had been furious when he had spotted a trespasser, but when he had caught up with the young woman his anger had died. With her peaches and cream complexion, corn-gold hair and eyes as blue as the sky, she had reminded him of an exquisite doll. But then she had smiled and he had seen that she was a living, breathing, beautiful woman.

She was even more beautiful now, he acknowledged. But the faint purple smudges beneath her eyes gave her a vulnerable air that filled him with irrational anger. If she had remained as his mistress in Sicily he would have ensured that she was financially secure when he had tired of her. Instead she had chosen her independence, but it had not got her far if her cheaply made clothes were anything to go by. She would look stunning in beautifully designed clothes that flattered her slender figure. In his mind he pictured her wearing silk dresses and lace negligees that would glide over her satiny skin as he undressed her.