She was convinced that she would never give way to that kind of temptation because she was painfully aware that sex meant very little unless it was accompanied by genuine feelings. None of her mother’s many affairs had lasted or cured Tracy’s essential dissatisfaction with her life. And Belle wanted much more for herself than a fleeting sexual thrill or a luxurious lifestyle. She wanted love, a man who would make her feel whole and safe, and when she finally found him, she would have a family with him, recreating the family she had both lost and never really had, she thought fondly. He wouldn’t be a commitment-phobe like Dante, who saw women as clingy and probably didn’t like children much more than he liked dogs. He would be an ordinary guy, willing to settle down when he met someone who made him happy.

  ‘Have you ever been to Paris before?’ Dante asked, watching Belle peer out of the limo windows like a child on a school trip, afraid of missing out on a single sight.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And yet you’ve been in France for...how long?’

  ‘Almost three years.’

  ‘Why didn’t you travel around?’

  ‘I couldn’t leave Mrs Devenish or Charlie to look after themselves and, to be honest, I never really had enough money to go off exploring.’

  ‘Then why did you lumber yourself with a dog into the bargain?’ Dante enquired drily.

  ‘He wasn’t mine initially. Mrs Devenish’s niece brought Charlie out here as a gift for her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t well enough to look after a puppy, but she did enjoy seeing him round the house,’ Belle confided ruefully. ‘She was a lovely old lady but her relatives didn’t want to accept that she was ill. They liked coming out here in the summer for their holidays and they insisted that I was exaggerating her condition. It took the doctor to convince them otherwise and by that stage, as it turned out, she only had a few more weeks to live.’

  ‘You need to learn how to stand up for yourself more effectively,’ Dante censured.

  Belle shrugged. ‘Only if you can afford to take the consequences and I had neither another job to go to nor anywhere else to live.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have put yourself in that position.’

  ‘Haven’t I just done the same thing again with you?’

  Dante frowned at her in bemusement. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have an employment contract or any safeguards with you either...and you’ve now got Charlie to hold over me,’ she pointed out, lifting her chin.

  ‘You can’t think I’m likely to hold Charlie hostage? Or ditch you in Paris without money?’ Dante breathed in a raw undertone, insulted beyond belief by her suspicions.

  ‘Isn’t that what I’m saying?’ Belle murmured gently. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve had to take the risk of trusting you.’

  Dante released his breath in a pent-up hiss of displeasure and said nothing, his lean dark face grim. He didn’t enjoy being taxed with the truth.

  Belle stepped out of the limousine onto one of the most exclusive streets in Paris and stared wide-eyed at the even more exclusive hotel that Dante was striding towards. Her strained face flushed, and she smoothed down her floral skirt and studied her scuffed boots with embarrassment. She followed him into the foyer, careful to stay behind him and out of sight, almost skidding on the highly polished floor tiles and horribly conscious of the plush silence and the dulled murmur of well-bred voices. She looked up above the atrium entrance to the serried ranks of colonnaded floors above. Never had she been so aware of her shabby appearance and at any moment, if she wasn’t careful enough and drew the wrong person’s attention, she expected a hand to fall on her shoulder and someone to ask her what she was doing there, because she felt like an intruder.

  ‘You’ve got very quiet,’ Dante remarked as she shot into the lift on his heels and immersed herself in a corner. ‘You have a busy schedule this afternoon.’

  Belle looked up at him in bewilderment. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Visiting the spa for beauty treatments. Don’t ask me what’s included,’ Dante advised. ‘I told my PA you needed a makeover, especially in the defective nail department. I’m afraid that perfect grooming goes with the territory.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with my defective nails,’ Belle countered snidely. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do with them.’

  ‘Belle...if I was willing to pay the surcharge,’ Dante murmured silkily, ‘they’d cut off your hands and give you new ones!’

  Belle paled and linked her hands together tightly, wanting to nibble nervously but afraid of the reaction she might ignite if she succumbed to temptation. The lift doors whirred silently back and a man in a white jacket began to bow and scrape.

  ‘Our butler. Anything you want or need, you ask him,’ Dante informed her, walking out into the vast space awaiting them.

  Dumbstruck, Belle wandered across the floor and straight out onto the balcony to lean against the elaborate wrought-iron balustrade and stare in awe at the superlative view of the slender silhouette of the Eiffel Tower, the glass roofs of the Grand Palais and the bell tower of Notre Dame Cathedral.

  ‘Madam...?’

  She swivelled to register that the butler held a silver tray and was offering her a glass of champagne. She swallowed hard, only just resisting an urge to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming and grasped the champagne. Her glass in her hand, she was ushered back inside and up the swirling staircase to her bedroom, which was the last word in over-the-top glamour, from its brocaded walls to its soft and inviting velvet seating and subtle eau-de-Nil colouring. Far above her, ornate lace mouldings decorated the ceiling. She hastened into the bathroom and was disappointed to discover that it contained only a shower, although it was a vast wet-room affair that could have coped with a party and took up a good half of the room.

  When she came downstairs again, lunch was being served and a young woman in a very stylish suit was using a tablet at Dante’s elbow. ‘Belle...this is my executive PA, Caterina. She will be scheduling your appointments here because I have meetings to attend.’

  Belle sat down opposite Dante to have lunch. Not having eaten since breakfast, she was starving. Dante and his PA talked in Italian while she ate, and she watched Dante’s eyes shimmer pure gold in the sunlight before his ridiculously long black lashes skimmed down to shade them. Her mouth ran dry, her throat tightening, sudden nerves assailing her. Her fingers lifted to her mouth and at the exact same moment, Dante flashed a warning look at her. ‘Try it and I’ll plunge your hands into bowls of ice water!’ he threatened impatiently.

  Her colour rising, Belle dropped her hand back to her lap. ‘Stop threatening me!’ she snapped back at him.

  ‘You have to learn sometime,’ Dante told her while Caterina watched the byplay in seeming fascination. ‘I’ll take you out to dine somewhere tonight...’ He turned back to his PA. ‘Make sure she’s camera-ready.’

  ‘Why would I need to be camera-ready?’ Belle demanded.

  ‘Because I expect that we will be papped at some stage of the evening.’

  ‘Papped?’

  ‘The paparazzi,’ Caterina explained. ‘Dante’s social life is always hot news in Italy.’

  Caterina escorted her downstairs to the spa facilities. Belle endured one treatment after another, finally relaxing into the procedures when the less pleasant experiences were behind her. She flexed her fake nails, now long and shaped and a pale, barely noticeable pink. She reckoned not a single hair now existed anywhere on her body aside from her brows and her head. The facial and the massage that followed were soothing and the treatments concluded with an appointment with a hair stylist, who lamented at length over the sun damage to her bountiful tresses and then quietly and efficiently transformed her unmanageable mane into a sleek fall as smooth and straight as silk.

  Back in her bedroom she was greeted by three women with mobile racks of clothing and cases of other items. Her size established, she didn’t get away with being shy. She donned elaborate silky lingerie while the most senior woman muttered about a good foundation for clothing being very important to an elegant appearance. Then she had to model outfit after outfit while the women argued amongst themselves about which colours and designs best suited her. She had never seen such beautiful, expensive material before or garments put together with so exceptional a finish and fit. But considering that Dante only required her to play his girlfriend for one weekend, she couldn’t credit the sheer size and diversity of the wardrobe that he evidently deemed necessary. She recalled that she would have to live her role in his home for a few days beforehand but still rolled her eyes at his extravagance. Only when she saw her unfamiliar reflection in a mirror did she stop rolling her eyes and stop worrying about what he had chosen to spend.

  There she was garbed in a very slightly sparkly blue dress that might have been specially designed for her, shoestring straps adorning her shoulders, a superbly designed backless bra restraining her exuberant breasts, the hemline swirling well above her knees, her feet shod in perilously high sandals. She looked taller, slimmer, less overwhelmingly busty and she breathed a little easier, grabbing up the clutch that toned with the shoes to go down the stairs.

  * * *

  ‘Very classy...’ Dante pronounced approvingly, watching her descent from below, and yet there was the strangest kernel of disappointment at the heart of his reaction. He realised in surprise that on some level he had liked the untamed curls, the youthful eccentric clothes, and that truth shook him. Indisputably, Belle looked more gorgeous than the first time he had seen her but somehow, inexplicably, she had been hotter and sexier in her own natural style.

  ‘You’re getting what you paid for,’ Belle fielded with an awkward shrug.

  His dark deep-set eyes flared with golden highlights. ‘Don’t dwell on that aspect. It’s not important.’

  Dante studied her long shapely legs and imagined lifting the skirt and running his hands up those slim, smooth thighs. A very faint shudder ran through him as he stamped down hard on that lusty image and attempted to quell the heat at his groin while reminding himself that he wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to yield to that kind of dangerous impulse. Of course, he would have to touch her. In the roles they were playing, a certain amount of physical contact was unavoidable, but he would ensure that it was only enough to give a superficial if convincing impression.

  In the lift, the lustrous glow of Dante’s stunning eyes sent tiny little tremors travelling up through Belle’s legs. She felt weak, dizzy, and the lift felt claustrophobic. At the very heart of her she could feel a pulse pounding out her tension like a drum while her breasts ached beneath her clothing. Attraction, just stupid body chemistry, she told herself dismissively as she climbed into the back of the glossy limousine awaiting them.

  The silence hummed as she gazed back at him, every nerve ending in her body tight with tension. His eyes were brilliant gold, striking, utterly compelling and she swallowed hard. Dante succumbed to a ‘what the hell?’ prompt, because he had never been into self-denial. How the blazes could they hope to pretend to be lovers if he had yet to even touch her? he asked himself. That was nonsense. That decision forged, he reached out a hand and she clasped it, allowing him to propel her across the seat into his arms. She went without even having to think about it, her heart pounding so fast she felt light-headed.

  His big hands framing her face, he kissed her with so much hunger she was blown away by the experience. Her heart raced even faster, her body tense and throbbing on the edge of an anticipation she had never felt before. Her tense fingers clenched into the collar of his jacket. He crushed her lips with a groan and his tongue stole between them, delving deep for a skilful exploration that acted like a wake-up call for every fibre of her being. Nobody had ever made her feel what he was making her feel and it was wildly unexpected and unbelievably exciting, and the experience engulfed her like an avalanche. She was in over her head before she knew it.

  ‘Bad timing, amante,’ Dante growled, his hips arching up slightly as she braced a steadying hand on a lean masculine thigh, dangerously close to the tented fabric doing a very poor job of concealing his excitement. For the first time in his life he wanted a woman to be bold and he waited for a split second; however, frustratingly, she made no move. ‘I can tell the driver to drive us around...’

  That suggestion spooked Belle. She moistened her swollen lower lip, her attention locked to his reddened mouth, her entire being, it seemed, caught up in the need for him to touch her again and satisfy the surge of need that had come out of nowhere to make her tremble and perspire. ‘Er...’

  ‘Madonna mia... Ti voglio... I want you,’ Dante framed raggedly, claiming her ripe lips with his again at the same time as he pressed her hand to the part of him that most craved her attention.

  Her fingers spread across the fabric, hesitantly tracing the long thick length of him through the fine fabric of his trousers, and that suddenly she was into frighteningly unfamiliar territory because she never ever played the tease, never encouraged where she had no plans to deliver, but just then she was dealing with a level of temptation new to her. No man had ever got her to the point where she wanted more than a kiss or even to the point where she truly wanted him. In a matter of minutes, Dante had accomplished both feats and shocked her witless because in his arms she was learning that even logical thought was more of a challenge than she could manage.

  Her startled eyes flew up to his smouldering appraisal and she burned inside and out, her temperature climbing in direct response to the predatory hunger she saw in him and that on some level she actually craved. ‘I thought we were going to eat,’ she reminded him shakily, striving with a sense of cowardice to escape a situation that she knew she had helped to create because she hadn’t said no and she hadn’t pushed him away.

  ‘I can feed you back at the hotel,’ Dante husked, catching her hand in his as she backed away from him to prevent her retreat.

  ‘Sex isn’t part of our arrangement...is it?’ Belle demanded in sudden dismay.

  ‘Of course not,’ Dante assured her silkily, smoothing her small fingers in his to keep her close. ‘But what we choose to do outside those boundaries is our business alone.’

  ‘Er, well...yes, but I don’t think we should be getting too friendly,’ Belle mumbled in an awkward rush, trailing her hand free of his.

  ‘There has to be a certain degree of familiarity visible between us or nobody is ever going to believe that we’re lovers,’ Dante countered with reluctant amusement.

  Belle hadn’t thought of that aspect of their pretend relationship and she wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it sooner because she had literally walked blind into a brick wall.

  ‘You seem very...nervous,’ Dante selected, scrutinising her troubled face with a growing frown. ‘I may want you but I promise that I’m not going to try to force you into anything you don’t want.’

  Belle flushed and straightened her spine, embarrassed that she had made him feel that he had to give her that reassurance. ‘I know. But to be honest, er...I’m a bit out of my depth with you.’

  ‘How?’ Dante shifted lithely back into his corner, teeth gritting at the biting ache of unfulfillment nagging at him.

  ‘I haven’t got a lot of experience,’ Belle admitted stiffly. ‘I probably should’ve said no sooner.’

  ‘How much is “not a lot”?’ Dante prompted drily.

  Belle sucked in a steadying breath. ‘I’d rather not go into that.’

  ‘You needn’t be shy, nor should you feel that you have to lie for my benefit,’ Dante murmured loftily. ‘I see women as equals. I prefer experienced partners.’

  ‘Well, then, I wouldn’t suit you at all!’ Belle confided in a tone of stark relief. ‘I haven’t had a, er, partner yet.’

  That statement disconcerted Dante so much that for a split second he simply frowned down at her with astonished dark golden eyes. ‘You can’t be a virgin!’

  As he spoke the door beside him was abruptly opened by the driver and both of them were taken by surprise, neither of them having noticed that the car had stopped, and Belle was miraculously rescued from the need to respond to his incredulous statement. In his wake, she slid along the back seat, struggling to keep the skirt of her dress from lifting as she alighted. In what had to be her worst nightmare, just as she was attempting to keep her underwear choices a secret known only to her, the flashbulbs of cameras went off, blinding and disorientating her as she fought to climb out gracefully in her high heels. Mercifully, Dante saved her from a clumsy exit by reaching down to grab her hand with his and he practically pulled her up and out of the limo, giving her the chance to find her feet and discreetly smooth down her rucked frock.

  In the crowded entrance foyer, so impervious to the presence of the photographers that he hadn’t even spared them a glance, Dante stared broodingly down at her and said again, proving that his mind was still on the conversation she had gratefully abandoned, ‘You can’t be...’

  And Belle’s second-worst nightmare came true with those words. She felt the awful burn of that hot familiar tide of colour sweeping up her body in a mortifying tide.

  ‘And a blushing one,’ Dante pronounced in even greater disbelief. ‘You’re supposed to be as much of an urban legend as unicorns.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘WE’RE NOT GOING to discuss this any more,’ Belle told Dante heatedly as they were ushered through a crowded room of staring diners to a well-lit velvet-lined booth in the corner.