Читать книгу Modern Romance August 2019 Books 5-8 - Эбби Грин, Trish Morey - Страница 16

A COOL BREEZE skated over Ciro’s skin and he felt a prickle of exposure. Lara looked utterly wanton with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks. Her too-big eyes. Her plump and swollen mouth.

‘Yes. We are consummating this marriage. You want me, Lara. You can’t deny it.’

She looked down for a moment and it incensed Ciro. He had seen the way she’d morphed into another person in front of him once before. He tipped her chin back up, expecting to see some measure of triumph or satisfaction because she knew he couldn’t hide how much he wanted her, but there was nothing in those huge blue eyes except an emotion he couldn’t define. An emotion that caught at his chest, making it tight.

‘Say it, Lara. Admit it.’

She bit her lip and looked at him searchingly, as if trying to find the answer to some riddle. Ciro was so used to women jumping into his arms at the slightest invitation that this was a wholly new experience.

Except it wasn’t. Lara had been like this before. Hesitant. Shy. Lying.

‘I do want you, Ciro. I always have.’

Ciro couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice when he replied. ‘That was one thing that was honest between us at least.’

Lara didn’t want to be reminded of the past. She wanted to stay in this moment. This moment, when she could almost pretend the previous two years hadn’t happened.

A sense of urgency gripped her and she pressed against Ciro, spreading her hands on his chest. ‘Please, make love to me.’

Ciro looked down at her for such a long moment that Lara instinctively started to pull back, suspecting that perhaps this was all part of his plan to humiliate her when she was at her most vulnerable, but then he made a small rough sound and grabbed her hand, entwining his fingers with hers to lead her back into the palazzo.

Her heart was thundering so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it. There wasn’t any sign of Isabella or Roberto and Lara was glad. This moment was too raw to be witnessed. This was no benign wedding night consummation.

Lara’s hand felt tiny in Ciro’s and he instinctively tightened his grip, even as he rejected the notion that she was somehow vulnerable.

Disconcertingly, it reminded him of how fragile and delicate she’d felt during the kidnapping. How he’d been afraid he’d hurt her because he was holding her so tight. But they’d ripped her out of his arms anyway, and in that moment Ciro had known—

He shut his rogue thoughts down right there. Not now. Never would he think of that again.

He pushed open his bedroom door and looked at Lara. She met his gaze and there was something indecipherable in her expression. Determined.

She took her hand out of his and walked into the room and over to the bed, kicking off her sandals as she went. She had her back to him and he could see her hands move. The silk dress started to loosen around her body.

She made a movement and he watched her shrug the dress from her shoulders so that it landed in a silken ripple by her feet. He was frozen to the spot, taking in the naked contours of her body covered only by the tiniest wisps of lace across her back and bottom. Nothing—no amount of anticipation—could have prepared him for this moment.

Ciro was glad she was facing away from him because he was convulsed with need and desire. Once again she was reaching inside him and turning his guts inside out—except this time he would slay the dragon, and once he’d had her she would lose the hold she’d had over him since they’d met.

Lara was practically naked, dressed only in her panties and a flimsy lace bra. She could sense Ciro behind her. Looking at her. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her. A moment ago she’d been filled with a sense of bravado, but now little tremors were going through her body at the thought of facing Ciro like this.

And then she heard a rough-sounding, ‘Lara...’

Swallowing her fear, she slowly turned around and Ciro filled her vision. She could see the tension in his body, making him loom even larger than he normally did. Suddenly self-conscious, she crossed one arm over her breasts and covered herself between her legs with the other hand.

Ciro shook his head. ‘No...let me see you. I’ve waited for this for so long.’

After a moment Lara did as he asked, dropping her hands to her sides, clenching them into fists. In the dim light of the room she couldn’t see where Ciro’s dark gaze touched her. But she could feel it. On her breasts, her belly, waist, thighs...between her legs.

Her skin broke into goosebumps.

Ciro walked towards her, his usual grace absent. When he stood in front of her she could see the stark expression of pure need on his face. His eyes were blazing.

‘You are more beautiful than I ever imagined.’

Lara ducked her head, overwhelmed by what she saw in his eyes. ‘I’m not...truly...’

He tipped up her chin and there was something else on his face now, an expression she couldn’t decipher. Something like frustration.

‘Yes, you are. You really don’t have to put on this act, Lara. It’s just us here now.’

He thought she was acting coy. She was stripped bare, save for some scraps of material. She’d never been more exposed. And he couldn’t see it.

She realised she couldn’t entirely blame him. After all, she’d done her best to convince him she was someone else. Someone who cared more for prestige and social standing than anything else.

‘Lara.’

She looked at him and her whirling thoughts stopped. She sucked in a breath.

‘I need to hear you say it again.’

Lara’s heart squeezed. There was no going back. She needed this as much as he did.

She stepped closer, until they were touching and his clothes caused friction against her naked skin. She went up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his neck. ‘Please...’ she said.

She trailed her mouth along his jaw, up to where she could feel the rough edges of his scar on the right side of his face. He tensed, and then he put his hands on her arms, hauling her up and closer, before his mouth found hers and the whole world burst into flame.

Lara sensed Ciro shedding his clothes, but while his mouth was on hers she couldn’t focus on anything except his intoxicating scent and the dark sensuality of his kiss. Deep and drugging.

When his hot bare skin met hers she stopped and drew back, dizzy from the kiss, and even dizzier when she saw that Ciro was completely naked. The breath left her body as she feasted unashamedly on his perfect form.

She’d never seen him fully naked. Broad shoulders, a wide, powerful chest with a dusting of dark hair that dissected his abdominals in a tantalising line all the way down to where his arousal jutted proudly between his legs. Her gaze stopped there, heat rising inside her at this very potent evidence of his desire for her.

‘Cara mia...if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to the bed.’

With difficulty, Lara raised her gaze to Ciro’s again.

He took her hand and led her over to the bed. ‘Lie down,’ he instructed.

Lara lay down on the bed, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the tremor in her limbs. Ciro stood for a long moment, his dark gaze moving up and down her body. Then he sat on the bed and lifted a hand, tracing the shape of her jaw and her mouth, which was still swollen from his kisses.

He trailed his hand down, dipping his fingers into the hollow at the base of her throat, and then over her chest to her breasts. Her nipples were two hard points, pressing against the delicate lace of her bra.

Ciro tortured her slowly, trailing his fingers between her breasts, under one and then the other, before covering one breast with his palm, its heat and weight making Lara bite her lip. She could feel the point of her nipple stabbing Ciro’s palm, and instinctively she arched her back to push herself into his hand.

His mouth quirked. With an expertise that spoke of his experience he undid the front clasp of her bra and peeled the lace squares back, baring her to his gaze. He squeezed her breast gently and Lara’s breath hitched. She was unprepared for the spiking of pleasure deep down in her core. Then he took his hand away and placed both hands either side of her body, so he could lower his head and...

Lara nearly jack-knifed off the bed when she felt the potent drugging sensation of Ciro’s hot mouth closing over first one nipple and then the other.

He put a hand on her belly, as if to calm her. She was breathing so fast it hurt—but not nearly as much as the exquisite torture of his mouth on her flesh...the hot, wet heat, teeth tugging gently at her sensitised flesh.

Lara’s whole body was on fire now, as the bed dipped and Ciro moved to lie alongside her. The hand on her belly moved down until it rested at the juncture of her legs. With the same expert economical touch he dispensed with her panties, throwing them to the floor. He touched her thigh.

‘Open for me, bella.’

Lara opened her legs and Ciro’s hand slid down to explore where she was so aroused. It was excruciating. It was exquisite. She’d never known anything like it before.

Ciro had been a model of restraint two years before, when he’d discovered she was a virgin. So much so that she’d begun to feel seriously insecure. She’d ached with wanting him but he’d always seemed so in control.

Not any more.

Lara’s nails scored her palms as Ciro massaged her throbbing flesh with his fingers before sliding one deep inside her. The sensation was electrifying. Lara instinctively reached for his wrist but he was remorseless.

‘Trust me, cara mia.’

In the midst of this sensual onslaught Lara felt a dangerous bubble of emotion rise up. She did trust Ciro. Perhaps not with her heart any more, but in a very deep and fundamental way. She’d never expected to see him again, be with him again. Certainly not like this. But she’d fantasised about it in her lonely bed so many times...

Shocked and aghast at the welling of emotion—she shouldn’t be feeling emotion right now!—she almost cried out with relief when Ciro took his hand away and replaced it with his body, settling between her legs as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they’d done this dance a million times before.

His weight was heavy and she revelled in it, widening her legs so that he came into closer contact with the cradle of her femininity, where every nerve-ending was pulsating with need.

Ciro had to take a breath and resist the urge to drive deep into Lara’s willing body. He could feel the pulse of her desire against him, and the way she was opening like a flower under his body. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman like this. Lovemaking for him had always held a certain amount of detachment. But here, right now, he was...consumed.

But then he’d always known instinctively that Lara had a different kind of hold over him. Something he hadn’t encountered before. Something that made him nervous. But right now nerves were gone.

Ciro reached for and found protection, miraculously thinking of it at the last second, rolling it on with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

He positioned himself at the juncture of Lara’s legs and looked down into her eyes. It was another thing he usually avoided with lovers, but with Lara he couldn’t seem to move unless his gaze was locked onto hers.

Her expression was soft, unfocused. Her cheeks were flushed. Damp strands of her hair clung to her forehead. She was biting her lip.

‘Ciro...please.’

In this there was no other Lara. He had undone her, exposed her.

He felt her move beneath him and couldn’t hold on. He plunged deep inside her, feeling every muscle in his body spasming with pleasure at the sheer sensation of his body moving deep into the clasp of hers.

The very tight clasp...

It took a second for him to register in his overheated brain that Lara had tensed, and now she looked anything but unfocused. There was an expression of shock on her face. Awe. And...pain?

Ciro moved slightly and she sucked in a breath. His brain didn’t seem to be working properly. He knew he was big but he’d thought she’d be experienced enough...

‘Lara, am I hurting you?’

‘It’s okay...don’t stop now. Please don’t stop.’

She sounded breathless.

She put her hands on his hips, and even as a very uncomfortable truth made itself graphically known to him Ciro could no more deny his primal urge to move than he could stop breathing.

Lara consciously relaxed her muscles, and for a second she almost cried out because the sensation was so intense. But as Ciro started to move again she could feel the pain easing, her body adapting to his, softening around him. And then, pleasure became the dominant sensation as the steady, rhythmic glide of Ciro’s body in and out of hers led to a rising excitement, a sense of urgency and desperation that made her reach around to clasp his firm muscular buttocks, silently pleading with him to go deeper, faster...

Lara wasn’t prepared for the sudden rush of intense pleasure. It was so unexpected and overwhelming that it was all she could do to cling on to Ciro as his body bucked into hers, again and again, as he too was torn apart and lost all control, finally slumping against her, his head buried in her neck, his ragged breath warm against her damp skin.

For those few moments while they were still intimately joined, their pulses racing, Lara knew complete contentment. Something she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. But then Ciro moved, and she winced slightly as he extricated himself from her embrace. Her muscles were tender.

Ciro wasn’t looking at her. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her, head downbent. His breathing was still uneven. Lara felt a chill skate across her bare flesh and instinctively reached for a sheet to cover herself.

After a moment he got up without a word and went into the bathroom. Lara heard the hiss of the shower. She lay in bed with the sheet pulled up over her chest, totally unsure of herself and not knowing how to behave.

Should she join Ciro in the shower? It seemed like the kind of thing a sophisticated lover would do... But he hadn’t said anything and perhaps he wanted to be alone.

He suddenly emerged from the bathroom, taking Lara by surprise. He had a towel slung around his waist and his skin glistened with moisture. For a second she was breathless at the mere thought that moments ago they’d been joined as intimately as it was possible to be joined with another person.

He said, ‘I’ve run you a bath. You’ll be sore. Then we need to talk.’

Lara swallowed. Had it been that obvious? Had he noticed she was—had been—a virgin?

Feeling totally exposed, and far too vulnerable after what had just happened, Lara got up from the bed as elegantly as she could and went into the bathroom, trailing the sheet behind her.

After the bath, which soothed her tender muscles and her skin, Lara got out and dried herself perfunctorily. She pulled on the voluminous terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door and steeled herself before going into the bedroom.

But it was empty.

She went out through the door and took a deep, shaky breath before going in search of her husband.

* * *

Lara had been a virgin. Innocent. Untouched.

Ciro was feeling such a conflicting mass of emotions and sensations that he couldn’t quite pin down what was most prominent: anger, confusion...or, worst of all, a humiliating level of relief at knowing that he had been Lara’s first lover and not that old man.

With that relief came more confusion and anger, and in the midst of it all was a residual heavy feeling of sexual satisfaction on a level he’d never experienced.

Before, it had been a fleeting thing. Soon forgotten. Much like the women he’d slept with, before. But this satisfaction felt as if it was seared into his bones and as his hunger grew for her again. Already. Insatiably.

There had been a moment out on the terrace, after Lara had said, ‘Please make love to me...’ when for a split second Ciro had been tempted to reject her. As she’d rejected him. And yet even though he might have fantasised about such a moment in the previous two years, when it had been there, right in front of him, he’d been aware of how petty it was.

And also that he didn’t have the strength to reject her. Not when his mouth had been full of her taste and his hands imprinted with the shape of her body.

Madre di Dio.

He heard a noise at that moment.

Lara.

Ciro’s whole body tensed against the inevitable reaction his new bride would precipitate. His new virgin bride.

* * *

Lara tracked Ciro down to a room she hadn’t yet been in. A state-of-the-art modern study with humming computers and shelves full of books and periodicals.

He was standing at a window which looked out over the sea. He’d dressed in low-slung faded jeans and a T-shirt. Bare feet. Messy damp hair. She could see his face reflected in the window. The long white line of his scar. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, which pulled the material of his jeans taut across the perfect globes of his bottom.

Her heart thumped. ‘Ciro...look...’

He turned around and she saw the full extent of his anger on his face. ‘Dio, Lara. How the hell were you still a virgin?’

‘How did you know?’

Even as she asked the question she wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. A man as experienced as Ciro? Of course he’d known. He wasn’t some boorish bully like her first husband had been.

He emitted a harsh-sounding laugh. ‘How did I know? I felt it in your body and there was blood on the sheets.’

A hot wash of humiliation rushed up under Lara’s skin. She hadn’t even noticed the blood. She felt utterly gauche. She pulled the robe around her, tightening it.

Ciro sent her a dark look. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’

Lara noticed a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Can I have a drink, please?’ She needed something if this was going to be the tone of their conversation.

Ciro went over and asked tightly, ‘Brandy?’

Lara shook her head. ‘No—anything but that.’

He poured something into a glass, then came and handed it to her. ‘It’s whisky. What do you have against brandy?’

Lara took the glass, relieved that Ciro was distracted from his inevitable questions for a moment. ‘Brandy reminds me of funerals. When my parents and brother died my uncle made me drink some. He said it was for the shock but it made me sick.’

She took a sip of the whisky, wincing at the tart, acrid taste. It slid down her throat and landed in her stomach, sending out a glow of warmth. But she knew it was just illusory and wouldn’t last.

‘How old were you?’

Lara glanced at Ciro warily. ‘Thirteen.’

‘You were close as a family?’

Lara nodded, her hand clasping the glass. ‘The closest. My parents loved each other and they loved me and Alex. We were a very happy family.’

Ciro surprised her by saying, ‘You were lucky to have had that, even if only for a short while. My father loved my mother, but it was a suffocating love and she wasn’t happy to be adored by just one man. After he died she remarried within a month. She’s now on husband number three—or four. I’ve lost count.’

The careless tone in Ciro’s voice didn’t fool Lara. He couldn’t be immune to the fact that his mother had failed to be the kind of mother every child deserved. No wonder he was so cynical.

Ciro sat back against his desk, and folded his arms. The reprieve was over. ‘So. Are you going to explain to me how you were married but still a virgin?’

Lara took another fortifying sip of whisky and sat down on a chair behind her. Her legs didn’t feel steady all of a sudden. She looked up at Ciro and then away. She didn’t want to see his expression.

‘On our wedding night Henry came into my bedroom expecting to—’ She stopped.

‘Go on.’

Lara felt sick. She looked at him. ‘Do we really have to discuss this now?’

Ciro nodded. Grim.

He stood up and pulled over a chair so that he was opposite Lara, sat down. She knew he wouldn’t budge until she’d told him the ugly truth.

‘On our wedding night he came into my bedroom... He...we’d agreed that we wouldn’t share a room. I somehow...obviously naively...assumed that would mean he wouldn’t try to...’ She faltered and stopped.

‘Try to...what? Sleep with his new wife? A natural expectation, I would have thought.’

Lara hated Ciro’s faintly scathing tone. It scraped along all the raw edges of the memories crowding her head. She stood up and went over to where he’d been standing, at the window. She could see dark clouds massing over the sea and the white edges of rough waves. There was a storm approaching.

It was easier to talk when Ciro wasn’t looking at her. ‘He came into the bedroom. He’d been drinking all day so he was very drunk. He grabbed my nightdress and ripped it. Before I could stop him he’d pushed me backwards onto the bed. I was in shock... I couldn’t move for a moment... He was so heavy and I couldn’t breathe...’

Lara didn’t even hear Ciro move. He caught her arm and turned her around to face him. She’d never seen that expression on his face before—disgust mixed with pure anger.

‘He tried to rape you?’

Lara nodded. ‘I thought we had an agreement...that he was just marrying me for appearances. He was old... I didn’t think...’ She trailed off, humiliated by her naivety all over again.

Ciro was grim. ‘Old men’s libidos can be voracious.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Did you really think he wouldn’t demand sex from you?’

Lara pulled her arm free and moved away. Some liquid slopped out of her glass and she looked at the carpet in dismay.

‘Leave it—it’s nothing.’

Ciro took the glass and put it down. Lara flinched minutely at the clatter against the silver tray.

‘But he didn’t rape you?’

Lara looked at Ciro, remembering how thinking of him had given her the strength to deal with Henry Winterborne. ‘No. I managed to kick him off me...somehow. He was unsteady from the drink. He fell backwards. He injured himself badly in the fall...and he was in a wheelchair for the rest of our marriage. Eventually he had a stroke—that’s how he died.’

Lara couldn’t excise the memory of Henry Winterborne’s bitter words from her head. ‘You little bitch—you’ll pay for this. Your only currency is your beauty and innocence. Why the hell do you think I paid so much for you?’

Fresh humiliation washed over her in a sickening wave. She hadn’t even known until then the full extent of her uncle’s machinations—that he’d actually sold her like a slave girl. Ciro didn’t know the half of it.

Ciro was reeling. All he could see in his mind’s eye was that paunchy old man shoving Lara down onto a bed and then climbing on top of her like a rutting bull. Anger bubbled in his blood. No, worse—a ferocious fury that she had put herself in harm’s way like that.

‘Was the prospect of marrying me really so repulsive that you would choose a man capable of rape over me? Dio, Lara...’

He turned around and speared a hand through his hair, not wanting her to see the emotions he couldn’t control. He’d thought he’d underestimated her before. This put a whole new perspective on her ambition.

She stayed silent. Not responding.

Ciro steeled himself before turning. Wild dishevelled blonde hair trailed over her shoulders. The robe had fallen apart slightly, to reveal the plump globes of her high firm breasts. Breasts he could still feel in his hands and on his tongue...

Her eyes were huge and he hated her ability still to look so...innocent. Even when he’d just taken that innocence in a conflagration that had left him feeling hollowed out and yet hungry for more.

He felt the need to push her away. Gain some distance. He couldn’t think when she was so close. When she was telling him things...putting images into his mind that made him want to go out and put a fist through the face of a man who was already dead.

Her silence grated on his nerves. It was as if there was something she was withholding.

‘Was it that important to you? Status?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘You have some nerve when you’ve admitted you only wanted to marry me for one thing—my connections.’

Ciro’s gut was a mass of tangled emotions he really didn’t want to investigate. But this woman had always touched more than just his body. A minute ago he’d wanted to put push her away and now he needed to touch her. Damn her.

He closed the distance between them, noting with satisfaction how a line of pink scored each of her cheeks. She couldn’t hide her reaction. It was the only honest thing between them.

He slid a hand around the back of her neck, felt the silky fall of her hair brushing his hand. ‘Not just for your connections, cara mia, but also because I wanted you. Your social connections and impeccable breeding were a bonus.’

Ciro’s words dropped like the poisoned barbs they were into Lara’s heart. And yet could she blame him when she’d convinced him that she’d never intended to marry him?

She pulled away, hating the way her body was reacting to his proximity. Excitement was building already, heat melting her core. She was still so sensitised she was afraid that if he even kissed her it would be enough to send her over the edge.

‘Well, you’ve had me now. I’m sure the novelty is already waning.’

Ciro easily closed the distance between them again, and this time he took Lara’s elbows in his hands, tugging her towards him. All she could see was that wicked sculpted mouth, and all she could think about was how it had felt on her body. Against her skin.

‘Waning? I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, cara, and you’ve haunted me for two years. Believe me, once is nowhere near enough to sate my appetite.’

His mouth was on hers and Lara couldn’t formulate another word. All she knew was that for a while at least there would be no more cruel words. Her heart was pounding, blood flowing to every tender part of her...

Ciro swung Lara up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. She knew she should protest, try to reclaim some minute modicum of dignity, but as he carried her back upstairs she couldn’t help but think of how she’d endured two barren years of regretting the fact that she hadn’t slept with Ciro.

So she wasn’t going to regret a single moment now. No matter how much Ciro might resent her for this inconvenient desire he felt. It would burn out, sooner or later, and this time, when Lara walked away, she would have no regrets.

* * *

When Lara woke the following morning she was in her own bed. Naked. The French doors were open and the white drapes were moving gently in a warm breeze. She grabbed for a sheet, pulling it up over her chest even though she was alone.

She had a very vague memory of Ciro carrying her into this room as dawn had been breaking over the horizon, the storm clouds of the previous night banished.

Silly to feel bereft when he’d told her he didn’t think it necessary for them to share a room. After all, he wasn’t interested in morning-after intimacy. In a way, Lara should be grateful that this time around all the romantic illusions she’d harboured were well and truly shattered.

She tried to absorb everything that had happened in the space of twenty-four hours but it was overwhelming. This time yesterday she’d still been a single woman, on her way to get married.

She’d still been a virgin.

And now...she felt transformed.

She didn’t want to admit that Ciro’s touch had had some kind of mystical effect on her—but it was true. In spite of the way he felt about her, his touch had soothed something inside her—the lonely place she’d retreated to for the past two years in a bid to survive an impossible situation.

She heard a familiar low rumble and got out of bed to investigate, pulling on a robe as she did so. She went over to the French doors that led out to the balcony, knotting the robe around her.

Hesitantly she peeked over the railings, to see Ciro standing on the terrace below. He was dressed in those faded jeans and another T-shirt and Lara’s mouth dried. He reminded her too painfully of when they’d first met in Florence and he’d been casually dressed. When she’d fallen in love with him.

At that moment Ciro turned around and looked up. Lara stepped back hastily, her heart spasming. Love. Did she still love him?

No. The rejection of such a disturbing thought was swift and brutal.

How could she still love a man who had betrayed her as much as he believed she’d betrayed him? After years of protecting herself from the pain of loss Ciro had come along and smashed aside her petty defences. Leaving her vulnerable all over again. She’d never forgive him for that.

Enduring all the things she had, had made her strong. Strong enough to withstand this marriage so she could finally move on with her life, her conscience salved. But the little whispers of that conscience told her that as much as she might try to justify why she was doing this, she wouldn’t be here unless deeper motives were involved. Far more personal motives.

After all, if she’d really wanted to she could have told Ciro the full truth from the start. Or even last night, when she’d had a chance. But she hadn’t. Why?

She knew the answer. Because however much he disliked her now—resented her, even, for this desire that burned between them—he would truly despise her if he knew about her uncle and his involvement in the kidnapping and ruination of their wedding. In the very public humiliation Ciro had gone through.

Lara knew that after eroding Ciro’s trust in her so effectively he would never believe she hadn’t had a part in it... She also knew it would be another huge blow to his pride to find out that she’d known who was behind the attack. He’d never forgive her for that.

There was a peremptory knock at her door and Lara whirled around, expecting to see Isabella. But it was Ciro. Immediately her belly clenched at the memory of how he’d felt between her legs, surging into her body over and over again.

‘Buon giorno, mia moglie.’

There was something so palpably satisfied about his tone that Lara injected as much coolness into her voice as she could when she answered. ‘Good morning.’

‘I’ve decided that we’re leaving today. We’ve been invited to an event in London tonight.’

Feeling prickly at how cool he appeared to be after a night in which her world had been seismically altered, she said, ‘You mean you’ve been invited.’

Ciro leant against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘No, we’ve been invited. To the Royal Opening of the Summer Exhibition at the Longleat Gallery.’

Lara was impressed. Henry Winterborne had been incandescent with rage last year when he hadn’t received an invitation to the opening. He’d blamed her, of course.

Ciro straightened up. ‘Isabella is on her way up with a breakfast tray. We’ll leave in an hour. I’ve arranged for a stylist to deliver some clothes to the townhouse in London, so you don’t need to pack.’

He walked away and Lara breathed out slowly, her pounding pulse mocking her attempts to affect the same coolness as Ciro exuded so effortlessly. But then what had she expected? Morning-after cuddles and tender enquires as to how she might be feeling?

Lara turned around to the view again. She would be sorry to leave Sicily so soon, but at the same time she was a little relieved. It had been a cataclysmic twenty-four hours and it would surely be easier to deal with Ciro and try to maintain some emotional distance from him in a busy city surrounded by people, than here, in this effortlessly seductive and intimate environment.