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Authors: Sharon Kendrick

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BOOK: The Sicilian's Passion
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Kate shrugged. ‘Not really; you can't blame him for trying—'

‘Kate, will you stop being so damned
understanding
?'

Kate put her glass down with a shaking hand and turned to look at her sister with tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. ‘What alternative do I have?' she whispered. ‘At least this way I can remember it with fondness. If I call him every name under the sun—won't that just make everything that we shared seem worthless?'

Lucy shot her a look of understanding. ‘You seem to really
like
him.'

Kate shook her head. ‘I don't know if
like
is a word you would use in connection with Giovanni—he isn't a man it's easy to get close to. I don't know if there's a word in the dictionary to describe the way I feel about him.'

‘Well, if that's the case, why
didn't
you plump for what he was offering you?'

Kate bit her lip. It wouldn't make sense if she told her sister he would lose all respect for her if she opted for the continuation of the affair—because Lucy probably thought that Giovanni had zero respect for her anyway. And she couldn't blame her. Viewed from the outside, she must look like the world's biggest fool—letting a man like that into her home and her life and her heart on a purely temporary basis.

Because something
had
happened during that brief, blissful stay. He had been reluctant to leave, and had shown it this morning, and she wanted to treasure his reluctance for the rest of her life. Surely she must have touched a tiny part of him, for him to have behaved like that?

But she knew that a long-term affair with a man like Giovanni would eventually end, and end bitterly, too—of that she was certain. And she would have her heart broken completely—whilst at the moment it felt only slightly wounded.

Her emerald eyes were brimming with fresh tears as she looked at her sister. ‘The affair just wouldn't have been enough,' she told her simply, and Lucy nodded in comprehension.

‘Oh, I see,' she said slowly. ‘Now I
do
see.' She gave a wry smile. ‘But you were wrong, you know, Kate.'

Kate stared at her. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘There
is
a word in the dictionary to describe the way you're feeling about him.'

Kate's look remained blank.

‘It's called love, my darling,' she said gently.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
envelope was waiting for her when she arrived home from work, the writing on it unfamiliar, but with a lurch of her heart Kate guessed exactly who it was from. The elegant, lazy script could only have been penned by one person. She stared at it as if it were an unexploded bomb.

Open it
, a voice inside her said. Or would a more self-protective woman simply have hurled it into the bin?

She picked it up and slit it open with trembling fingers, and saw that she had been right. Inside was an airline ticket to Barcelona, and a brief, almost insultingly curt note.

—Have three months been enough to change your mind,
cara
? Why not join me in Spain—and we can take up where we left off?

It was signed, ‘G'.

She slammed the note down on the table, resisting the stupid urge to read and reread it, to run her eyes hungrily over the two stark sentences again and again.

“Take up where we left off,
indeed
!” And where was that? In bed? Swallowing down her anger and her temptation, she told herself that she would telephone him and tell him exactly what he could do with his ticket.

No. She would ignore it completely—that would be far more effective a refusal. His honour would be outraged! And she wouldn't be susceptible to the honeyed persuasion of his voice.

She kicked her shoes across the sitting room as the telephone started ringing and her heart began to pound uncomfortably. Don't be
crazy
, she told herself. It could be absolutely anyone.

But it wasn't.

She seemed to sense that it was him even before he spoke. There was an infinitesimal, irresistible pause, before she heard him murmur, ‘
Cara?
'

Sweat broke out in icy pinpricks on her brow. ‘I am not your darling!' she snapped.

‘No. Not my anything. Not any more,' he agreed mockingly. ‘When you will not see me.'

The hardest decision she had ever had to make, but she had stuck by it. ‘I meant what I said, Giovanni.'

He sighed. ‘I know you did.'

‘So why send me a ticket to join you?'

‘You know exactly why.' A pause. ‘I want to see you.'

‘And you're a man who is used to getting what he wants,' she observed.

He didn't answer that. ‘Have you missed me?'

‘Like a hole in the head!'

There came the sound of soft laughter. ‘I don't believe you.'

‘That's your prerogative,' she said, but her casual air did not quite come off.

‘So you have!'

Yes, she had missed him. Of course she had. She wondered what had ever occupied her mind before she had met Giovanni, because now he seemed to haunt her thoughts constantly. Three months of being away from him, when the minutes and the hours had ticked away with excruciating slowness.

‘I'm not coming—'

‘Mmm?' he interrupted, on a teasing little note of provocation. ‘That cannot be much fun for you, Kate, but I can soon change that, I assure you!'

Her cheeks flamed. ‘Giovanni, will you
stop
it!'

‘I'm not doing anything,' he protested.

‘Yes, you are!'

‘What am I doing,
cara
?' he questioned softly.

He was tempting her. Unbearably. Reminding her of how much she had loved being with him, being part of him—even though it had been only a very tiny part. ‘I'm going to put the phone down in a minute!' she threatened.

‘Wait!' He hesitated, thinking that it was never simple with this woman, and wondering why he did not have the sense to put the phone down himself. ‘Come and see me, Kate. Please.'

It was the ‘please' that did it—it crept into a heart which she had determinedly steeled against him. Yet that one little word brought all her defences tumbling down like a house of cards. Admit it, she thought to herself—just hearing his voice again was like a soothing balm on a soul which had been tortured and troubled without him.

What was the point of existing in a dull state of misery, when she had the means to make herself happy? Maybe not one hundred per cent happy—but since when did anyone get that? Surely even a little happiness was better than this aching anguish which now seemed second nature to her.

‘OK.' Had she
really
said that?

He wondered if he had heard her properly. ‘Was that a yes?' he demanded.

‘No. It was an OK,' she repeated stubbornly.

He smiled, unseen.
Very
lukewarm, he thought. Almost verging on the sullen—but it was still the surrender he had been intent on. He bit down an instinctive little murmur of triumph, because he sensed that she had been very close to saying no to him. And he wanted her far too much to risk that, though his desire for her still confused him.

Why did her memory persist in possessing him like a fever? he asked himself in silent frustration, as he had been
asking himself since he had touched down in Sicily that day three months ago.

He had tried applying logic to a situation where logic seemed redundant. She was beautiful, yes—but he had seen women more beautiful than her.

So was it simply her skills as a lover?

For a while he had tormented himself with the idea that she must have had many, many lovers to be that sensational in bed. To think of her as a whore would make it easy to disregard her. And yet the image had stubbornly refused to stick and, for the life of him, he could not work out why.

‘Good,' he said softly. ‘You won't regret it,
cara
.'

‘I think I'm regretting it already.'

‘The flight touches down at eight. I'll be waiting for you, Kate.'

‘OK,' she said again, and put the phone down.

She was almost frightened about telling Lucy what she had agreed to, expecting her sister to rage against her and tell her that she must be the most stupid woman on the planet—a sentiment which Kate herself could have sympathy with.

But Lucy surprised her.

‘I don't blame you,' she said quietly.

‘You
don't
?'

‘Uh-uh.'

‘Why?'

Lucy shrugged. ‘I can see his obvious appeal; men like Calverri don't come along more than once in a lifetime—if you're lucky.'

‘Lucky?' echoed Kate, with hollow sarcasm.

‘And you've been as miserable as sin since he went away—'

‘I haven't—'

‘Oh, I know you've
tried
not to be. You've been almost ridiculously cheerful at times—throwing yourself into your work even more than you usually do, which is saying something! But you've had an air of sadness about you which hurts
me to see. So if you're going for a chance of lasting happiness with him—then go for it wholeheartedly.'

But Kate shook her head. ‘Not lasting happiness, no—it will be purely temporary. I know that. I'm realistic enough to see that there's no future in it.'

‘Then you might ask yourself whether you're just setting yourself up for an even bigger hurt by going. You might be better trying to wean yourself off him for good.'

But she couldn't
not
go—that was the trouble. The thought of seeing him again was making her feel half-mad with the sense of being really and truly alive once more. Just the thought of flying to meet him in Barcelona was like landing in bright sunlight after three months of existing in some kind of shadowland.

She blew a small fortune on new clothes for the trip, telling herself that a shopping expedition was long overdue—she hadn't had the enthusiasm for new clothes since he had gone away. She phoned up the travel agent who told her that the weather would be very warm, but not oppressive.

The flight was smooth and uneventful, but Kate's heart was in her mouth as she walked towards Arrivals, a sudden and debilitating insecurity making her wonder what she would do if Giovanni hadn't bothered to turn up…

She needn't have worried. He was there—of course he was—eclipsing every other person in the vicinity with his presence. Tall and striking, leaning lazily against the barrier. Blue eyes were trained on her like blazing guns, though his expression was as dark and as shuttered as she remembered it.

Kate tried to keep her face calm as she walked towards him, but it wasn't easy—not when she wanted to run at full speed and hurl herself into his arms and tell him how much she had missed him…wanted him…

He was wearing a dark coat of the softest leather imaginable, and it made him look very, very European. More as a distraction from the fact that she didn't know what to say, or
how to greet him—for where was the rule-book in a situation like this?—Kate ran her finger along the cuff of the expensive coat.

‘This is new,' she observed.

He shimmered his fingertip along the lapel of a sage-green silk jacket, thinking that he had not been expecting such a cool reunion. ‘So is this,' he said softly.

His words drew her eyes to his, and once they were locked there she seemed unable to break the gaze.

‘Hi,' he murmured.

‘Hello,' she said breathlessly.

Her big green eyes drove all conventional greetings clean out of his mind. Oh, what the hell? he thought savagely, and bent his head to kiss her.

‘G-Giovanni!' The suitcase fell uselessly from her hand and her fingertips went straight up to his shoulders, biting into the sensually scented leather with an abandon which gathered momentum with each thrust of his tongue as he kissed her with shameless abandon.

‘Kate,' he murmured into her mouth, his hand straying irresistibly to the firm swell of her breast, and briefly cupping it in his palm. Until he remembered that they were in a public place, and with an effort he tore his mouth and his hand away.

‘
Matri di Diu!
' he swore softly, staring down into the hectic glitter of her eyes. ‘I think that we had better go straight to the hotel, don't you,
cara
? Before we are arrested for indecent exposure,' he added, with a low, slightly incredulous laugh.

She supposed that she should be relieved that he wasn't being hypocritical. Not bothering to dress up the true reason for this weekend together. Straight back to the hotel for two whole nights and very probably two whole days of sensational sex, then back on the plane to London.

And if she had wanted more than what he was offering her she should never have come.

‘Sounds wonderful,' she agreed evenly.

Outside the air was warm and soft, and the sky a canopy of indigo velvet, punctured by starlight. He glanced at her as they walked out towards the car. ‘You've lost a little weight,' he noticed.

‘I needed to.'

‘No, you didn't.' He had thought her quite perfect before, but now there was an angular edge to her appearance which made her look like some high-profile model. He saw the side-looks she was getting from the taxi drivers who stood waiting for fares, and instead of feeling a swagger of masculine pride in her beauty he found himself wanting to go and verbally threaten them.

‘You're saying that I'm too thin now?'

‘A little.' He smiled. ‘It will give me enormous pleasure to feed you up,
cara
.' One of many pleasures he anticipated during the days to come.

He settled her into the car, and placed her bags in the back, but thought that she seemed tense as he drove out of the airport towards the hotel.

‘Are you OK?' he asked softly.

‘Mmm! Just fine,' she answered brightly.

He didn't want her brittle; he wanted her fiery in his arms again. ‘Ever been to Barcelona before?' he enquired conversationally as he raced the car towards the city.

She shook her head. ‘No, never.' She peered out of the window. ‘Do you know it well?'

‘Well enough to find my way around without a map.'

Her nerves were making breathing difficult. ‘And you're here on business?'

‘That's right. A big deal has been concluded.' He shot her a glance, reading nothing in her shadowed profile. ‘I have to have dinner with some people tomorrow night. I've known them for years and years.' He indicated right. ‘I thought you might like to come along, too?'

‘Well, unless you're planning to leave me alone in the hotel
for the evening!' she joked, but she felt a surge of satisfaction before reprimanding herself. Just because he wanted to take her out to meet some people he was doing business with didn't mean that they were conducting a normal relationship.

No, her role had been defined from the very beginning: she was his mistress—she gave him pleasure.

And you? mocked an inner voice. Does he give you pleasure, too?

She stole a glance at the hard, dark profile. Of course he did, though she suspected that it had been without any effort on his part. She was almost completely smitten
now
—so imagine what it would be like if he was
trying
to impress her…if he were courting her in a traditional way! But why bother wishing for what she couldn't have? That way led only to disillusionment and heartache.

So snap out of it, she told herself. There was no point in agreeing to come here if she was just going to mope around and wish for the impossible.

She glanced out of the window again. ‘So come on, Giovanni,' she murmured, ‘let's have the guided tour.'

‘My pleasure,' he murmured back, unwittingly echoing her thoughts as he began to tell her about each majestic building they passed.

The hotel was in the Ramblas, close to the enchanting Gothic Quarter of the city, and suitably impressive. He checked her in and then they rode up in the lift towards his suite, but the presence of other guests meant that they stood on opposite sides of the confined space, as awkwardly as strangers.

But the moment he had shut the door behind them, he took her into his arms and began to kiss her, and—whilst part of her wished that he might have waited—she gave herself up to the glory of that kiss. Three months without him became a distant memory as his hard mouth danced sensation all over her skin, and she was shaking and dazed when he finally lifted his head to stare down at her.

BOOK: The Sicilian's Passion
8.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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