The Sicilian's Passion (6 page)

A
T LEAST
Kate had her career. That was what she kept telling herself over and over again, in an attempt to convince herself that in work lay some kind of refuge from her problems. The only difficulty being that her particular career was that it was such a solitary occupation.

When she decorated a house she liaised with the owners to discover exactly what it was they wanted her to create. She then went about finding paints and fabrics and
objets d'art
from various suppliers.

But there was no regular daily interaction with workmates. No one to sit and drink coffee with and talk.

Though maybe that was a blessing in the circumstances. Workmates might ask her why her eyes were ringed with great black shadows. Why eating seemed to be an intolerable effort. And why it took all her energy just to summon up a fraction of her usual enthusiasm.

She was now refurbishing a dining room in north London—a sprawling great Edwardian house belonging to a television actor and his presenter wife. Money was no object, and they had seen some of her work at friends' houses and given her a free rein. The dream scenario, really. But this time the smile she pinned to her face each morning felt like an effort, and she hoped that her mood wasn't transmitting itself to her employers.

On Friday, when the walls had been painted in a rich,
dark green, she returned to her flat in Chiswick and thought unenthusiastically about the weekend ahead. She needed to keep active. To fill her time, so that the memory of Giovanni and his bright blue eyes and delicious body would fade far away into the distance.

She thought about going to visit her parents. No. That was a crazy idea. Her mother would take one look at her gaunt face and demand to know exactly what was wrong—and how could you tell your mother something like
that
?

The phone began to ring and aimlessly she reached out her hand and picked up the receiver, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Hello?'

There was a click as the line was disconnected and she stared at it for a moment, then replaced it uninterestedly, secretly pleased that no one had spoken. The last thing she had felt like doing was having a conversation, having to pretend that everything was all right, when everything in her heart felt all wrong.

The heat of the summer day was still intense, and so she drew herself a bath and soaked in it for ages, until the water was merely lukewarm and the tips of her fingers had shrivelled into pale little starfish. Then she put on a long satin robe and padded barefoot into the sitting room.

She would order in some pizza. She winced. No, definitely not pizza. The Italian connection would be much too great to contemplate. A curry, then. And a glass of wine. With maybe a sad old movie afterwards, which would allow her to shed tears legitimately.

She painted her toenails and had just let them dry, when the doorbell rang, and she hoped it might be Lucy. She didn't want to hassle her sister with her problems, and so she hadn't suggested getting together with her. But maybe Lucy fancied a little company as well.

But it wasn't Lucy who stood on the doorstep, it was Giovanni, and Kate stared at him, her mouth drying, her heart beginning to thunder as she met a hard blue gaze.

‘You!' she breathed.

‘Me,' he agreed sardonically.

Her mouth had difficulty forming the words. ‘Wh-what are you doing here?'

His mouth thinned. What did she think he was doing here? His gaze moved slowly from her face to her body, and the lush swell of her breasts straining against silver-grey satin drove the dull ache of suppressed desire into a heated beat against his temple. He chose his words carefully. ‘I had business to see to in England.' His eyes mocked her. ‘And I thought I might drop by, as I was passing.'

She knew exactly what he was implying. Oh, the arrogance! The unmistakable predatory assumption of the man! Kate leaned on the door and composed her face into a calm, unperturbed mask made false by the sustained thundering of her heart. ‘So here you are,' she observed coolly.

Her haughty demeanour stirred his senses more than it had any right to. Had he expected that she would simply fall into his arms? ‘Here I am,' he agreed levelly. He paused deliberately, and his voice deepened into a silky question. ‘Are you not going to invite me in,
cara
?'

She supposed that some women might have shouted a few home truths before slamming the door in his face, but her curiosity was aroused. And not just your curiosity, taunted the remorseless voice of her conscience with chilling accuracy. Despairing of the fact that the last thing she wanted was for him to simply walk away, she shrugged nonchalantly.

‘Why not?' She opened the door wider, telling herself that it was necessary to see him. To talk to him. What did they call the kind of conversation they needed to have together? Closure, that was it. Common sense told her that she would never completely be free of his memory unless they achieved some kind of closure. That was all it was. She gestured for him to come inside.

Silently he expelled the breath which he hadn't even realised he had been holding, and followed her into the sitting
room, his eyes mesmerised by the swaying thrust of each buttock as it moved provocatively against the satin while she walked.

Her heart was beating fast. His presence was like a light, filling the room with some unbearable, shimmering promise. And that was an illusion, she told herself fiercely as she turned to face him, wondering whether her face betrayed the fact that she wanted him.

He was wearing some unspeakably elegant suit in a soft dove-grey. And a thin white shirt through which she could just discern the faint shadowing of the hair which she had scraped her fingernails against at the moment of orgasm. A tie of sapphire almost as blue as his eyes had been loosened, and it exposed a gleaming little triangle of olive flesh. There was nowhere to look but at him, and she forced herself to swallow down desire, and to remind herself instead of the true situation.

But the words still hurt to say. ‘So what about your fiancée, Giovanni?' she enquired deliberately. ‘Does she know you're here? With me?'

The memory of Anna, and the hurt he had caused her, filled Giovanni with heated regret. But something else heated him too—the same accursed reason which had brought him to her bed in the first place.

‘Ex-fiancée,' he corrected icily.

‘Oh, dear—I'm so sorry! Still, I guess it's better she found out about you sooner rather than later.'

He stilled, then raised dark brows, and the insult freed him, made what he was about to do seem ridiculously simple. ‘Found out about me?' he echoed silkily. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean,
cara
?'

He made the word
cara
sound like a profanity. ‘What do you think it means?' she demanded, remembering how he had whispered that word to her over and over. ‘I'm not flattering myself to think that I was the first little dalliance you'd had on the side!'

Tension tightened his tall, dark frame. His voice was velvet, edged with steel. ‘You think that I am the kind of man to regularly commit infidelity, do you, Kate?'

‘How should I know? I hardly know a thing about you!' But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised that she had dug her own grave of shame.

‘No, you don't,' he agreed, and his eyes gave an insolent glitter. ‘But that didn't stop you being as intimate with me as it is possible for any woman to be!'

Kate flinched as if he had struck her. But how right he was. She recalled the way she had touched him. Licked him. Sucked him in a place where she had sucked no other man. She felt the colour rush to her cheeks as pride made her construct her own defence against the accusation.

‘Do you really think I would have…would have…' she struggled to find the least offensive way to describe what had happened ‘…would have slept with you if I'd known that you were engaged to be married?'

Her question brought the night back into sharp focus with exquisitely arousing clarity. ‘We had very little sleep that night, as I remember,
bella
—you were delightfully eager to repeat the experience over and over again.'

‘So were you!'

‘Who would refuse such an offer when it was so enticingly offered?' He shrugged. ‘But how could I possibly make a judgement about your morality? This bizarre situation is entirely mutual—and, as you just so sweetly pointed out, we barely know each other. At least, not in the conventional sense.'

But the assumption was crystal-clear. Kate flicked angry fingers through the red fall of her hair, only succeeding in making it even more dishevelled than it already was. ‘You think I'm some sort of tramp who gives her body to any man who comes along?'

‘Not any man,' he corrected, with a shake of his dark head. ‘I recognised that you had exquisite taste, right from the
beginning. I cannot condemn you for your choice of partner, Kate.'

It took a moment for his words to sink in. ‘You're very arrogant.'

He shook his head. ‘No. Just honest.'

‘But not honest enough to tell me at the time that you were engaged?'

‘I wasn't thinking very straight at the time.'

‘No.' She stared at him, shocked by how much she wanted to touch him. Wondering just what she would do if he touched
her
. ‘Just what
are
you doing here, Giovanni?'

He caught the blinding green question in her eyes, and a pulse began to hammer at his temple. ‘I think you know the answer to that very well,
cara
,' he said softly.

There was silence, save for the deafening thunder of her heart. Yes, she knew. She had known ever since she had opened the door to him and seen the predatory glitter in his eyes. Just as she had known the last time, too.

And there didn't have to be a repeat performance.

She lifted her chin and said with surprising calm, ‘You think I'm going to fall into bed with you again?'

He thought that bed had nothing to do with it. To do it right there where they stood would do fine to begin with. ‘Why not?' He gave a slow, cold smile. ‘You know you want to.'

His assessment quite literally took her breath away. But only for a moment. ‘You rate yourself very highly as a lover, don't you, Giovanni?'

The smile was now edged with ice. ‘You told me so yourself. In fact, you gave me the very highest recommendation—
you said that I was the best.
'

He spoke nothing more than the truth. She remembered her frantic little pleas, the sighed pleasure, and the indolent little murmurs of praise she had whispered into his ear just after she had…had…

‘I didn't know then that you were engaged—'

‘Would you have cared?'

‘Of course I would have cared!'

He shook his head. ‘I don't think so. You just wanted me,' he taunted. ‘Very badly. As badly as I wanted you.' Still want you. ‘You curled your fingers around my arm and I knew then that you would not have been satisfied until I had pleasured you as no other man had before.'

‘That was just a touch!' she protested. ‘An innocent touch! I hardly started removing my clothes in front of you, like some kind of temptress!'

The ache intensified. ‘Don't be so naïve! It is never “just” a touch. And never, ever innocent! How could it have been, when the chemistry between us was so strong? You were fascinated by me. Intrigued by me.'

‘You can't know that!' she said inadequately.

‘Can't I?' He paused. ‘I saw the print-out from your computer.'

She stared at him with a look of incomprehension. ‘What print-out?' she said blankly.

‘You'd been doing your homework on me, hadn't you, Kate?'

Still she didn't get it.

‘And reading up about Sicily,' he told her in a soft, taunting voice. ‘You clearly wanted to know something of my land and its people—presumably to learn a little more about me. You wanted as much background on me as you could and I cannot deny that I wasn't flattered.'

‘I don't believe I'm hearing this!' she declared. ‘You'd been positively
insulting
about the fact that I knew nothing about Sicily—and just because I wanted to fill in a few gaps in my knowledge you make it sound like I had some kind of master-plan to ensnare you!'

‘You didn't need a master-plan, Kate,' he told her starkly. ‘Your eyes ensnared me from the first moment I looked into them.'

She was very nearly beguiled by the velvet caress of his compliment, until she reminded herself that he had betrayed
his fiancée, and in a way he had betrayed
her
, too. If, as he had acknowledged, the chemistry between them had been so strong, then why had he asked to come in for a drink in the first place? He must have recognised that he was placing himself in a dangerous situation.

And her.

Unconsciously she tightened the belt of her satin robe around her waist, but the flicker of his eyes as he followed the movement of her fingers told her that it was entirely the wrong thing to do. He was staring at her as if he would like to undo what she had just done, and to…to…

‘I think you'd better leave now,' she told him huskily.

Leave? An earthquake would not have budged him. He shook his head and moved towards her, and she was frozen with wanting and longing.

‘No,' she whispered. ‘Giovanni, no.'

‘Oh, yes,' came the silky contradiction. ‘Yes, Kate.'

She shook her head, but it was too late, and he was pulling her into his arms and bending his head to hers and she supposed that she could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. But no power in the world could have prevented her lips from parting in a sharp little gasp of remembered pleasure as he drove his mouth down like a man who had been starved of kisses.