by Sara Craven
And how had an illegitimate city boy ended up growing wine in the Tuscan countryside?
No, she thought. There were still too many unanswered questions for her to feel comfortable in his company. So it was as well she had no intention of seeing him again—wasn’t it?
The tiny chicken simmered in wine and surrounded by baby vegetables was so tender it was almost falling off the bone, and Cory sighed with appreciation as she savoured the first bite.
‘You are a pleasure to feed.’ Rome passed her a sliver of calves liver to taste. ‘You enjoy eating.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘You’re so slim, I’d half expected you to be on a permanent diet like so many women,’ he acknowledged drily.
Cory shook her head. ‘I’m not slim, I’m thin,’ she said. ‘But no matter how much I eat, I never seem to put on weight.’
He said softly, ‘Perhaps, mia cara, all you need is to be happy.’
The words seemed to hang in the air between them.
She wanted to protest—to bang the table with her hand and tell him that she was happy already. That her life was full and complete.
But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself remembering the scent of his skin, the hard muscularity of his chest as he’d held her. The warm seductive pressure of his mouth in that endless kiss…
And she felt the loneliness and fear that sometimes woke her in the night charge at her like an enemy, tightening her throat, filling her mouth with the taste of tears.
She bent her head, afraid that he would look into her eyes and see too much.
She said in a small, composed voice, ‘Please save your concern. I’m fine. And this is the best chicken I’ve ever had.’
She resisted a temptation to refuse dessert and coffee and plead a migraine as an excuse to cut the evening short. Because something told her that Rome would recognise the lie, and realise he’d struck a nerve. And she didn’t want that. Because already he saw too much.
Instead she embarked on a lively account of her one and only visit to Italy on a school cultural exchange visit.
‘The school we stayed at in Florence was run by nuns,’ she recalled. ‘And every night we could hear them turning these massive keys in these huge locks, making sure we couldn’t escape.’ She lowered her voice sepulchrally, and Rome laughed.
‘Would you have done so?’ He poured some more wine into her glass.
‘I got to a point where I felt if I saw one more statue or painting I’d burst,’ Cory confessed. ‘I never knew there could be so many churches, or museums and galleries. We never seemed to have a breathing space. And, really, I’d rather have spent every day at the Uffizi alone.’
‘But you weren’t allowed to?’
She shook her head. ‘The teachers hustled us round the city at light speed. They seemed to think that if we stood still for a moment we might be abducted—or worse.’
‘Perhaps they were right,’ Rome murmured. He paused. ‘Will you ever go back there?’
‘Perhaps one day. To wander round the Uffizi at my own pace.’
He was silent for a moment. Then, ‘Florence is a great city, but it isn’t the whole of Tuscany,’ he said quietly. ‘There is so much else to see—to take to your heart.’ He drank some wine. ‘It would make a wonderful place for a honeymoon.’
Cory took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure it would,’ she said coolly. ‘And if I should happen to marry, I’ll keep it in mind.’
‘You have no immediate wedding plans?’ He was playing almost absently with the stem of his glass.
She said crisply, ‘None—and no wish for any.’
‘How sure you sound.’ He was amused. ‘Yet tomorrow you might meet the man of your dreams, and all your certainties could change.’
The last time I dreamed of a man, Cory thought with a pang, it was you…
Aloud, she said, ‘I really don’t think so.’ She picked up the dessert menu and gave it intense attention. ‘I’ll have the peach ice cream, please—and an espresso.’
‘Would you like some strega with your coffee, or a grappa, perhaps?’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But no.’ Because it’s nearly the end of the evening, and I need to keep my wits about me, she added silently.
She ate her ice cream when it came, and sampled some of Rome’s amaretto soufflé, too.
Alessandro himself brought the small cups of black coffee. He said something in Italian to Rome, who responded laughingly.
Cory was convinced they were talking about her. She was already planning in her mind how to couch her refusal when Rome asked to see her again, which she was sure he would.
Alessandro turned to her. ‘You enjoyed your dinner, signorina?’
‘It was wonderful,’ she said. ‘Absolutely delicious. Far better than the steak and salad I was planning.’
‘So lovely a lady should never eat alone,’ Alessandro told her with mock severity, and went off smiling.
To Rome, she said politely. ‘Thank you. It was a very pleasant evening.’
‘Pleasant?’ His mouth was serious, but his eyes were dancing. ‘Now, I’d have said—interesting.’
‘Whatever.’ Slightly disconcerted, Cory reached for her bag. ‘And now I must be going. It’s getting late.’
Rome glanced at his watch. ‘Some people would say the evening was just beginning.’
‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ Cory said shortly. ‘I have work tomorrow.’
He grinned at her. ‘And anyway, you cannot wait to run away, can you, mia cara?’
He came round the table and picked up her wrap before she could reach it herself. As he put it round her, she felt his hands linger on her shoulders, and the faint pressure sent a shiver ghosting down her spine, which she told herself firmly was nerves, not pleasure.
She took a step away from him. Her voice sounded over-bright, and her smile rather too determined as she turned to face him. ‘Well—goodnight—and thanks again.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Isn’t that a little premature?’ he drawled. ‘After all, I have still to see you home.’
‘Oh, but there’s no need for that,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s only a short distance—’
‘I know exactly where it is,’ Rome interrupted. ‘And I still have no intention of allowing you to return there unescorted, so let us have no more tiresome argument.’
She stared at him. Her voice shook a little. ‘Is there anything—anything you don’t know about me?’
He laughed softly, ‘Mia bella—I have only just begun, believe me. Now—shall we go?’
And she found herself walking beside him, out into the damp chill—and the total uncertainty—of the night.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY walked in silence, not touching, but Cory was heart-stoppingly aware of the tall figure moving with lithe grace at her side. She had half expected him to take her arm or her hand, and was grateful for the respite. Which was all it was.
Because she had no idea what would happen when they reached their destination.
She couldn’t feel shock or even mild surprise that, as she’d feared, he’d discovered where she lived. Not any more. Every defence she had seemed to be crumbling in turn.
Which one would be next? she wondered, with a slight shiver.
Rome noticed instantly, but misinterpreted her reaction.
‘You’re cold.’ He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled into the warm, soft cloth, gathering it round her like a barricade. Which was a mistake, because inextricably mingled with the smell of expensive wool was the now familiar scent of Rome himself, clean, totally male and almost unbearably potent. Reminding her of those few pulsating moments in his arms when her shocked senses had not just breathed him—but tasted him…
She hurried into speech. ‘But you’ll be frozen.’
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘I spend too much out of door
s in all kinds of weather.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes—of course.’
She could hear the click of her heels on the pavement, hurrying slightly to keep up with his long stride. The air was cool, and there was a sharp dankness in the air which made her nose tingle.
She told herself, with an inward sigh, ‘It’s going to rain.’
‘Is that a problem for you?’ His answer, laced with faint amusement, alerted her to the fact she’d spoken aloud.
‘Not really.’ A faint flush warmed her face. She didn’t want him to think she was making conversation for the sake of it. ‘If you live in England, you can’t let rain bother you too much. And when we lived in the country everything—the grass, the leaves—was so washed and—fragrant afterwards, I even began to like it. But here in the city the rain just smells dirty.’
‘You liked the country best?’ His tone was reflective. ‘Then what made you leave?’
‘The house wasn’t the same after my grandmother died,’ Cory said, after a pause. ‘Too many memories. So my grandfather decided to sell it and base himself entirely in London. I don’t blame him at all for that, but I miss the old place just the same.’
‘Where was the house?’
‘In Suffolk.’ Her voice was soft with sudden longing. ‘There was an orchard, and a stream running through the garden, and when I was a child I thought it was Eden.’
‘It was the other way round for me,’ Rome said, after a pause. ‘I was brought up in cities, and I have had to wait a long time to find my own particular paradise.’
‘But you have it now?’
‘Yes,’ he said, with an odd harshness. ‘I have it, and I mean to keep it.’
Cory turned her head to look at him in faint bewilderment, and stumbled on an uneven paving flag.
Instantly Rome’s hand shot out and grasped her arm, steadying her.
She felt the clasp of his fingers echo through every bone, sinew and nerve-ending. Was aware of her body clenching involuntarily in the swift, painful excitement of response. Bit back the small gasp that tightened her throat.
Turned it into a breathless laugh instead. ‘Oh, God—I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry. Perhaps it was the wine. I’m not accustomed to it…’
‘You don’t usually drink wine?’ He looked down at her, brows lifting.
‘Rarely more than one glass.’ Her smile was rueful. ‘So I’ll never make your fortune for you. Isn’t that a shocking admission?’
‘It confirms what I suspected,’ Rome said, after a pause. ‘That you work hard, and take your pleasures in strict moderation.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That makes me sound very dull.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Not dull, mia cara.’ His voice was suddenly gentle. ‘Merely—unawakened.’
She stared at him, her lips parting in surprise and uncertainty. When he halted, it took her a moment to realise that they’d actually reached the front door of her flat.
And some kind of moment of truth, she thought, her heart lurching half in panic, half in unwilling excitement.
As she fumbled in her bag for her key, she heard herself say in a voice she barely recognised, ‘Would you like to come in—for some more coffee?’
His hesitation was infinitesimal but fatal, cutting her to the core.
‘I cannot mia bella.’ He sounded genuinely regretful, but it was rejection just the same. ‘I have to go back to the restaurant and close the deal with Alessandro.’
She said, ‘Oh.’ Then, ‘Yes—I see.’
She rallied, fighting down the disappointment that was threatening to choke her. Fighting to conceal from him that he had the power to hurt her.
She said brightly, ‘Well—thank you for a lovely meal.’
‘The gratitude is all mine, Cory mia.’ He took the hand she did not offer and raised it to his lips, turning it at the last moment so that his mouth brushed her inner wrist, where the telltale pulse leapt and fluttered uncontrollably at the brief contact.
‘And perhaps I had better have my jacket,’ he went on conversationally as he released her. ‘Unless, of course, you wish to keep it.’
‘No—no—here.’ Almost frantically she rid herself of its sheltering folds and pushed it at him. ‘Goodbye.’ She turned away, stabbing her key into the lock.
He said softly, ‘I prefer—goodnight.’
As the door opened at last, she allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder, but he was already yards away, his long stride carrying him back to his own life—his own preoccupations.
Cory thought, So that’s that, and went in, closing the door behind her.
Rome cursed savagely under his breath as he walked away. What in hell was the matter with him? he demanded silently. His grandfather had been right. She was ready to fall into his outstretched hands.
All he’d had to do was walk through that door with her and she’d have been his. Total victory with minimum difficulty, he thought cynically.
A victory that he’d wanted, starkly and unequivocally, as the unquenched heat in his body was reminding him. The whole evening had been building to that moment.
And yet—unbelievably—inconceivably—he’d held back. Made a paltry excuse about an appointment that was actually scheduled for the next day.
And she’d known. The street lighting had taken all the colour from her face and turned her eyes into stricken pools.
And suddenly he’d found himself wanting to pick her up in his arms. To hold her close and bury his face in the fragrance of her hair, and keep her safe for ever.
Perhaps the wine had affected him, too, he derided himself.
Because he’d planned a verbal seduction only, he reminded himself tautly. He’d intended to entice her with spoken caresses and half-promises, and a hint of passion rigorously dammed back. Yet scrupulously ruling full physical possession out of the equation.
Probably because he’d never visualised it as a genuine temptation, he acknowledged ruefully.
So what had changed—and when?
At what moment had she ceased to be a target—and become a woman?
It was when I called her ‘unawakened’—and realised it was true, he thought.
She’d been engaged to be married. It was unrealistic to suppose she hadn’t been involved in a sexual relationship with her fiancé. Yet his experience told him that, sensually and emotionally, she was still a virgin.
That maybe the Ice Maiden image was born from disappointment rather than indifference. That all the potential for response was there, waiting, just below the surface.
He’d felt it all evening in the swift judder of her pulses when he’d touched her, in the tiny indrawn breaths she hadn’t been able to conceal. And in the sudden trembling capitulation of her mouth as he’d kissed her.
Shock tactics, he’d told himself at the time, when he’d seen her standing there, the wide eyes filling with accusation. An expedient designed merely to prevent her from sweeping out and reducing his chances of saving Montedoro to nil.
He hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. Or to want so much more so soon either. That was an added complication he could well do without.
That, indeed, he would do without. Because he wasn’t some adolescent at the mercy of his hormones, he reminded himself bluntly. He had control, and he would use it from now on.
But he hadn’t anticipated Cory Grant’s own hunger, he thought, his mouth tightening.
He realised now what it must have cost her to issue that faltering invitation. Had seen the shock in her eyes when he’d stepped back.
But perhaps in the greater scheme of things that was no bad thing, he told himself tersely. He would stay away for a few days, he decided. Keep her guessing. Allow her to miss him a little, or even a lot, before he made another approach. And then, just when she thought it was safe to go back in the water…
Because he couldn’t afford any softening, whatever the inducement. He had to stay focused—cold-blooded in his approach. He had too much at stake
to allow any ill-advised chivalrous impulses to intervene.
And if he’d created an appetite in Cory Grant, he could use it. Feed it tiny morsels rather than a full banquet. Until she could think—could dream—nothing but him, and the denial he was inflicting on her senses.
And that voluptuous ache in his own groin would simply have to be endured for now, he thought grimly.
When all this business was behind him, and Montedoro was safe, he would indulge himself. Take a break in Bali or the Caribbean. Find some warm and willing girl looking for holiday pleasure, and tip them both over the edge during long hot moonlit nights.
Someone who did not have bones like a bird and skin like cool, clean silk. Or a wistful huskiness in her voice when she spoke of her childhood.
He sighed restlessly and angrily, and lengthened his stride.
The Ice Maiden, he decided broodingly, would have been altogether easier to cheat.
Cory leaned back against the door of her flat, staring sightlessly in front of her, trying to steady the jagged breathing tearing at her chest.
‘I don’t believe I did that.’ Her voice was a hoarse, angry whisper. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’
I’m not drunk, she thought. Therefore I must be mad. Totally out of my tree.
And now, somehow, I have to become sane again. Before I end up in real trouble.
She shuddered, crossing her arms defensively across her breasts.
She’d just issued the most dangerous invitation in her life—and somehow she’d been let off the hook. Rome had turned her down, for reasons she couldn’t even begin to fathom but for which she had to be grateful, she told herself resolutely.
Only, she didn’t feel grateful. She felt bewildered, bruised and reeling. Lost, even. And humiliated in a way she’d sworn would never happen again.
She eased herself slowly away from the door and fastened the bolt and the security chain before heading for her bedroom. She didn’t put on any of the lights. She just went in and fell across the bed, without removing her clothes or her make-up. Curling up in the dark like a small animal going to earth to escape a predator.