by Sara Craven
And if he’d imagined that breaking the news of Simon’s callous betrayal of her would undermine her strength of will, then
he could think again.
When Simon had walked out on her three years ago she’d been devastated, convinced her life was over. Wasn’t that
why she’d yielded to her father’s urgings and agreed to a marriage of convenience with Raf—because she hadn’t really
cared what happened to her Wasn’t it
Now it seemed that Simon had really gone for ever. But, instead of the devastation of pain she might have expected, she
felt numb—hollowed out inside.
I should be weeping, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-mockery. Maybe I’m just too young for a broken heart.
And, after this, I won’t be looking for another man either. Once I’m free of this marriage, I’m going to starting living for
myself.
She picked up her neglected wine. ‘To me,’ she said and drank deeply.
But the fact remained that she was still sharing her living space with Raf, for tonight at least. And, in spite of herself, she
found she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, senses finely tuned to the signs of his presence upstairs. That she was
tensing as she heard the bath water eventually running away. Listening for the opening of the bathroom door and the soft
pad of bare feet going along the passage. Then, at long last, his bedroom door closing.
And that was the most welcome sound of all, she thought, her slim body sagging in relief.
She put the guard in front of the fire and extinguished the lights before going quietly upstairs herself.
She’d expected to find the bathroom a wet-floored shambles, but it was amazingly neat, his damp towel hanging on the
hot rail.
There was a small ramshackle bolt on the door, which was more than could be said for her bedroom, and she slid it into
place before beginning to refill the tub. Just a precaution, she told herself, and she was probably just being paranoid.
Raf was here on a face-saving exercise, that was all. His male pride had been damaged and perhaps, in retrospect, she’d
been unwise to deride it. Maybe it would do no harm to apologise. Explain she’d spoken in the heat of the moment.
Show that she could be reasonable.
All the same, her bath was not the long leisurely affair she’d originally planned. She dried herself quickly and put on one
of the nightgowns she’d brought with her—a relic from her school-days, voluminous in brushed cotton, but warm, which
was all that mattered.
As she went on tiptoe back to her room, she hesitated for a brief moment at the door opposite, but there wasn’t a sound.
So maybe he was already sound asleep.
She closed her own door and leaned against it, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath, listening to the
unbroken quiet.
After a moment she went over to the window and drew the curtain aside, wrinkling her nose at the swirl of white flakes
dancing in front of her. It seemed to be snowing harder than ever, she thought, and while a sanctuary, however fragile it
had proved, was one thing, being stranded by snowdrifts was something else completely.
Shivering, she dashed back to the bed and hopped in, pulling the duvet up to her chin as she waited for the first chill to
subside. She stared up at the ceiling, letting thoughts, impressions, snatches of conversation tumble headlong through her
mind.
Which achieved precisely nothing, apart from making her feel more on edge than ever. What she really needed was to
turn off the lamp and go to sleep, she told herself firmly. Because things always looked better in the morning—didn’t
they
And at that moment her door opened with a faint creak and Raf came in. He was wearing a black silk robe, casually
belted at the waist, and the rest of him was tawny skin as he moved towards her with an unhurried purpose that brought
all her worst fears choking to the surface.
Propped on an elbow, Emily stared at him. ‘What—what do you want’
‘We have matters to discuss,’ he said. ‘If you remember.’
‘But tomorrow.’ In spite of herself there was a quiver in her voice. ‘You said we’d talk tomorrow.’
‘It is already tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And have you never heard of pillow talk’
His hands went to the sash of his robe and she shrank.
‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘No, Raf, please. You can’t do this. You promised me…’
‘At that time, I was dealing with a terrified child,’ he said softly. ‘But you told my lawyers that you were planning to
remarry, so it seems you have outgrown your virginal fears and are a woman at last.’
‘But there’ll be no other marriage,’ she protested. ‘You—you know that.’
His brows lifted. ‘And you think that makes a difference It does not.’
His voice hardened. ‘I have been astonishingly patient with you, Emilia, but you went too far with your demand for an
annulment. And I intend to make quite certain you will never insult me in that way again.’
He shrugged off the robe and slid, naked, into the bed beside her.
He added softly, ‘I am sure you understand me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MYGOD.’ Emily almost choked as she flung herself away from him across the bed, her heart juddering against her ribs,
like a bird trapped in a cage. She was hideously aware that she’d closed her eyes a split second too late and that a
unwanted image of Rafaele Di Salis without his clothes was now engraved on her memory.
Aware too of the sudden warmth of his body in the intimacy of the bed—his nearness. And felt the breath catch in her
throat.
‘Don’t you dare come near me. And don’t touch me,’ she added wildly, trying to wrench herself free as his hands
descended on her shoulders.
‘Now you are being foolish.’ Calmly but inexorably, Raf pulled her round to face him, his brows lifting as he studied the
high-necked nightgown with its demure row of pearl buttons, the long sleeves and the lace-edged collar and cuffs.
‘I see the nuns’ training has prevailed in the bedroom as well as the kitchen,cara ,’ he murmured, not bothering to hide his
amusement. ‘So—will you remove this grotesque garment, or would you prefer me to do so’
‘This is revenge, isn’t it’ she said shakily. ‘Because I had the bad taste to prefer another man and let you know it.’
‘They say revenge is sweet.’ He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Perhaps, tonight, we will both discover if that is true.’
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t do this. You—you don’t really want me. You know that. And you’ve punished
me enough already. So just—let me go.’
‘Without having tasted the pleasures of marriage’ Raf said mockingly. ‘I don’t think so, my sweet wife. There are so few
novelties in life, after all.’
She drew an uneven breath. ‘You’ll make me hate you.’
‘But I thought you already did,mia cara ,’ he said. ‘So what have I to lose’ He paused, fingering the collar of her
nightgown. ‘Now, which of us is it to be’ he questioned softly.
‘I’m not taking it off!’ she flared.
‘As you wish.’ As he began to unfasten the buttons, Emily made a grab for his hand, intending to sink her teeth into it.
But he was too quick for her. ‘Wildcat,’ he accused, laughing, as he captured both her wrists with one lean hand and
raised them above her head so that she was helpless. ‘If you wish to bite me, Emiliamia , then I will gladly show you how
and—where. But later. For now, my atte
ntion is fully occupied with these buttons, as I refuse to make love to you in
this—tent.’
She stared up at him, her eyes enormous in her pale face. She said unevenly, ‘How dare you use the word “love”’
‘What would you prefer’ Raf asked, as the last button gave way.
‘Some Anglo-Saxon crudity’ His shrug was cynical. ‘You will find it all means much the same thing.’
‘You are vile,’ she said passionately.
‘You would naturally think so.’
He released her wrists, but only so that he could whip her nightgown over her head with a speed and deftness that
appalled her and toss it to the floor beside the bed.
She tried to pull the duvet up to her chin, but Raf forestalled her.
He said quietly, ‘No,mi amore , I wish to look at you,’ and threw back the covers so that she too was naked in the
lamplight.
Emily turned her head away blindly, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
If I don’t look at him, she thought with a kind of desperation, if I don’t see him looking at me, I can pretend that this—this
isn’t happening.
And I can bear it—somehow, especially if I think about something else.
She began to count in her head and had reached twenty before he spoke again.
‘Your body is like moonlight,carissima . Lovelier even than my dreams of you.’
‘Am I supposed to be flattered’ She still didn’t look at him.
‘You don’t wish to be told you are desirable’ He captured her chin, turning her to face him in spite of her resistance.
‘Only by the man I love,’ she said defiantly.
The dark brows lifted. ‘Dio, you still care about him, after what he has done You astonish me.’
‘He must have been truly desperate,’ she said. ‘You—you have no idea what it’s like to be without money. You’ve
always led this pampered life, with everyone dancing to your tune.’
‘You except yourself, do you, from this ludicrous generalisation’ The note in his voice was almost one of disdain.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Because I danced too—when I was fool enough to marry you—and to think I could trust you when you
said you wouldn’t touch me unless I—wished it.’
His smile was wry. ‘Perhaps I thought that, in time, you might change your mind.’
‘Then you were wrong.’ She was agonisingly conscious that he was propped on an elbow, his hazel eyes still intent on her
exposed body, and that she felt not only horribly embarrassed by his continued scrutiny, butvulnerable . ‘May I cover
myself’ she requested curtly.
‘No,mia bella , not yet.’
‘But it’s cold.’
He smiled at her. ‘Then move closer,’ he invited.
She bit her lip. ‘Well—at least turn out the light.’
‘Later,’ he said. ‘When it is time for us to sleep. But for now…’
He bent and found her mouth with his.
It was the first time their lips had met since that night at the Manor, when she’d gone into his arms believing he was
Simon.
Now the familiarity of his kiss shocked her. Scared her too. Even after all this time she suddenly found herself
remembering the taste of him—the warm subtle scent of his skin.
Above all, his gentleness.
And it seemed that nothing had changed.
His lips were light but sensuous as they caressed hers, teasing the soft contours with unhurried persuasion. At the same
time, his fingertips were stroking her neck, exploring the hollow beneath her ear and lingering at the base of her throat
where the pulse leapt at his touch.
Emily was aware of a strange languor starting to permeate her senses while, deep within her, she felt a faint stirring, like
the flutter of a butterfly wing or the slow unfurling of a rosebud.
She heard a small cold voice in her head whisper, So this is seduction.
And knew she was in real danger here.
Because Raf was a master of the game. He’d come here for her surrender and he would be satisfied with nothing less. At
the same time, he would consider this initiation of his virgin bride no real contest for him. A foregone conclusion for
someone of his experience. And that, before the night was over, she would be clinging to him, begging for more.
But she would make him think again, she told herself fiercely. Because she would fight him with every weapon she
possessed—using her pride, her anger and her stubborn will to subdue her emotions—and especially that first kindling of
unwanted sexual awareness that she’d just encountered.
She knew she would not prevent his physical possession of her. To struggle would be useless and demeaning. But she
would make sure that his was a sterile victory—devoid of the response he would regard as his right. She had boasted to
herself that she was immune to him. Now she would prove it by any means available. Retreat to some part of her mind
where he could not reach her.
And she began to count to twenty all over again…
Raf allowed his kiss to deepen fractionally, took his mouth from hers for a heartbeat, then kissed her again, running the tip
of his tongue delicately along the line of her lips, coaxing them to part for him. But they remained closed and unyielding.
He raised his head and looked down at her. ‘No’ he asked on a note of mild curiosity.
She said nothing, just stared back with hostile defiant eyes.
His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Definitely—no,’ he murmured and drew her more closely into his arms.
Phase Two, thought Emily, and was tempted to say so aloud.
Only then his hand moved down to her breast, cupping its softness in his palm while his fingers played with her nipple in
an enticement as pleasurable as it was calculated.
And for one blind, greedy moment she lost the power of speech along with the ability to think rationally. Her brain was in
free fall, her body startled—pierced by a need she’d never known before—or even suspected could exist.
Then he bent and took one swollen rosy peak between his lips, stroking it delicately with his tongue, and as delight lanced
through her she felt him smile against her skin.
And, with that, sanity returned, stifling the tiny moan in her throat. Oh, God, he was so sure of her, she thought with
shock. So convinced that her inexperienced body would respond with gratitude and joy to this cynical exercise in sexual
control.
Oh, why couldn’t he have assuaged his anger with some hasty, meaningless coupling, roughly accomplished, that would
have fed her own resentment
But he would never do that. Not when he knew so well how to tantalise and arouse, an ability he’d undoubtedly learned
with so many other women, in so many other beds.
But not hers, she told herself with renewed and savage resolve. Never in hers.
Because she did not have to be at the mercy of her senses. She did not have to allow him to win.
Deliberately, she sank her teeth into her lower lip until she tasted blood, using the sharpness of the pain to distract her
from the sensual drift of his mouth and hands over her body, the unexpected incitement of his aroused nakedness against