by Kate Walker
If she had been talking to a complete stranger, making polite conversation in a lift or a train compartment, it would have been bad enough. But she couldn’t look at Vito, lounging comfortably in the big black leather armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, booted feet crossed at the ankles, and not remember.
If he turned his head so that the sunlight caught on the gleaming blue-black strands of his hair, she remembered how it had felt to have those strands under her fingertips when she had reached up to curl her hands around the strong bones of his skull. If he looked at her she recalled the way those dark grey eyes had looked down into hers as she lay beneath him; how they had sometimes been almost feverish with passion or at other times glazed with lazy desire. When he lifted his mug to drink she felt her own mouth soften at the memory of how it had felt to have those beautifully shaped lips crush hers or tantalise with gentle, teasing kisses, the taste of his tongue so vivid in her mouth that it was as if those kisses had only been five minutes ago, not five months.
And when he moved his hands, to smooth back a lock of jet hair that had fallen over his wide forehead, or tug his elegant silk tie loose at the throat, she felt her body prickle all over with heat at the most sensual memories of all. The thought of how those long, bronzed fingers had once caressed her skin, teased her senses awake, brought her such stunning pleasure, made every inch of her sting with remembered need and the longing to experience it all over again.
And the knowledge that she could never know that delight again, that such pleasure was one she must always deny herself now and in the future, was what finally pushed the words from her mouth before she had a chance to try to hold them back.
‘It’s time we talked.’
‘Naturalamente, carina,’ Vito smiled, replacing his mug on the coffee-table with what she felt was deliberately excessive care. ‘What is it you want to talk about?’
It was all completely wrong, Emily told herself as she tried to imagine the scene viewed by someone outside the window, looking in. If they did then they would get exactly the opposite impression to the reality of the situation.
Seeing Vito looking so relaxed and at ease, his head resting against the back of the chair, his hands lying carelessly on the broad square-cut arms, any casual observer would think that he was the one at home here. That the house belonged to him. While she, perched on the edge of the settee, her legs pressed tightly together, feet flat on the ground and her back stiffly upright, her hand clamped tightly around the almost untouched glass of water, must look like a nervous stranger in her own home.
‘You know very well what I want to talk about.’
His lazy question was infuriating, making her fingers tighten on her glass until she almost expected it to shatter under the pressure.
‘I want you to explain what you’re doing here—why you came—and don’t tell me that you came to return my parking-money purse and the single pound coin it happens to have in it,’ she put in hastily as he opened his mouth to give her some obviously flippant answer. ‘Because I know that’s just not the truth. No one would make a special journey from the next village to bother with something as small as that, let alone fly here from Sicily of all places!’
‘You’re right,’ Vito stunned her by agreeing, so much so that she felt her mouth actually fall open in surprise and hastily clamped it shut again, painfully aware of how foolish she must look gaping at him like that.
‘I’m…?’ She couldn’t find the strength to finish the question.
‘You’re quite right,’ Vito confirmed again, his tone astoundingly mild and easy. He even smiled. The sort of smile that hit her straight in the eyes and made her feel as if she had been struck by a brilliant flash of steel-grey lightning, one that sizzled all the way down her spine until it made her toes curl up tightly inside her soft leather shoes. ‘I didn’t come to return the purse—that, of course, was just an excuse.’
So now they were coming to it. Now she would find out what he really planned. It was what she’d said she wanted, what she had been trying to convince herself she must ask from the moment she’d realised that he was the man in the car and not Joe McKenzie. And she did want to know what his answer was going to be, but that didn’t stop her mouth from drying painfully, her throat tightening until she felt she could hardly get a breath past the knot that had formed deep inside.
‘What…?’
Her voice croaked painfully as she tried to get the word out, but she didn’t dare to lift her glass, sip at the water to ease the raw sensation for fear that her hand would shake so badly with tension that she might spill it all over herself like a fool.
‘What is the real reason, then?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? I came for you.’
‘Oh, come on! I don’t believe that! You’re even less likely to want to come all this way to see me—when the last time I saw you you made it very very plain that…’
The words faded, died, as she met his eyes and saw the way he was looking at her. Saw the cool, assessing gaze, the faint shake of his head that told her she was not saying the right thing; that she had got something totally wrong.
Nervously she tried to think back over what she had said, what he had said before that. Slowly, horrifyingly, realisation dawned in the same moment that Vito left her in no room for doubt by spelling it out calmly and deliberately.
‘I didn’t say I came to see you—I came for you.’
Emily had the disturbing feeling that if she could she would have pushed herself up from the settee and turned and run, getting as far as possible from this man and the claim he was making on her. But even though her pregnancy didn’t show too much yet, she already felt less supple and a lot less light on her feet than normal, so she didn’t dare to try and make any rash movements.
‘For…’
This time she didn’t gape, this time her mouth didn’t fall open even though the shock was every bit as great as when he had casually announced the fact that returning her purse was only an excuse for being here. This time her lips clamped tight shut on the explosion of disbelief that almost escaped her and she bit her tongue hard rather than let out what she really meant to say.
‘Just what is that supposed to mean?’ she managed at last.
‘What do you think it means?’
Vito leaned back in his chair again, watching the swift, revealing play of emotions cross her face like clouds scudding in front of the sun. She was stunned, fine—he’d expected that—but what else would those expressive features reveal?
He knew she’d put on a play of rejection—a pretence of denying the passion that still burned between them. But it would be a pretence. She hadn’t forgotten him any more than he had been able to put her out of his mind. He’d seen that flare of instant recognition in her eyes when he had first got out of the car, caught the spark of response that she had been unable to hide.
‘I thought my meaning was perfectly clear.’
‘Not to me!’
The sudden rush of colour to her cheeks, the way those challenging eyes dropped, not quite able to meet his, told their own story. But still it seemed she was determined to keep up the pretence for a while longer.
‘Signor Corsentino—’
‘Vito,’ he inserted smoothly. ‘I like the way it sounds on your tongue.’
That earned him another furious glare, one so ridiculously fierce that it made his mouth twitch, wanting to break into a smile. But he controlled it with an effort. If she thought he was laughing at her then she would become even more incandescent with rage, and, fun though it might be to play the game that way, he didn’t feel that he had the patience to spend time trying to calm her down.
Simply being in the room with her had strained his self-control to the limit. Every time she had moved he had caught a faint waft of her scent, a blend of something floral and the soft, intoxicating aroma of her skin. And just inhaling it had sent a sensual message fizzing through every nerve in his body, awakening the hunger that
had always tormented him when he had remembered that single night in his flat.
But now it wasn’t memories that filled his mind but the reality of physical hunger. A hunger he was having to fight to control.
‘Vito, I don’t have time to play games—I’m expecting a visitor soon.’
Dannazione, he’d forgotten about the estate agent. When she’d thought he was the man she was expecting, she’d said something about eleven and it was quarter-to now. He was going to have to play this slightly differently from the way he had originally planned.
‘This isn’t a game, belleza. Believe me, I was never more serious in my life.’
‘And you are going to have to believe me when I say that I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar!’ Vito reproved softly. ‘You know very well that we have unfinished business between us.’
‘No…’
She shook her head determinedly, sending the fine blonde hair flying around her face.
‘No!’
‘Yes.’
He was sitting forward now, dark eyes locking with cloudy blue, and he saw the way that her gaze widened, the revealing rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing quickened, grew uneven. She was giving herself away in so many ways, her body giving off messages that were the opposite of what her mouth was saying.
‘You wanted to know why I came here—what brought me to your door today. Well, the truth is that I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stay away.’
He’d caught her now, had her held like a deer in the headlights of a car, her pupils huge and black so that barely a rim of the soft blue showed around the edges. She wasn’t aware of the way that she had moved, that she was matching his pose, leaning towards him as he spoke, her gaze intent on his face, her hands open on her lap, no longer clasped together and twisting tight.
‘I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since you left that morning—and I know you’ve felt the same.’
‘I’ve what?’
The arrogance of the man! Emily couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did he really believe…?
‘I’ve done no such thing!’
Oh, dear, did the vehemence of her tone give away the fact that she was lying through her teeth?
‘Just what makes you think…?’
‘I don’t think—I know,’ Vito declared with such supreme confidence that if she hadn’t been sitting down she had the nasty feeling that his assertion would have taken all the strength from her legs and dropped her down onto the settee, unable to support herself. ‘It was there in your face when you first saw me, when you realised who it was in the car.’
‘It was no such thing! You’re kidding yourself!’
She expected another assured response. Another declaration that he knew what he was talking about, and she was prepared to deny it till she was blue in the face—but what knocked her sideways mentally, took the breath from her lungs, was the fact that he did no such thing. In fact he said nothing. Nothing at all. Just gave her another of those long, considering looks, the ones that seemed to see right into her mind—into her heart, her soul—and read what was there, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it from him.
So had she? Had she really been so transparent that she had somehow given him a clue to the thoughts that had tormented her in the five months since she had seen him? Had she shown something of the lonely days, the even lonelier nights she had spent remembering and wondering?
Had there been all that in her face? Had the cruel twist of her heart when she’d recognised him put some light in her eyes that he’d been able to interpret as a welcome?
‘Don’t!’
‘What?’
She started violently as Vito suddenly moved forward, taking her chin in one hand and pressing his thumb against her bottom lip.
‘Don’t do that…’
It was only then that she realised how she had been worrying at her bottom lip, expressing the wild confusion inside her by digging her teeth into the softness of her flesh. But now Vito’s thumb had taken the place of her teeth, smoothing softly over the skin, erasing the damage she had done to herself.
And it felt soothing. It felt gentle. It felt good—too good. More than good: it felt dangerously wonderful.
The scent of his skin was in her nostrils. The taste of his skin was on her lips; if she let her tongue slide out, she could savour it there too. And Vito must have moved because suddenly he was so much closer. He was right on the edge of his chair, his knees almost touching hers. His face seemed only inches away from hers, his eyes so deep and dark she felt she could drown in them. Every time he blinked she felt sure that she should feel a breeze from the way that those lush black lashes swept the air.
She could see the faint shadow of his beard under his skin and her fingers itched to reach out and touch, feel the contrast between the roughness of stubble and the warm satin smoothness of his skin. She could hear the soft sound of his breathing, almost sense the heavy, regular beat of his heart, and when he swallowed she watched the movement of his bronzed throat with an almost hypnotic fascination, unable to drag her eyes away. And when she followed the movement down, down to where he had tugged loose his tie and opened the neck of his shirt she could see the way that the golden toned skin went further down, under the fine blue cotton, just a hint of dark, crisp hair shadowing in the V-necked opening.
‘Vito…’ It was barely a sound, just a breath escaping her lips, and when she spoke it her mouth closed around his caressing thumb once more, stilling the movement, tasting him again, savouring both the intimate flavour and the burning memories it brought back to her mind.
He was still only touching her on the mouth, still only connected to her in that one, small spot, and yet she felt as if he was surrounding her totally. As if he had enclosed her in his arms, pressed the heat and power of his body against her, covered her totally with his strength.
Because that was how she remembered it. How it had once been when he had rescued her, when he had swept her up into his arms and carried her away from the beach and she had gone to his bed so happily that she had forgotten about everything else in her life. Forgotten all the misery and the stress and known only that with this man, in his arms, she felt right and safe and happy.
And that was how she wanted to feel again. She needed to live that wonderful experience over again, if only one more time. She had to know his touch, his kiss, his caress. She had to know him.
‘Vito…’ she murmured again, her throat feeling thick with emotion, her eyes blurring as she swayed towards him slightly, unable to hold back.
‘Si, cara?’
It was low and huskily intent, the beautiful accent heightened on the deep, rich tones, and he was so close that his breath was warm on her face as he formed the words so that they were a caress as well as a sound that teased at her senses.
‘Kiss me…’
She didn’t even have time to get the words out fully before he was suiting action to the words, taking away his thumb and replacing it with his mouth, kissing her hard, crushing the sound back down her throat.
And at the same time he was up and out of his chair, fastening his hands around her arms, hauling her from her seat to crush her against him, holding her close with muscles of steel. His lips plundered hers, his tongue invading her mouth, taking the moist essence of her and making it his own, tasting her, savouring her, knowing her.
Emily gave herself up to him, feeling the heat lick along her veins at the speed and intensity of a forest fire taking hold of the dry undergrowth, the brittle leaves and twigs, and sending them roaring into a wild, unstoppable conflagration in just a couple of seconds. In the space of a heartbeat she’d lost all thought, lost all control, lost all care for whether this was wise or foolish. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. All she was aware of was the hunger she felt for Vito’s kiss. The need for his touch, the yearning, demanding need that filled every nerve, tightened her breasts and pulsed, hot and heavy, betw
een her legs.
I came for you…
I came for you…
Vito’s arrogant declaration pounded in her thoughts like the wild refrain in some primitive music. It was all she could think and it was all she wanted to think. After long months of bitter loneliness, months in which she had felt lost and adrift on a cruel sea of hostility and isolation, just to know that someone wanted her, that someone cared in any way at all was such a liberating sensation that it went straight to her head like a rush of the finest, most potent cognac. Her mind spun, her legs weakened and all she could do was abandon herself to Vito’s strength and passion, let the flames of need burn away the scars that unhappy thoughts had left behind.
‘You see,’ Vito muttered against her mouth, ‘this was how it was, how it can be again. That night we were together, I had the best damn sex of my life, and I want more. That’s why I had to come for you.’
CHAPTER TEN
WAS it possible to love and hate in the same moment? Emily wondered.
Or perhaps—much more likely—what she really meant was, was it possible to crave and to detest in the same moment? Because that was what she was feeling right now. Her mind seemed to be splitting in two in the same second that her body was burning up crazily, fizzing with the wild electricity of yearning, physical need.
She wanted this—oh, how she wanted it. She was hungry for it with a need that went way beyond any sense of right or wrong, wise or foolish, safe or totally, completely soul-destroyingly dangerous. She had dreamed so much about this, remembered it both in her waking days and in her sleep. Moving into Vito’s arms had been like coming home.
But coming home should not be so tempting, nor so dangerous. Coming home should feel safe and secure and safe and secure were the last two possible words that she connected with the situation she was in, the way she was feeling right now.