Their eyes met, and her skin twitched, and heat flared in her stomach as his lips curved into an irresistible smile.
‘Really? I thought they were saying, Why did this really annoying woman cut off our heads?’
‘So you think it’s my fault you trod on them? That somehow I’m responsible for your actions?’
He laughed softly. ‘Definitely. That’s what nymphs do, isn’t it?’
She felt her cheeks flood with colour. ‘I am not a nymph. And no, it is not what they do. They simply personify nature.’
‘That’s what all nymphs say. Right before they bewitch some helpless man with their beauty.’
He was teasing her, and those ridiculous eyelashes were flickering like sea anemones in a rock pool. Breathing in slowly, she tried to frown; tried her hardest not to respond to the dizzying pull of his smile but she couldn’t resist.
‘And that’s you, is it? You’re the helpless man?’ She lifted her chin. ‘Why didn’t you say that in the first place?’
Massimo felt lust gnawing at his body. He thought himself a man of the world—if not debauched then occasionally decadent—but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as erotic as Flora, wearing a loose T-shirt cinched at the waist with an old brown leather hunting belt, her bare feet pressing into the earth.
Her cheeks were flushed, and he studied her face, watching her dimples deepen. She was teasing him, testing him. And for a moment he forgot all about punishing her. He even forgot that he wanted her to move out. In fact, her leaving was the last thing on his mind. Like a child running to reach the sea, every inch of him was focused on one goal: getting her to surrender that delectable body to him.
Her eyes were exactly the colour of cinnamon, hinting at warmth and sweetness. And a whisper of fire. He felt his groin tighten. She would be like that in bed. Sweet and warm...that incredible lush pink mouth melting beneath his...those even white teeth nipping and biting in ecstasy—
‘I didn’t want you to take advantage of me.’
Flora swallowed. The garden was warm; the droning sound of insects soporific. But even though his eyes seemed drowsy, she knew he was watching her intently, and the heat on her back felt suddenly like a warning. A reminder that Massimo was not and never would be helpless and that it was he who was distracting and bewitching her.
Slowly, she turned to drop the dead roses in the bucket and then, trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘I’m pretty much finished here. I should probably go and clean up...’
Her heart gave a lurch, her words petering out as slowly he stepped towards her. ‘Wait!’
It was a command, not a request, and she wondered if he ever relinquished his power to anyone. His eyes were the same blue-black as the storm clouds gathering on the horizon and she stared at them as though mesmerised, a pulse fluttering in her throat. Being near him was so confusing. She felt surrounded—overwhelmed, almost and yet she wasn’t scared or suffocated by his power.
Like a bee seeking pollen, his gaze settled on her lips and suddenly the humming of her blood threatened to blot out the warning voices in her head.
‘We should go inside. It’s going to rain,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Can’t you feel it?’
He smiled—a dazzling smile that made her heart split—and she felt a quiver of panic. How could something be so irresistible and yet so dangerous?
‘Are you sure that’s what it is?’ he said softly.
Mutely, she stared at him, and then she felt heat flare up inside her as gently he reached out and stroked her hair. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she stammered.
‘I’m checking to see if you’re real.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be real?’
She felt his fingers move. ‘Because you’ve got petals in your hair,’ he murmured, holding out his hand to show her. ‘And you’re dressed like some woodland nymph.’
His gaze on her face was blunt and she felt her cheeks grow warm.
‘I’m just a gardener.’ Her voice was husky, her eyes both fierce and afraid. ‘You, on the other hand, have been out in the sun too long if you think I’m some nature goddess. You should get inside.’
Shaking his head, he stepped closer—so close she could see the flecks of brilliant cobalt in his eyes.
‘You’ll have to do better than that. If you want me to leave then tell me and I’ll go.’
She swallowed. ‘I want you to leave,’ she lied.
There was a moment of silence and then he nodded. ‘There. That wasn’t too hard, was it?’
The air seemed to tremble between them, and relief and regret and merged inside her.
‘You see. We’re both liars.’
And slowly he lowered his head and tilted her face up towards his. Her heart seemed to drop inside her and she felt suddenly glutted with longing, and the rightness of that longing, and the heat of that longing. The breeze and the birds fell silent and still and her breath stopped. And then like a diver on a springboard she curled her toes into the grass and, standing on tiptoe, kissed him gently.
Fire flooded her skin and the tension inside her that had been growing and growing burst as his mouth moved softly over hers. She felt his tongue drift teasingly over the curving flesh of her lips and, moaning softly, maddened by its firm, probing tip, she kissed him more fiercely, nipping his mouth with her teeth.
His fingers slid slowly over the nape of her neck and then her lips parted in surprise as he jerked her against him, his arms tightening around her slender body as he deepened the kiss. Helplessly, she arched herself against him, the heat of his body drawing out the heat inside her—a relentless, tugging, pulsating thread of longing and need.
She was losing herself; she felt breathless, euphoric. Her hands slid over the broad muscles of his back, caressing the hard body beneath his shirt. Her blood was singing, her nerves dancing in time to the frenzied beating of her heart. And then she heard him groan, and her stomach clenched in a sharp, almost painful spasm.
Hazily, she became aware that her skin, her dress, his hair was wet. Abruptly, she pulled away. Eyes wide, she stared at him dazedly, and then tugged her dress back onto her shoulder.
Massimo’s expression was a mixture of frustration and amusement as raindrops splashed lightly onto his face and shoulders. ‘It’s only rain, cara!’
She smiled weakly. ‘This is a bad idea. We should go inside.’
Her voice was breathy and uneven. For a moment he said nothing, just watched her in silence, making no attempt to hide either his desire or his triumph.
Finally, he nodded. ‘I agree. Your bedroom or mine?’
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE WAS A SHORT, strained pause. For one brief, dizzying moment, Flora imagined his fingers curled round hers, imagined them running through a merry-go-round blur of hedges and walls, their feet moving up the stairs...
And then her skin grew cool. A shiver rose up her spine and her eyes widened in angry disbelief. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said slowly.
Your bedroom or mine? Had he really just asked her that question? His arrogant assumption that, having kissed, she would simply go to bed with him jarred inside her like an out-of-tune piano.
‘Do you actually think we would—?’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘You are unbelievable.’
Like war paint, the leaves of the rose bush cast stripes of shadow across his face. His eyes were narrow, angry and thwarted.
‘For wanting to have sex with you? I’m a man and you’re a woman and we just kissed like the world was about to end. Of course I’m going to think about sex.’ His eyes glittered. ‘And you kissed me first, so I don’t really know what you were expecting—’
‘I didn’t expect anything! Why should I? Nothing happened!’
‘Nothing happened?’ he ground out, his voice cold with fur
y. ‘You call that nothing?’
She glanced up at the sky. Above them, a rainbow was shimmering, its gentle pastel arcs somehow at odds with the sharpness of his anger.
‘No. I call it a mistake. One I don’t intend to repeat.’
A faint blush suffused her cheeks and throat. She couldn’t deny the heat humming in her veins. Or the fact that she had responded to him with a force and intensity that had never happened with any other man. But he wasn’t just ‘any other man’. He was the cold-hearted, manipulative man who wanted to make her homeless and she would have to be a certifiable lunatic to forget that for the sake of one kiss.
She glared at him. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you. And as I only sleep with men I like and respect, I’m not going to have sex with you either. But I guess that’s where you and I differ. Your standards are probably a little lower than mine.’
His face felt taut; the blood was pounding in his ears like a battle drum. He couldn’t believe she’d turned him down. Had she any idea how many women would jump at the chance to sleep with him? His anger was slick and hotter than blood.
‘A lot lower. They pretty much hit rock bottom a moment ago.’
Flora’s heart thumped dully in her chest. The contempt of his tone as much as his actual words left her breathless, chilled. ‘You’re a pig,’ she said shakily.
He studied her face, his mouth forming something between a smile and a sneer. ‘I prefer pragmatist. As far as I’m concerned I don’t need to like or respect a woman to want to have sex with her. And I want to have sex with you. Just as much as you want to have sex with me. Except you’re too much of a hypocrite to admit it.’
Heat burned her cheeks. ‘You’re not only disgustingly arrogant, you must be deaf too! I already told you that I don’t want to have sex with you.’
Something flickered across his face—subtle but deliberate and designed to goad.
‘My hearing’s perfect, cara. You told me you wouldn’t sleep with me because you didn’t like or respect me. You never said you didn’t want to. As for the arrogance—I guess I was a little presumptuous. But only because I have cause to be. Women like me.’
She shook her head incredulously. ‘No. They like your money!’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
His taunting smile made her want to drop the sun dial on his head. ‘Fine. Have it your way. Every woman you’ve ever met wants to have sex with you.’ She paused, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘Until now! But don’t take it personally. It’s not as if I have to like or respect a man not to want to have sex with him.’
His eyes hardened. ‘You’re a very good liar, Miss Golding. Plenty of practice, I suppose? But that’s the trouble with telling lies. You stop being able to recognise the truth. And the truth is that you want me like I want you. And pretending otherwise isn’t going to change anything.’
His words were still ringing in his ears. Was that the truth? With shock, he realised it was. That using sex to gain her trust no longer seemed as important as ridding himself of this debilitating haze of sexual frustration.
She stared at him. His words had blunted her power of speech, their sharp, undeniable truth slicing through her skin down to the bone.
He studied her coolly, long enough for her to know that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and then lifting his gaze, he squinted up at the sky. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to your flowers—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—and your righteous indignation. But let me know when you change your mind.’
There was a pulsing silence, and then he turned and walked calmly away without waiting for a reply.
A bubble of hysteria rose up inside her. ‘You’re wrong, Massimo Sforza!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want you and I never will.’
As she watched him disappear beneath an archway she shivered, feeling both the chill of his absence and the rapidly sinking sun. Pressing her hands against the cool stone of the sun dial, she breathed out slowly. Those few febrile moments in Massimo’s arms had convinced her that having sex with him would not just be a mistake. It would be a disaster. And not because of who he was. But because of how he had made her feel for those few vivid moments.
She bit her lip. It was embarrassing to admit it, even to herself, but she wanted him. With a longing that was as hot and as real as the sun. But it wasn’t lust or even shame that was making her feel like a startled deer. Something had happened even before his fingers had slid over her skin. Something new and unsettling and yet also familiar. Something that had made her heart ache and then start to race like a sprinter. That teasing banter, that soft encircling warmth of his smile had been a reminder of what two people could share.
Her face tightened. And lose.
Looking up, she stared at the arch of colours shifting and fading into the thunderous sky. Massimo Sforza was more than just a temptation. He was dangerous: a flashing red sign, a shrill, warning cry. And to ignore that fact would be like running towards the edge of a cliff in pursuit of a rainbow. Her independence, the sanctuary of calm isolation that was her life in Sardinia, these were solid and real and reliable. And she needed to remember that next time she felt like getting up close and personal with her landlord.
* * *
Massimo strode through the gardens, his gaze fixed on the path ahead of him, currents of confusion and anger tugging him sharply over the stone slabs and the gravel of the drive. Heat was pulsing out a telegraph of dots and dashes over his skin. The same message over and over again.
What the hell had just happened?
Sliding into the driver’s seat of the black Lamborghini slung carelessly across the driveway, he forced his breathing to slow and tried to pull his thoughts into focus. And shift the painful throb of his erection.
She’d kissed him. And he’d kissed her back. And a kiss was just a kiss. So why the hell did it feel as though a hole had just opened beneath his feet?
It made no sense. Flora Golding was a nobody. Up until a few days ago she had been nothing more than a name—a glitch in his plans to make Sforza Industries the biggest hotel and resort company in the world. But now—
A memory of Flora, lips parted, eyes drowsy with desire, slid into his head and a teasing twist of lust spiralled lazily inside him. His heart throbbed in his throat. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking, and he felt a spasm of fury at this sudden and uncharacteristic loss of control.
What was the matter with him? It was bad enough behaving like some adolescent schoolboy. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened in that garden. Something more than mere sexual attraction. Something too blurred and just out of reach.
Gritting his teeth, he shook his head.
What was it about this skinny English girl with messy hair and eyes like an angry cat? Even before he’d met her in the flesh she’d been messing with his head. Playing games. Pulling strings.
And he’d let her.
Even though he’d vowed never to let it happen again. Never to let his emotions rise up and drag him under to that place of dark misery that had been his childhood.
His stomach tightened as it always did at the thought of his stepmother and, grimacing, he pressed the ignition, letting the snarl of the engine override the jerky beat of his heart. He’d let that manipulative little witch get under his skin. But it wouldn’t happen again. Whatever it was he thought he’d felt when he held her in his arms was just that: a thought. Fleeting, illusory—like a rainbow.
Shifting gear, he imagined the day ahead. He had a meeting with the architect. Then lunch with his land agent. Maybe afterwards he would take the yacht out. Invite a couple of ‘guests’ to join him. Find a deserted beach and lose some inhibitions.
Feeling calmer, he pressed his foot down lightly on the accelerator pedal. The hard stone of fear and doubt inside him was disintegrating, mingling with
the dust whipped up from the road, and as he pushed the car up a gear, his head emptied of everything but the sound of the engine and the intoxicating rush of air.
* * *
‘And six of the tomatoes, please.’
Flora gazed dully at the colourful fruit and vegetables spilling onto the dusty ground. She wasn’t a keen cook, preferring meals of almost rustic simplicity, but this was one of her guilty pleasures: poring over the crates of lemons and artichokes in Cagliari market.
She had woken early and, hounded by the memory of what had happened the day before, had slipped out of the palazzo with no plan in mind other than avoiding Massimo. Now, wandering aimlessly around the town, she felt both listless and strangely on edge.
Crossing the road towards the café quarter, she felt a sudden sharp pang of envy as a pair of teenage boys shot by her on a scooter, shouting with laughter. Yesterday she had felt like that too: carefree and unfettered. But now everything had changed.
And it was all because of him: Massimo.
She bit her lip. It was so unfair! And irrational!
It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed before. She’d had boyfriends. Actual, real-life boyfriends whom she’d liked and respected. Her cheeks grew warm. Only their kisses had never felt like that.
Even now she could still feel the touch of his lips on hers, vivid and blazing like a brand. And, more worryingly, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said to her after she’d kissed him. It had been arrogant and crass and it should have repelled her. But it hadn’t. Instead, she had felt something stir inside her—a tingling, flickering tug of desire that had tasted warm and sweet and smooth on her tongue—
She took a hard, fast breath and, stopping abruptly in front of a café, sat down and ordered a coffee. A folded newspaper had been left on the table and she threw it onto the unoccupied chair beside her, dropping her bag on top of it.
Glancing round at the smiling, happy faces, she felt a pinprick of fear. Surely there had to be rules about this sort of thing. It didn’t make sense that he, of all people, should have such an intense physical effect on her. She bit her lip, goosebumps tingling over her skin. But was it really that incomprehensible? Massimo Sforza was the most beautiful man she’d ever met. Sexy and smart, and of course arrogant beyond belief. But nothing could detract from his dazzling, wild, mesmerising beauty.
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 6