Her phone buzzed inside her bag and, relieved to have an excuse to push away her unsettling thoughts, she pulled it out. Her relief faded and her breath jerked in her throat. It was Freddie.
Typically, he started speaking as soon as she picked up. ‘I think you’re right. You should stay put.’
Flora frowned. Her mind seemed to have stalled. Had Freddie just told her she was right? ‘Okay...’ she said hesitantly. ‘Wow! That’s great. It feels like the right thing to do. I mean, I can’t just up and leave every time something gets tricky. Sometimes you have to stay and fight—like Spartacus.’
‘So you’re saying you’re like a slave in Ancient Rome?’
Freddie’s voice was pleasant enough, but the undertone beneath his words still stung. ‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘In fact, it’s actually got better,’ she lied.
There was a silence, and then Freddie said softly, ‘That’s great!’ He paused. ‘If it was true. But I know when you’re lying, and you just lied to me. Which means it’s a whole lot worse than you’re letting on. Which leads me back to why I rang you in the first place—’
‘To tell me I’m right to stay here,’ Flora interrupted, resenting Freddie’s hectoring tone and feeling a familiar wave of panic rise up.
‘No! To tell you that I’m coming over to help—’
‘Oh, no, you’re not, Freddie. You are not coming!’ Curling over the phone, she pushed her coffee cup across the table with a shaking hand. ‘I do not need you to fight my battles.’
‘So you admit you’re fighting with him?’
Flora breathed out slowly. ‘Please, Freddie. Don’t cross-examine me. I’m fine. I don’t need your help.’
‘Spartacus had help. And he still lost.’
She winced. Her nails were cutting into her hand. ‘He had to fight the entire Roman Army,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I just need to stay put. Keep my head down. Like you said. Besides, I think we’ve reached a sort of understanding.’
‘Meaning what?’
Colour touched her brow and cheeks. Meaning that she’d kissed a man she should despise. Not a peck on the cheek but a passionate, feverish kiss that even now sent scalding heat across her skin.
There was silence, and then in the background she heard a phone begin to ring.
‘Damn it! Look, I have to take this call—but do me a favour, Flossie. Think about what you’re doing and then maybe you can try and explain to me why you’re putting yourself through all this—because I really don’t understand what you think you’re achieving.’
With relief, Flora hung up. She was never a match for her brother in full ‘gown and wig’ mode, but trying to explain her actions to him would be impossible—mainly because she had no idea how to explain them to herself.
Heart racing, she lifted her bag to find her purse—and then her blood suddenly seemed to stop moving as she caught a glimpse of a familiar face, gazing out at her from between the headlines. Slowly, with a hand that shook slightly, she picked up the newspaper and gazed at Massimo Sforza’s unmistakable profile.
Except it wasn’t his face that caused her to raise her hand in front of her eyes. It was the face of the woman he was kissing. His fiancée.
Her eyes barely moved as she read the story, but her thoughts were writhing. He was engaged! She felt a rush of blood to her head. He was despicable. Revolting. And faithless. She shivered.
‘Your bedroom or mine?’
He’d actually asked her that! Worse, for one infinitesimal moment she’d actually given it some consideration.
She glanced circumspectly around the café, half expecting to see people pointing and staring at her, but everyone was chatting and eating quite normally. Folding the newspaper, she called the waiter over and ordered another coffee.
She felt dreadful. She had kissed a man who was about to get married. That poor woman! This was exactly why she liked being single. So what if she didn’t have a date on Valentine’s Day? At least there were no nasty surprises. No disappointments. No pain.
Laying down the paper, she nodded automatically as the waiter placed the coffee in front of her. And then she glared at the photograph of Massimo and quickly covered his cheating, unscrupulous features with the cup. A shadow fell across the table
‘Sugar?’
It was the waiter again. Pinning a weak smile onto her face, she looked up and shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I don’t—’
Her words died on her lips and her smile dropped from her face. Wearing a pale pink shirt that seemed only to accentuate his flagrant masculinity, Massimo Sforza was gazing down at her, his impossibly handsome face perhaps the cruellest reminder she’d ever had that beauty truly was skin-deep.
‘You don’t what?’ He slid into the empty seat beside her as waiters from either side of the café converged on their table like a pack of eager dogs waiting for a bone. Barely turning round, he rattled off his order and settled back in his chair, his blue eyes never leaving her face. ‘What is it that you don’t do?’
Ignoring his question, she sat up stiffly. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here or how you found me,’ she croaked, ‘but I don’t remember inviting you to join me so perhaps you’d like to leave.’
He frowned. ‘Really? That’s not very friendly. You were a lot friendlier yesterday.’
His eyes gleamed maliciously, and she gripped her cup tightly. Her hand was aching with the effort of not throwing her coffee all over his infuriating face, but losing her temper in front of so many witnesses would not be a smart move. Especially as they were probably all plain clothes police officers on Massimo’s payroll.
‘Was I?’ she said, forcing herself to lift her chin and meet his glinting gaze. ‘It happens sometimes...’
He shook his head slowly, a cold smile tugging at his lips. ‘So that’s how you want to play it, is it? Grazie!’
Flora blinked as he nodded curtly to the waiter who had appeared at his side to deposit an espresso and a glass of iced water onto the table.
‘I suppose I should be grateful you aren’t pretending to have amnesia.’
She glowered at him. ‘Is that what you do, then?’ she said stiffly. ‘When you’re with your fiancée?’
He picked up his cup of coffee and drank it swiftly. ‘Absolutely,’ he said coolly. ‘As I have no memory of actually having a fiancée.’
Their eyes met—hers furious, his a clear, challenging blue.
‘Really? Does she know that?’ Gritting her teeth, Flora breathed out slowly. ‘I’m surprised you even feel the need to pretend. That would imply guilt, and you don’t feel guilt, do you? Feelings are just for little people. The sort of people you trample over to get what you want. Because that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Getting what you want.’
He stared straight at her, his gaze so focused that she felt as though her skin was melting, and then, leaning forward, he gently tugged the newspaper out from under her cup and unfolded it.
‘Now I understand,’ he murmured softly.
He looked up at her, his expression relaxed and composed, and yet she knew he was watching her closely.
She scowled at him. ‘I doubt that. You and I are at opposite ends of the spectrum.’
Her heart thudded against her chest as his eyes met hers. ‘And opposites attract!’
CHAPTER FIVE
THERE WAS A pulsing silence. Flora stared at him, imprisoned by the dark, lambent heat in his gaze, and then he smiled—a lazy, knowing smile that made her whole body shiver.
‘You really shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers, you know,’ he said softly. ‘Although naturally I’m flattered that you find me so interesting.’
Her face flared with anger and embarrassment. ‘I do not find you interesting!’ Reaching out, she tried to snatch the paper away from him, but
he fended her off easily.
‘No, no, no! I don’t normally read this drivel, but since you were so kind as to buy a copy...’
‘I did not buy it,’ she said shrilly. ‘Someone left it on the table!’
‘Of course they did,’ he murmured, his pacifying tone clearly designed to provoke more than placate. ‘Now, let’s see what I’ve been up to!’
Flora sat back in her chair, gritting her teeth as his eyes skimmed over the newsprint.
Finally, he looked up at her and shrugged.
‘Is that it?’ she snapped. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’
He frowned. ‘I’m a public figure. Being in the gossip pages goes with the territory.’
She gave him an icy glare. ‘I’m not talking about the ethics of journalism. I’m talking about the fact that you’re engaged to be married!’
Amusement flickered across his face. ‘You want facts? Okay. I’m not engaged, so naturally there will be no summer wedding.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Nor did I date her sister or her stepmother.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘And I’m absolutely not going to expand into shipping. Which is fortunate as it sounds quite painful, don’t you think?’
Flora swallowed. It would be so easy to smile back at him. He was so ridiculously handsome, with his tanned skin, jay’s wing eyes and sleek dark hair—all gold and blue and black, like a portrait of some medieval prince.
But that curving smile was as dangerous and deceptive as any hairpin bend, and curling her fingers into her palms to stop herself from grinning back at him, she scowled. ‘Okay. So she’s not your fiancée,’ she said stubbornly. ‘But she’s still your girlfriend.’
Massimo took a mouthful of coffee and frowned. ‘Alessa? No. She’s just—easy!’ He met her eyes and shook his head impatiently. ‘Not that kind of easy. I mean she’s uncomplicated. She’s single and fun. She doesn’t have an agenda and she’s photogenic. A dream date! At least according to my public relations team.’
Flora stared at him incredulously. ‘Her name is Allegra.’
His face didn’t change, but she saw something glitter in his eyes. ‘Whatever. She comes to any name.’
She felt her face drain of colour. ‘You’re disgusting.’
His face hardened. ‘I thought you wanted facts?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want anything from you.’
Massimo watched her closely. She was lying. Her body was betraying her. She wanted him. Just as he wanted her. Or she had done until he’d made that stupid crude remark.
Watching the tension on her face, he shifted in his chair. ‘I’m sorry. That was a cheap thing to say.’
She turned towards him, her face flushed. ‘Yes, it was.’
Her eyes met his, and he saw the green flecks dancing angrily in their tawny depths.
‘Why would you talk about somebody like that? If you think that little of her, why are you even seeing her?’
A sharp, nameless pang shot through him. Why, indeed?
He pushed the thought away and stared past her at the crowd of mid-morning shoppers. ‘That’s precisely why I am seeing her, cara,’ he said lightly.
‘That doesn’t make any sense!’
He saw the confusion in her eyes, could hear it in her voice. But how could he explain how he felt? That caring—truly caring for someone—was never going to be part of his life. Not now. Not in the future. His past had made sure of that. Even now, just thinking about it made him feel sick to his stomach. Just like when he was a child—
An all-too-clear memory of pleading down the phone at boarding school, begging his father to let him come home for the holidays made it suddenly hard for him to breathe.
For a moment, he stared fixedly at the empty coffee cup, waiting for his body to forget what his mind couldn’t. Finally, he forced himself to meet her gaze. ‘It makes perfect sense. Think of a relationship as a bank account. If you have one with a lower rate of interest, you’re not going invest much money in it, are you?’
Shaking her head, her eyes flashed angrily. ‘And that’s what this woman is to you? A low-interest account? Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to actually be with someone you do want to “invest” in?’
She was chewing her lower lip and he felt his body grow hard, remembering how that soft pink mouth had surrendered to his hungry kisses. ‘It’s sweet of you to worry about me,’ he said slowly, ‘but I promise you I get regular dividends.’
There was a slow, pulsing silence as he watched the colour rise over her throat and cheeks, and then she lifted her chin, her eyes challenging him. ‘Oh, I’m not worried about you—I’m sure your relationships suit your unique personality perfectly.’
He burst out laughing. She was such an odd mix: stubborn and scrappy as one of those cats that roamed the Coliseum; yet teasing and tempting him with her soft eyes and sweet smile.
A tension he hadn’t acknowledged before eased inside him. It was strange: normally he found it difficult—more like impossible—to talk about something as personal as relationships. Talking meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling, and feelings were like a summer sea: tranquil on the surface but underneath swarming with riptides and jagged rocks.
Only it didn’t feel like that talking here, now, with Flora. Instead, he felt as though she’d walked into his life, throwing open all the windows and ripping the dust sheets off the furniture. And instead of exposed, he felt exhilarated—excited, even.
‘You know, you’re wasted stuck out in the gardens talking to flowers. You should go into politics. Or maybe you could come and work for me in my public relations department.’
Her fingers twitched. ‘What? So you can boss me about at work as well as in my own home? I think not!’
‘You think I bully my staff?’
‘I think you bully anyone and everyone!’ she said bitterly. ‘Whatever it takes to get your own way. You were probably in nappies the last time you actually had to do something you didn’t want to do!’
Around him, the noise of the café seemed to retreat like a drawn breath, and despite the heat of the midday sun, he shivered as her words pressed against the black bruise of the past.
‘Actually, it was more recent than that.’ His voice sounded wrong—flat and tired—and he felt the air shift around them.
Her head snapped up. ‘What does that mean?’
A thread of anger fluttered inside him, and he grabbed it gratefully. ‘It means that you’re going off-topic,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m not here to discuss my character or even yours. Unless it’s somehow relevant to what happened yesterday.’
Leaning backwards, he gestured lazily for another glass of water.
There was another long silence. He watched her face grow still and furtive and felt a sharp jolt of satisfaction. Let her sweat! She’d been so determined to chastise him about his supposed engagement that she’d forgotten all about their own little assignation in the garden. Unfortunately for her, he hadn’t. And after that grilling she’d just given him he wasn’t about to let her wriggle off the hook.
His gaze rested on her face until finally, scowling, she met his eyes. ‘Fine! Look... It was wrong. I was wrong. I don’t know why it happened, but it won’t happen again—’
Reaching out, he picked up a piece of ice from the glass of water and sucked it between his lips. ‘How do you know?’ he said lazily.
She stared at him blankly. ‘I— What?’
‘How do you know it won’t happen again if you don’t know why it happened?’ He studied her face, enjoying her discomfort.
Flora gritted her teeth. She could no longer deny that she wanted him. How could she when she could feel the beat of desire throbbing in her veins? But sleeping with Massimo...even the idea of it set off alarm bells inside her head.
Her mouth was dry. More than
anything, she wanted to flee—not just from the undercurrents of tension swirling between them but the intensity of her response to him. Only despite knowing she should run like hell from his compelling, disturbing presences, something vague, some wavering thread kept tugging them closer.
Only being closer scared her more than the thought of having sex with him. Her heart gave a leap as though it too wanted to escape. If only she could crawl under the table and hide. But she could tell simply by looking at the set of his jaw that running away would only prolong her agony.
‘I don’t,’ she said flatly.
He frowned. ‘So it could happen again? That’s a little worrying, don’t you think?’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘I mean, what if you lose control and try and take advantage of me?’
She lifted her face to his and he saw the fear and the longing in her eyes, and in the shake of her head, and the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. She wanted him. But she was going to fight him every inch of the way. The thought both exasperated and excited him unbearably.
Licking her lips, she stared at him confusedly. The sudden shift of his mood from tormenting to teasing made her insides lurch. And then slowly he smiled, his blue eyes flickering over her skin like a naked flame, cutting off her breath in her throat.
Around her the pastel-coloured stuccoed buildings began to waver in the sunlight. Desperately, she clutched the table like a lifebelt, and then her heart gave a quivering lurch as he reached over and took her hand.
‘Why don’t we stop this, cara? We’re both adults. And we both want the same thing. So let’s stop playing games—’
His hand was warm and light on hers. His thumb moving gently, caressing her skin like a warm tide.
A Deal Sealed by Passion Page 7