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Their first night together had set her aflame—caught her in a maelstrom of sensation and ecstasy that she had never known possible, that had set her alight with a flame that could not be quenched.
They had stayed at the villa for two days, and Carla had simply blotted out the rest of the world. She’d phoned in to the office the next day, on some pretext or other, to say that she was out of communication, and then she’d turned off her phone and given her entire and absolute focus to the man she was with. To Cesare—who had possessed her utterly, body and mind.
Cocooned at the villa, the only person they’d seen had been Lorenzo, for they had not ventured beyond the formal rooms that she and Cesare had occupied or the gardens beyond the terrace—and the joys of the sparkling Roman-style swimming pool. Where swimsuits had not been necessary...
And making love in the water, beneath the stars at night, had been a revelation of sensual pleasure such as she had never, never anticipated. She had cried out in ecstasy as he’d held her, cradled her to him, and her head had fallen back, her hair streaming out into the water, her face lifted to the heavens, eyes wide with their reflected glory, as her body had shuddered, and shuddered again, in Cesare’s strong possession.
Then, finally, as she’d let her head rest against his shoulder, let the water lap gently around them, he’d waded from the pool, wrapped her in the softest towels and carried her indoors and up to the bedroom—to make love to her all over again...
And again and yet again. Waking and sleeping, sleeping and wa
king, until the morning sun had streamed through the curtains and he’d been smoothing her tousled hair, smiling down at her.
‘Breakfast,’ he’d said. ‘And then, alas, Rome. I have a lunch meeting I can’t get out of.’
Carla had gazed up at him. ‘And I must phone my editor.’
She’d smiled, lifting her hand lazily to graze the growth along Cesare’s chin. If he grew a beard he’d look even more like his ancestor, she’d found herself thinking, amused.
But amusement had not been uppermost in her thoughts. There had been a stab of fear in the back of her mind—one that had returned as they drove back into Rome later in the morning.
Will he want to see me again—or is this all I shall have of him?
The stab had come again, almost drawing blood...
She’d hidden it, though—had known she must. Known with every instinct of her femininity that making any reference to that at all, asking any such question, would be the very last thing that would help to persuade him that he did want to see her again—did want more, much more, of what had been between them these last two incredible days.
And so it had proved. As he’d dropped her off at her apartment, he had casually wrapped his hand around her nape, drawn her to his mouth for a farewell kiss. But only farewell for the moment.
‘I can’t do tonight,’ he’d said with a smile, his eyes washing over hers with warm intimacy, ‘but the following night is clear. Tell me...how are you with opera?’
Carla had smiled in return, not letting the relief show in her face. ‘Very predictable, I’m afraid. Verdi and Puccini, fine, Wagner and modern, not fine—’
He’d laughed and let her go. ‘How about Donizetti?’
‘Bel canto I can cope with,’ she’d said in answer, and laughed too.
‘Good. Can you meet me before the performance? I’ll text you where. We can have a drink beforehand, eat afterwards. How would that suit you?’
Anything—anything would suit me! Anything at all!
The words had soared in Carla’s head, but she had not spoken them. Again, instinct had told her otherwise. Instead, she had simply smiled.
‘Lovely!’ she’d said. And then she’d reached for the door catch, letting herself out of the car as it hummed by the kerb. She’d lifted her hand, given a little wave of farewell. ‘See you then,’ she’d said airily.
Without looking back again she’d opened the doors to the inner courtyard and stepped inside. Then, and only then, had she clutched at her key and given a crow of joy, of pleasure and relief.
Yes! Yes, he wanted to see more of her, wanted more time with her. Wanted her again... As she—oh, as she wanted him...
Cesare! Oh, Cesare—
His name soared in her head again—filling her mind, her being.
Him and only him...
* * *
‘How’s the article coming along?’
