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‘Was the prospect of marrying me really so repulsive that you would choose a man capable of rape over me? Dio, Lara...’
He turned around and speared a hand through his hair, not wanting her to see the emotions he couldn’t control. He’d thought he’d underestimated her before. This put a whole new perspective on her ambition.
She stayed silent. Not responding.
Ciro steeled himself before turning. Wild dishevelled blonde hair trailed over her shoulders. The robe had fallen apart slightly, to reveal the plump globes of her high firm breasts. Breasts he could still feel in his hands and on his tongue...
Her eyes were huge and he hated her ability still to look so...innocent. Even when he’d just taken that innocence in a conflagration that had left him feeling hollowed out and yet hungry for more.
He felt the need to push her away. Gain some distance. He couldn’t think when she was so close. When she was telling him things...putting images into his mind that made him want to go out and put a fist through the face of a man who was already dead.
Her silence grated on his nerves. It was as if there was something she was withholding.
‘Was it that important to you? Status?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You have some nerve when you’ve admitted you only wanted to marry me for one thing—my connections.’
Ciro’s gut was a mass of tangled emotions he really didn’t want to investigate. But this woman had always touched more than just his body. A minute ago he’d wanted to put push her away and now he needed to touch her. Damn her.
He closed the distance between them, noting with satisfaction how a line of pink scored each of her cheeks. She couldn’t hide her reaction. It was the only honest thing between them.
He slid a hand around the back of her neck, felt the silky fall of her hair brushing his hand. ‘Not just for your connections, cara mia, but also because I wanted you. Your social connections and impeccable breeding were a bonus.’
Ciro’s words dropped like the poisoned barbs they were into Lara’s heart. And yet could she blame him when she’d convinced him that she’d never intended to marry him?
She pulled away, hating the way her body was reacting to his proximity. Excitement was building already, heat melting her core. She was still so sensitised she was afraid that if he even kissed her it would be enough to send her over the edge.
‘Well, you’ve had me now. I’m sure the novelty is already waning.’
Ciro easily closed the distance between them again, and this time he took Lara’s elbows in his hands, tugging her towards him. All she could see was that wicked sculpted mouth, and all she could think about was how it had felt on her body. Against her skin.
‘Waning? I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, cara, and you’ve haunted me for two years. Believe me, once is nowhere near enough to sate my appetite.’
His mouth was on hers and Lara couldn’t formulate another word. All she knew was that for a while at least there would be no more cruel words. Her heart was pounding, blood flowing to every tender part of her...
Ciro swung Lara up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. She knew she should protest, try to reclaim some minute modicum of dignity, but as he carried her back upstairs she couldn’t help but think of how she’d endured two barren years of regretting the fact that she hadn’t slept with Ciro.
So she wasn’t going to regret a single moment now. No matter how much Ciro might resent her for this inconvenient desire he felt. It would burn out, sooner or later, and this time, when Lara walked away, she would have no regrets.
* * *
When Lara woke the following morning she was in her own bed. Naked. The French doors were open and the white drapes were moving gently in a warm breeze. She grabbed for a sheet, pulling it up over her chest even though she was alone.
She had a very vague memory of Ciro carrying her into this room as dawn had been breaking over the horizon, the storm clouds of the previous night banished.
Silly to feel bereft when he’d told her he didn’t think it necessary for them to share a room. After all, he wasn’t interested in morning-after intimacy. In a way, Lara should be grateful that this time around all the romantic illusions she’d harboured were well and truly shattered.
She tried to absorb everything that had happened in the space of twenty-four hours but it was overwhelming. This time yesterday she’d still been a single woman, on her way to get married.
She’d still been a virgin.
And now...she felt transformed.
She didn’t want to admit that Ciro’s touch had had some kind of mystical effect on her—but it was true. In spite of the way he felt about her, his touch had soothed something inside her—the lonely place she’d retreated to for the past two years in a bid to survive an impossible situation.
She heard a familiar low rumble and got out of bed to investigate, pulling on a robe as she did so. She went over to the French doors that led out to the balcony, knotting the robe around her.
Hesitantly she peeked over the railings, to see Ciro standing on the terrace below. He was dressed in those faded jeans and another T-shirt and Lara’s mouth dried. He reminded her too painfully of when they’d first met in Florence and he’d been casually dressed. When she’d fallen in love with him.
