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At that moment Ciro turned around and looked up. Lara stepped back hastily, her heart spasming. Love. Did she still love him?
No. The rejection of such a disturbing thought was swift and brutal.
How could she still love a man who had betrayed her as much as he believed she’d betrayed him? After years of protecting herself from the pain of loss Ciro had come along and smashed aside her petty defences. Leaving her vulnerable all over again. She’d never forgive him for that.
Enduring all the things she had, had made her strong. Strong enough to withstand this marriage so she could finally move on with her life, her conscience salved. But the little whispers of that conscience told her that as much as she might try to justify why she was doing this, she wouldn’t be here unless deeper motives were involved. Far more personal motives.
After all, if she’d really wanted to she could have told Ciro the full truth from the start. Or even last night, when she’d had a chance. But she hadn’t. Why?
She knew the answer. Because however much he disliked her now—resented her, even, for this desire that burned between them—he would truly despise her if he knew about her uncle and his involvement in the kidnapping and ruination of their wedding. In the very public humiliation Ciro had gone through.
Lara knew that after eroding Ciro’s trust in her so effectively he would never believe she hadn’t had a part in it... She also knew it would be another huge blow to his pride to find out that she’d known who was behind the attack. He’d never forgive her for that.
There was a peremptory knock at her door and Lara whirled around, expecting to see Isabella. But it was Ciro. Immediately her belly clenched at the memory of how he’d felt between her legs, surging into her body over and over again.
‘Buon giorno, mia moglie.’
There was something so palpably satisfied about his tone that Lara injected as much coolness into her voice as she could when she answered. ‘Good morning.’
‘I’ve decided that we’re leaving today. We’ve been invited to an event in London tonight.’
Feeling prickly at how cool he appeared to be after a night in which her world had been seismically altered, she said
, ‘You mean you’ve been invited.’
Ciro leant against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘No, we’ve been invited. To the Royal Opening of the Summer Exhibition at the Longleat Gallery.’
Lara was impressed. Henry Winterborne had been incandescent with rage last year when he hadn’t received an invitation to the opening. He’d blamed her, of course.
Ciro straightened up. ‘Isabella is on her way up with a breakfast tray. We’ll leave in an hour. I’ve arranged for a stylist to deliver some clothes to the townhouse in London, so you don’t need to pack.’
He walked away and Lara breathed out slowly, her pounding pulse mocking her attempts to affect the same coolness as Ciro exuded so effortlessly. But then what had she expected? Morning-after cuddles and tender enquires as to how she might be feeling?
Lara turned around to the view again. She would be sorry to leave Sicily so soon, but at the same time she was a little relieved. It had been a cataclysmic twenty-four hours and it would surely be easier to deal with Ciro and try to maintain some emotional distance from him in a busy city surrounded by people, than here, in this effortlessly seductive and intimate environment.
CHAPTER SIX
CIRO WAS AWARE that he should be feeling more satisfied than he was. And that irritated the hell out of him.
Lara was standing a few feet away, a vision in a long yellow evening dress. She effortlessly stood out from the crowd. The dress was one-shouldered, revealing the alluring curve of her bare shoulder and the top of her back. A decorative jewel held the dress over her other shoulder. All it needed was a flick of his fingers and it would be undone, letting the dress fall down to expose her beautiful breasts—
Basta! Ciro cursed his overheated imagination.
Her hair was smoothed back and tied low at the nape of her neck in a loose bun. Long diamond earrings glittered from her ears. She wore minimal make-up. She epitomised cool elegance, and yet all he could think about was the fire that lay under her pale skin. The ardent passion with which she’d made love to him last night. It was hard to believe she’d been a novice...but she had been. And that bugged him like a thorn under his skin.
How had he missed it? He who considered himself a connoisseur of women?
He didn’t like getting things wrong. Underestimating people. He’d learnt a harsh and brutal lesson at the hands of those kidnappers. The kidnappers who’d yet to be caught and whom he was still investigating—with not much luck.
Until that day he would have been the first to admit that life had always come easily to him. Blessed with good looks, a keen intellect and a sizeable family fortune, he’d lacked for nothing. But since those days at the hands of violent thugs Ciro had learnt not to be so complacent. And since the day Lara had informed him she’d never had any intention of marrying him he’d learnt not to underestimate anyone.
His cynicism had become even more pronounced. Any kind of easy charm he’d displayed before had become something much darker.
Unbidden, a memory resurfaced at that moment. Lara, not long after they’d met, admitting to him sheepishly that she’d looked him up on the internet. He’d immediately felt betrayed. And disappointed. She was like everyone else. Assessing his worth. Looking for the salacious details of his family history.
And then she’d stunned him with an apparently sincere apology, saying that she should have asked him face to face. Normally he abhorred women trying to get him to reveal personal details, but within seconds he’d been saying to Lara, ‘Ask me now.’
That was the night she’d confided in him about her family and their history. How she had a trust fund worth millions. For the first time in his life someone had surprised Ciro. And it had only added to her allure.
