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The following morning Lara was surprised to see Ciro in the kitchen, chatting to Dominique over a cup of coffee. She felt exposed when she thought of the previous evening, and how Ciro had quickly and efficiently dispensed with dinner so that he could remind Lara of one of her primary functions in this marriage. Being in his bed.
He’d said it to her again as they’d finished eating. ‘I really don’t expect you to be in the kitchen, Lara.’
She shrugged. ‘I know I don’t have to do it, but I like it.’
He’d looked at her as if she’d spoken in some kind of riddle and then, when she’d been getting up to clear the plates, he’d pulled her down onto his lap. ‘I’m drawing the line here. You do not clear up.’
Lara was blushing now because she was thinking of Dominique finding their detritus. Again. But the woman was looking twinkly-eyed. The inevitable effect of Ciro on most people.
She wondered what Dominique thought of their separate beds...
Ciro looked at her then. ‘You need to pack. We’re leaving for New York this morning. Some business has been moved forward. We’ll be there a couple of weeks. Don’t worry too much about what to bring—a stylist will stock your wardrobe there. They’ve been given a list of the functions we’re due to attend.’
Ciro walked out the kitchen with his coffee cup and Dominique sighed volubly. ‘What I wouldn’t give to have my wardrobe stocked for me.’
Lara forced a smile and desisted from saying something trite. She knew she was incredibly lucky. Even if it did feel as though she were a bird in a gilded cage.
As she packed her modest suitcase a little later she told herself she was being ridiculous to suspect that Ciro had brought forward the New York trip to keep her in her place, because things were getting a little too domesticated in London.
* * *
Ciro seemed to be in a state of permanent frustration around Lara. He watched her broodingly from his side of the private plane as she did a crossword puzzle. A pen was between her teeth and her brow was furrowed. Why wasn’t she flicking through a magazine? Or drinking champagne? Or trying to seduce him?
He turned away, angry that he couldn’t seem to focus on his own work. And also angry because he’d acted impulsively, deciding to come to New York ahead of schedule purely because the previous night and that dinner had impacted on him somewhere he didn’t like to investigate.
He hadn’t married Lara so she could be of actual help in any aspect of his life other than in the social arena. And in his bed. Yet she was starting to inhabit more parts of his life than he liked to admit.
Apart from the dinner last night he’d noticed soft touches around the house in London. Flowers. Throws. Shoes left discarded. Unintentional little feminine touches. Not even anything concrete he could point to.
Ciro had never lived with a woman. Lara would have been the first and she was still the first. In spite of what had happened.
Because of what had happened.
He found that as much as it made him feel exposed and discombobulated he couldn’t say that he didn’t like it. He just hadn’t counted on Lara’s softness. Her ability to converse with the staff. Her...niceness.
She’d been nice before. And then she’d changed. So he wouldn’t believe it. He had to believe she was up to something. It was easier.
Lara could feel Ciro’s eyes on her. She could almost hear his brain whirring. She knew how he worked. He problem-solved. And she was a problem because she wasn’t behaving as he thought she should. As he thought the Lara who had rejected him should.
She felt something well up inside her. The urge to just turn around and let it all spill out. The full truth about her treacherous uncle. About what had happened. She even opened her mouth and turned to Ciro...and then promptly shut it again.
His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. She’d never seen him asleep. He looked no less formidable.
The urge to talk drained and faded. It would be self-serving. She might want to be absolved of all her sins in his eyes, but was she really ready to face his disgust? He would get rid of her immediately, of that she had no doubt. As it was, the ties binding them were incredibly fragile.
Ciro was so proud. It would kill him to know that she knew the truth about the kidnapping. That it had been done to him by her family. He would blame her. No doubt. She blamed herself. Why wouldn’t he?
She got up from her chair and pulled a blanket over Ciro’s body. Immediately his eyes opened and he caught her, bringing her down onto his lap. She was instantly breathless.
She looked at him accusingly. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘Are you finished pretending to be uninterested?’
She saw something in his eyes then—very fleeting. It almost looked like vulnerability.
Lara might have made some trite comment or pushed herself away from Ciro, fought to keep the distance between them, but instead she said, ‘You’re not a person who would ever inspire a lack of interest, Ciro.’
‘That’s more like it.’
