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'Cesare's come to cast his expert eye over the Robinsons' latest business plan/ said Rupert. 'I'm hoping I might be able to persuade him to look at ours!'
The Robinsons were their nearest neighbours—fabulously rich, with four eligible sons—one of whom their sister Emma had been dating since her schooldays.
'Does that mean I have to be nice to him?' Sorcha asked. Black eyes now mocked her. Very.'
But as she draped the towel over her shoulders Cesare averted his eyes from the body which gleamed like a seal in the tight, wet swimsuit. And wasn't it strange how the smallest courtesy could make you feel safe with a man who was danger personified?
'Do you ride?' she asked suddenly. Cesare smiled. 'Do I?'
That was how it started. He'd set off for the Robinsons first thing and return about lunchtime, and Sorcha would be waiting for him in the stables. He would saddle up and they would gallop out together over the lush fields. And the way her face lit up when she saw him would stab at his heart in a strange and painful way.
'Bet Italy is never as green as this’ she said one afternoon, when they had dismounted and their horses were grazing and she and Cesare were sitting—sweating slightly— beneath the shade of a big oak tree.
'Umbria is very green’ he said. 'Is that where you live? '
'It is where I consider home’ he said, trying and failing not to be rapt by the distracting vision of her breasts thrusting against the fine silk of her riding shirt, her slim legs in jodhpurs and those long, sexy leather boots. He stifled a groan and shifted uncomfortably as she lay on her back, looking up at the leaves.
The air was different today. It felt thick and heavy—as if you could cut through it with a knife—and in the distance was the low murmur of approaching thunder. It reminded him of the storms back home, and the warmth of the soil and the pleasures of the flesh. Cesare could feel a rivulet of sweat trickle down his back, and suddenly he longed to feel her tongue tracing its meandering salty path.
'Really?' she questioned.
He blinked. Really, what? Oh, yes. The weather in Umbria—just what he wanted to talk about! "We have many storms close to Panicale, where I live—but that is why we have such fertile soil. ’ Fertile. Now, why the hell was he thinking about that?
'Have you always lived in Umbria? ’ Sorcha persisted, because she wanted to know every single thing about him—what he liked for breakfast and what music he listened to, and where was the most beautiful place he'd ever been—'Umbria, naturally,' he had replied gravely.
'No,' he sighed, 'I grew up in Rome.' 'Tell me,' she whispered.
What was it about women that made them want to tear your soul apart with their questions? And what was it about Sorcha that made him tell her? But he was spare with his fac
ts—a houseful of servants and ever-changing nannies while his parents lived out their jet-set existence. A childhood he did not care to relive in his memory.
And suddenly he could bear it no longer. 'You know that I am having difficulty behaving as a house-guest should behave? ' he questioned unsteadily.
Dreamily, Sorcha watched the shimmering canopy of leaves. 'Oh? ' 'I want to kiss you.'
She sat up, oblivious to the creamy spill of her cleavage, or the effect it was having on him. On her face was an expression of a tight and bursting excitement—like a child who had just been given a big pile of presents to open.
'Then kiss me. Please.'
He knew in that instant that she was innocent—though he had guessed at it before— and in a way it added to the intolerable weight of his desire, and his position here in the house.
'You know what will happen if I do? ' he groaned.
'Yes’ she teased, in an effort to hide her longing, and her nervousness that she would somehow disappoint him—that somehow she wouldn't know what to do. 'Your lips will touch my lips and then—Oh! Oh, Cesare?’
'Si!' he murmured, as he caught her against him. 'All those things and more. Many more.' He pushed her to the ground and brushed his lips against hers, making a little sound of pleasure in the back of his throat as he coaxed hers into opening.
The kiss went on and on. He had never thought it was possible for a kiss to last so long—he felt he was drowning in it, submerging himself in its sweet potency. The blood pooled and hardened at his groin and he groaned again—only this time the sound was tinged with a sense of urgency.
'Cesare!' she breathed again, as his thumb circled against the tight, damp material which strained over her breast. 'Oh, oh, oh'
He sat up abruptly. This was wrong. Wrong. He sprang to his feet and held out his hand to her. 'Let us move away from here! ' he ordered. 'And where in the name of cielo is your mother?'
'She's up at the house—why?'
'She is happy for you to ride with me alone every day?' he demanded.
'I think so.'
