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‘A-amazing. Well, you know it was.’
He found himself asking a question he never asked women. ‘And how do I compare with your other lovers?’
She found the query intrusive, and yet wasn’t there a part of her which wanted him to know that she didn’t behave like this with other men? ‘I think you know that you’re a marvellous lover,’ she said quietly. ‘As for comparisons, I think they’re odious, but if you must know—I’ve had one lover before you, and it was a pretty disastrous experience.’
Riccardo felt the surface of his skin suddenly growing cold. How come she always told you more than you needed to know? So that the answer to a simple question suddenly seemed to carry a whole weight of significance. Wasn’t it easier to think of her as someone who’d been around a bit—rather than as someone who had briefly had her fingers burnt by a man? ‘What a pity,’ he murmured non-committally.
Angie turned onto her side to study the hard, perfect profile of his face. ‘There seemed to be a lot of…tension going on downstairs.’
He shrugged. ‘My sister is getting married the day after tomorrow. What do you expect?’
She hesitated. ‘There’s a difference between nerves and tension, Riccardo—and she seemed to have been having some sort of argument with your brother.’
‘That’s because she has insisted on having a woman as bridesmaid whom Romano thinks entirely unsuitable for the task.’
‘But surely it’s her decision, not his? Nothing to do with him?’
‘It’s certainly nothing to do with you,’ he returned softly. Rubbing a thumb over the rasp of his chin, he yawned. ‘I’d better go.’
But Angie couldn’t help noticing the exhaustion in his face; the dark shadows beneath his eyes—and, despite his prickly attitude, she felt her heart soften. Caring about Riccardo’s welfare was an impossible habit to break, it seemed. Gently, she began to stroke his black hair until she saw him relax and saw his eyelids shuttering—as if he were fighting the temptation to close them. Why not let him sleep—just for a little while? ‘Close your eyes,’ she whispered. ‘Just for a minute.’
Pulling the duvet over them both, she snuggled herself against his body, hearing his sigh and echoing it with one of her own as she heard his breathing steady into sleep.
Much later, she woke—feeling hungry and realising that they’d eaten no lunch—and she was just thinking about waking Riccardo when she felt him stir next to her.
For a moment he felt as if he was in the most comfortable place on the planet. His knee was thrust between two soft thighs and he could hear the even sounds of a woman’s breath as it fanned against his shoulder. For a moment he sank into the feeling, revelling in the sensations which were whispering over his skin before he realised where he was—and then he swore softly in Italian.
‘Che ora e?’ he snapped, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. He sat up, his face wreathed in anger. ‘Why the hell did you let me sleep?’
Dismayed, Angie stared at him. ‘Because you looked as if you needed to.’
Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his jeans and began to pull them on. ‘Madre di Dio!’ he exclaimed furiously. ‘You’ve certainly changed your tune! From worrying about what my brother might think of our behaviour—you switch to luring me into staying.’
‘I didn’t lure you!’
‘You covered me up with a duvet,’ he accused.
‘Is that such a heinous crime?’
It felt like a trap. A trap as seductive as those great big eyes of hers and her warm, soft body. He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to spend half the afternoon in your bedroom!’ he declared.
‘Then don’t! Nobody’s keeping you here. Go!’
‘Oh, I’m going all right.’ He pulled the dark sweater over his naked torso and turned his back on her while he zipped up his jeans—wanting to distract himself from the alluring sway of her naked breasts and the still rosy flush which darkened them. And only when he had mentally doused himself with the equivalent of a cold shower did he feel able to turn and face her again with his customary cool.
‘Right—you’d better know what’s happening,’ he clipped out. ‘There’s a formal dinner tonight here in the castle—you’ll need to wear something smart. And did you bring your laptop with you?’
His statement had started her mind start buzzing—wondering what to wear to the formal dinner—but the subsequent question threw her in her tracks. ‘Er, no. I didn’t think I had to.’
‘Really?’ he questioned coolly. ‘Well, in that case I’ll have one sent up here. I want you to chase up the Devonshire account for me. There are plenty of scenic locations around the estate where you can work.’ He walked over to the door, seeing the outraged expression on her face, and he paused. ‘What’s the matter, Angie—surely you were expecting to work? That, after all, is the reason you’re here. The sex is simply a perk.’
It was possibly the most hateful thing he could have said and presumably he meant it to be—but Angie didn’t react. She would not give him the pleasure of knowing how much his words could rip right through her. When would she ever learn that their agendas were completely different? ‘Of course,’ she answered, as if nothing would bring her greater pleasure. ‘And I might as well tidy up the Posara portfolio while I’m at it.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘If you must.’
And, oh, wasn’t it worth the act of pretending that his words hadn’t hurt—just to see that rare look of uncertainty which had crossed his arrogant face? ‘Close the door behind you, would you?’ she murmured. ‘I want to take a shower.’
But after he had left, she did not head for the bathroom—she didn’t think her shaky legs would carry her. Instead she sat down on the rumpled mess they’d made of the bed and wondered what she was doing here. Had she thought it would be easy?
