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There came the sound of soft laughter. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your prerogative,’ she said, but her casual air did not quite come off.
‘So you have!’
Yes, she had missed him. Of course she had. She wondered what had ever occupied her mind before she had met Giovanni, because now he seemed to haunt her thoughts constantly. Three months of being away from him, when the minutes and the hours had ticked away with excruciating slowness.
‘I’m not coming—’
‘Mmm?’ he interrupted, on a teasing little note of provocation. ‘That cannot be much fun for you, Kate, but I can soon change that, I assure you!’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘Giovanni, will you stop it!’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ he protested.
‘Yes, you are!’
‘What am I doing, cara?’ he questioned softly.
He was tempting her. Unbearably. Reminding her of how much she had loved being with him, being part of him—even though it had been only a very tiny part. ‘I’m going to put the phone down in a minute!’ she threatened.
‘Wait!’ He hesitated, thinking that it was never simple with this woman, and wondering why he did not have the sense to put the phone down himself. ‘Come and see me, Kate. Please.’
It was the ‘please’ that did it—it crept into a heart which she had determinedly steeled against him. Yet that one little word brought all her defences tumbling down like a house of cards. Admit it, she thought to herself—just hearing his voice again was like a soothing balm on a soul which had been tortured and troubled without him.
What was the point of existing in a dull state of misery, when she had the means to make herself happy? Maybe not one hundred per cent happy—but since when did anyone get that? Surely even a little happiness was better than this aching anguish which now seemed second nature to her.
‘OK.’ Had she really said that?
He wondered if he had heard her properly. ‘Was that a yes?’ he demanded.
‘No. It was an OK,’ she repeated stubbornly.
He smiled, unseen. Very lukewarm, he thought. Almost verging on the sullen—but it was still the surrender he had been intent on. He bit down an instinctive little murmur of triumph, because he sensed that she had been very close to saying no to him. And he wanted her far too much to risk that, though his desire for her still confused him.
Why did her memory persist in possessing him like a fever? he asked himself in silent frustration, as he had been asking himself since he had touched down in Sicily that day three months ago.
He had tried applying logic to a situation where logic seemed redundant. She was beautiful, yes—but he had seen women more beautiful than her.
So was it simply her skills as a lover?
For a while he had tormented himself with the idea that she must have had many, many lovers to be that sensational in bed. To think of her as a whore would make it easy to disregard her. And yet the image had stubbornly refused to stick and, for the life of him, he could not work out why.
‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘You won’t regret it, cara.’
‘I think I’m regretting it already.’
‘The flight touches down at eight. I’ll be waiting for you, Kate.’
‘OK,’ she said again, and put the phone down.
She was almost frightened about telling Lucy what she had agreed to, expecting her sister to rage against her and tell her that she must be the most stupid woman on the planet—a sentiment which Kate herself could have sympathy with.
But Lucy surprised her.
‘I don’t blame you,’ she said quietly.
‘You don’t?’
