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She looked restlessly away, frowning. ‘I couldn’t,’ she admitted. ‘I doubt if I’ll ever tell anyone that, except when I have to, in the court, but especially not my children.’
‘You’re very protective towards them, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I’m their mother, and they’re both still very young and—’
‘You’re young yourself,’ he said, looking into her blue eyes, a quizzical expression on his face.
Her flush deepened and she felt a little stir of irritation; she snapped at him, as if resenting him, which was ridiculous because her age was hardly his fault, ‘I am not young—I’m forty!’
‘Still obsessed with your last birthday?’ he mocked, laughing. ‘Bianca... don’t you realise that your age has its advantages? A woman of forty is at her sexual peak— young girls don’t know how to enjoy sex; for one thing they’re still too inexperienced—they don’t know enough about their own bodies to know what they’re doing, let alone have a clue how to give a man the deepest pleasure. Love needs time, you know that; if you hurry it it’s like gulping down food—you lose half the enjoyment. Young girls are usually in too much of a hurry; they don’t have the patience or the confidence to take love slowly, make it last. Whereas a woman of your age—’
‘Oh, stop it!’ she muttered, flushing at the soft, husky tone of his voice because it was making her blood stir and her breathing quicken. ‘I’m middle-aged and well aw
are of it. I have a nineteen-year-old daughter! When I’m out with her it’s Vicky men stare at, not me, so don’t give me any more stuff about men preferring older women!’
‘Young men of Vicky’s age, maybe! Perfectly natural—young men usually feel much too insecure to risk being turned down if they make a pass at an older woman. Try looking in the mirror, Bianca, instead of gloomily telling yourself you’re old. You’re a very attractive woman; I’m prepared to bet you weren’t as attractive when you were twenty as you are now. You’ve got style, you dress beautifully, you know what suits you, you don’t try to follow fashion mindlessly—oh, for heaven’s sake, you know what I mean!’ He moved impatiently, his eyes challenging. ‘Stop being so hung up about your age!’
‘You’ll be forty one day yourself. See how you feel then!’ she threw back at him.
‘I can tell you this—I won’t go around telling myself I’m too old to get a woman!’ he said, his grey eyes glinting with amusement and mockery.
She gave him a cross look. ‘No, well, life’s loaded in men’s favour! They don’t think they’re too old to get a woman even when they’re eighty!’
He laughed aloud. ‘And why should they? Life is meant to be lived, after all. Now listen—you don’t want to stay shut up indoors all day, do you? That would be very boring, especially as it’s going to be hot today. I suggest you come for a drive with me up into the mountains. There isn’t much traffic on the roads up there. You could get some fresh air, see a new part of the region, without having to endure people staring.’
She was tempted. He was right—it was boring being shut indoors all day, and she felt restless, but she was intensely nervous of being with Gil, afraid of the way he made her feel. It would make her sick if her body flared with desire at his touch; her stomach churned at the very idea of it.
‘No, I can’t,’ she muttered, but gave a yearning glance at the blue sky outside.
‘Don’t be stupid, Bianca!’ he said drily. ‘What are you going to do all day? Just sit in here brooding? Get out into the fresh air, give yourself something else to think about. Come on, Bianca, I won’t take no for an answer.’
That was what she was afraid of.
‘You’re going to have to, Gil,’ she said, looking him in the eye and lifting her chin at the same time to make it clear that she was deadly serious.
She saw his eyes narrow and his face tighten. He had heard the undertone in her voice; he knew she meant more than a refusal to go for a drive with him today.
‘I’m going to sunbathe on my balcony and rest for a few days—and then as soon as my bruises heal enough I’m flying home,’ she added, walking away from him towards the front door. She opened it and held it open pointedly. ‘Have a nice drive, Gil.’
He came towards her, his face shuttered, stopped and looked down at her. That was when she got a chance to see his eyes; they were smouldering, a smoky ash colour with a dark fire burning at their centre.
She felt a stab of pain, looking away from the threat of those eyes. Gil was angry with her. She was sorry about that. She hadn’t wanted to make him angry; she liked him. Liked him far too much.
Oh, come on! she told herself. It’s more than that and you know it. You fell for him like a collapsing wall the instant you set eyes on him. It was like seeing all your private fantasies come true—there he was, in the flesh, quite literally, tall and dark and golden-skinned, and you couldn’t stop staring at him. It was plain and simple lust.
No! she thought, wincing. And, even if I did feel that way on sight, I liked the man too, when I got to know him. He’s easy to like. He’s amusing, good company, he’s been unendingly kind and thoughtful and he’s oddly sensitive for such a very macho man. I’m grateful to him and I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.
But she had to protect herself—she could not face any more emotional pressure. She was like someone with severe burns who couldn’t bear to be touched at all; the lightest fingertip could make them scream.
‘I’m sorry, Gil,’ she said. ‘Please go.’
For a second, she thought he was going to argue, to grab her, to try coaxing or pleading, his whole body was so tense—but then he suddenly walked away without a word and she shut the door on him with a low moan, then leaned on it, her eyes closed, trembling violently.
It was over.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bianca’s bruises took days to heal, and she did not go out of her apartment at all during that time. She didn’t go down to the beach and she didn’t walk across to the hotel for meals—she either had Room Service or prepared meals herself in her little kitchenette. She was rapidly running out of the food she had bought just before the attack, but by the time the cupboard was bare she hoped her bruises would have faded enough for her to feel up to visiting the hotel shop again. During daylight hours she ate on her balcony with her back to the garden so that she couldn’t be overlooked, and in the evening ate inside.
