Page 26 of Public Wife, Private Mistress

Stasia swallowed. Her own feelings.

She was afraid of her own feelings for him. They were totally at odds with the person she was. Or the person she believed herself to be. She wasn't a clingy person. She despised clingy people. Unfortunately, since meeting Rico, she'd made the painful discovery that there were parts of her that she'd never known ex­isted. Sensual depths that he'd plundered like a master. And with him she wanted to cling. Cling and never let

'This is getting us nowhere.' She licked dry lips and then regretted the gesture instantly as his

gaze dropped to her mouth and his eyes gleamed gold. That look was as familiar to her as the insidious melting sensation in the pit of her stomach that followed. She rejected the feeling instantly. 'But it has proved that we can't remain in the same room and not want to kill each other. Unless Chiara has lost her intuition as well as her memory then there is no way we'll convince her that our relationship is genuine. I'll say goodbye to her and then I'm leav­ing.'

'You're not going anywhere,' he said silkily, 'and if you're worried that we can't convince Chiara that we're in love, then let me help you out on that one.'

She should have seen it coming. Should have sensed his intention before he acted. But her brain was foggy and thinking suddenly seemed impossibly hard work. Even more so when his hand snaked round her waist and his mouth came down on hers with the assurance of a man totally confident in his own sexuality and her response to him.

As kisses went it was as skilled as it was brief. He controlled and led, coaxing her lips apart with a teasing flick of his tongue, delving inside in a lazy exploration that promised so much more than it delivered. And, just as he'd intended, he set her on fire.

He drove her higher, to the point where she forgot everything. She forgot where they were. Forgot that they were standing in an impersonal waiting room il­luminated by harsh lighting with his sister seriously ill nearby. Forgot their differences, the fact that they seemed to have absolutely no common ground except between the sheets.

All she was aware of was him. The scrape of mas­culine stubble against her sensitive skin, the suggestive lick of his tongue and the bold thrust of his manhood pressed against the burning heat of her pelvis. Sexual tension throbbed and vibrated through her whole body and her arms crept around his neck, drawing him closer still.

And then he ended it.

With humiliating ease, he lifted his head and stepped back, his eyes cold and totally lacking in emotion. 'I think that's enough to prove that we can be fairly con­vincing when the time comes.'

She swayed dizzily, just hating him for being so con­trolled when she felt so completely out of control.

His dark eyes registered her dazed expression with something approaching insolence. 'You like to think you don't need me, Stasia, but we both know that you'll lie down for me whenever I like, so it's useless pre­tending otherwise.'

The sharp sound of her hand connecting with his cheek echoed round the small room.

'You are a smug, conceited bastard, Rico,' she said shakily, hugging her stinging hand to her chest, shocked by the unaccustomed violence which had erupted inside her at his callous taunt. Up until this moment she'd never struck another human being in her life but Rico was hurting her all over again. 'And I'm not staying here a moment longer. Please instruct your pilot to make whatever preparations he needs to make to fly me home.'

'You're not going home.' His lean cheek displayed the livid mark made by her hand and his black eyes glittered dangerously.

'You asked me to come when Chiara was in a coma. Well, now she's awake so you don't need me any more.'

His jaw tightened. 'I've already explained why I need you.'

'To be your convenient slut?' Her eyes blazed into his. 'I don't think so, Rico. There are millions of women out there just gagging to fill that role. Go and grab one of them instead.'

'I want you to be my wife for however long it takes for Chiara to regain her memory,' he growled, digging his hands in his pockets, as if he were afraid of what he might do with them if they were allowed continued freedom. 'But being my wife is not something you ever excelled at, was it, Stasia? I gave you everything. You had a lifestyle beyond your wildest dreams, but when I returned home from a long working day, expecting to find my wife waiting for me, I found her gone!'

'Twice! Twice I was away. I had a business to run too!'

'For what purpose?' His careless shrug betrayed his complete lack of insight into her character. 'You didn't need the money. You had access to unlimited funds. You had everything a woman could possibly need.'

Except love.

She spread her hands in a gesture of exasperation. 'Money, money, money! Life isn't always about money, Rico. There are other things that matter, like indepen­dence and self-belief. I like my work. I need to know that I'm good at something. Making a contribution that matters.'

'You were good in my bed,' he said softly, his eyes fixed on hers, 'and that was what mattered to me.'

Her cheeks flamed and she dragged her eyes away from his with an exclamation of disgust.

'You are to­tally primitive. Rico! You didn't want a wife. You wanted a mistress.'

'I already had two mistresses before I married you,' he said icily, his tone bored and his dark eyes never shifting from hers. 'Why would I have wanted a third?'

Her face lost the rest of its colour at that stark re­minder of the man she'd taken on. Had lost her heart to. She'd been crazy to think that what she felt for him would ever be returned.

Rico didn't know what love was. He wasn't capable of connecting with a woman emotionally. Only physically. He had an almost insatia­ble sex drive. She'd heard rumours that he had a mistress both in Rome and in Paris but at the time she'd chosen to ignore those rumours. Rico was a drop-dead sexy guy and she didn't for one minute expect him to have lived like a monk.

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