Page 34 of Public Wife, Private Mistress

ng she could possibly have wanted and yet apparently it hadn't been enough and the knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Until last night he'd believed that there was no going back. Now suddenly he wasn't so sure. He gave a cyn­ical laugh. Which just went to show what a complete fool he was. Even knowing what she was, he was still totally hooked on her.

He splashed his face with cold water and stared into the mirror again, his expression suddenly cold. So why was he denying himself? Stasia was a beautiful woman and she was still his wife. The sex was unbelievably good and. despite her denials, it was still perfectly ob­vious that she wanted him with the same fevered des­peration that he wanted her. So there was absolutely no logical reason why they couldn't still enjoy each other physically.

Wasn't that the best sort of relationship? No empty I love you's. No emotional baggage. Just amazing mind­less sex between two people who understood each other.

And when Chiara finally regained her memory then he'd walk away from Stasia without a backward glance. For the final time.

Having managed to rearrange the facts in such a way that he could more than justify a repeat performance in the bedroom, he reached for a razor and started to shave.

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Stasia awoke the next morning Rico's side of the bed was empty and it was obvious from the pristine plumpness of the pillow that she'd slept alone. The nar­row sofa in the corner of the room bore all the signs of occupation, the white cushions slightly rumpled.

She winced as she tried to imagine the degree of revulsion that must have driven Rico to choose what must have been a fiendishly uncomfortable night over the chance to sleep in his own bed.

Clearly he hadn't wanted to be anywhere near her and why that knowledge should fill her with such a profound depression, she didn't know.

What had she expected? To be woken by a loving kiss?

Hardly.

Loving wasn't what last night had been about.

Rico was a highly sexed guy and he wasn't likely to deprive himself of physical satisfaction just because he had the misfortune to be trapped in his villa with his soon-to-be ex-wife.

She swung her legs out of bed, registered the unfa­miliar ache of her body with a wry smile and made for the shower. The long shower he'd taken the night before had obviously worked for him. Perhaps she'd try the same treatment.

Reluctant to face him and having no faith at all in her ability to project the loving front that he was de­manding, she took her time dressing, hoping that by the time she finally made an appearance Rico might have finished breakfast and disappeared to his study to work.

She was unlucky.

He was lounging on the terrace looking disgustingly handsome and healthy; he looked like a man who had slept undisturbed a full ten hours rather than one who had snatched the minimum of sleep on a sofa that was most definitely not designed to deliver comfort to a per­son of his build.

She delayed the moment when she'd have to join them by strolling over to the nearest fruit tree. She stood for a moment, lost in memories as sweet as they were painful, and then reached up and picked an orange. It had always enchanted her—-the notion that she could pick her breakfast straight from the tree. And Rico had teased her that she had such simple tastes.

She turned the orange in her hand, admiring its per­fection. She did have simple tastes. But he'd never seemed to understand that. And neither had his family.

Reluctantly she strolled back to the terrace to join them.

Chiara was finishing a sweet pastry and chatting to her brother. She glanced up with a smile as Stasia sat down.

'You had a long lie-in. You must have been tired.' She handed Stasia some coffee and her eyes narrowed. 'Did you have too much sun yesterday? Your skin is quite red round your neck-—'

Aware that Rico was looking at her, his long fingers toying idly with his coffee cup, Stasia reached for a plate and a knife. 'I have sensitive skin.' she said quietly and Chiara coloured as understanding dawned.

'Oh—I didn't—' thoroughly flustered, the teenager stared out towards the sea. 'It's going to be a really hot day. I might go to the beach.'

'Well, take Gio with you,' Rico instructed immedi­ately. 'You shouldn't be on your own. And don't stay there too long. You need to rest in the shade.'

Clearly anxious to escape from the scene of her faux pas, Chiara mumbled something, turned a deeper shade of pink and hurried off towards the villa.

Stasia watched her go, peeling her orange with smooth sweeps of the knife. 'Well, I think we can as­sume that your sister is now convinced that we're very much together,' she said tartly, dropping the peel on the plate and dividing the orange into segments. 'You must be delighted. It all worked out exactly as you'd planned.'

Rico drained his coffee. 'Not exactly. I have regrets about last night—'

'Oh, that's right—' She struggled to keep her voice steady. 'Touching me wasn't part of the plan, was it?'

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