Page 8 of Public Wife, Private Mistress

Like the way it felt to kiss the bronzed skin at the base of his throat. And the fact that if she did that he'd instantly retaliate by sliding a hand down her spine and taking her mouth. And Rico had turned kissing into an art form.

Memories crowded her mind and suddenly she needed him to leave with almost fevered desperation. Before she forgot that this was the man who had broken her dreams into tiny pieces. Before she forgot that she felt absolutely nothing for him any more.

But he showed no sign of leaving. Instead he stood with his legs planted firmly apart, determined to defy the beams and her ill-concealed hostility. 'Since her ac­cident two weeks ago she has emerged from an unconscious state only once and your name was the only word she uttered. Your name.' That fact clearly offended him and he made no attempt whatsoever to hide his con­tempt and distaste for the situation in which he now found himself. 'And, whatever you may think to the contrary, Chiara was very fond of you.'

Stasia stared at him in fascinated silence, wondering how a man so ferociously intelligent could be so blind when it came to his family.

She might have told him that Chiara was anything but fond of her. She might have repeated the many pain­ful conversations she'd had with his sister when he'd been locked away running his fantastically successful global business empire leaving her to the mercies of his family.

Chiara hated her.

The teenager had resented her almost from the mo­ment Rico had married her and she'd played a large part in the final destruction of their doomed marriage.

But Rico adored his sister. And Stasia had decided that it wasn't her place to tell him the truth; that she didn't want to be responsible for creating a rift in that famed Sicilian institution: 'the family.'

Deep in thought, she contemplated what could pos­sibly have driven Chiara to ask for her. She knew noth­ing about the workings of the unconscious mind.

Guilt?

A subconscious desire to apologize? A sudden real­ization that she'd been in the wrong?

There was a discreet cough from the doorway and Rico turned impatiently, visibly irritated by the intru­sion.

'Enzo is on the phone, sir.' The bodyguard looked apologetic. 'The plane is ready for take-off.'

Rico sucked in a breath and turned back to her, his body language purposeful and impatient. 'We need to go now. I have to be back at the hospital. Already I have wasted too much time coming here in person.'

A fact he clearly regretted. He had the look of a man who would rather be anywhere else but standing in this cramped front room with a woman he despised, and Stasia was in no doubt whatsoever that had he believed that someone else could have persuaded her to board his plane then he would have immediately delegated the task. But he'd known that she would try and refuse. And he'd been forced to deal with the situation himself.

He really expected her to go with him.

After everything that had happened, he really ex­pected her to go with him.

Suddenly she regretted not answering the phone. At least then she would have had some warning of his im­pending arrival. She would have been able to prepare herself mentally for the shock and pain of seeing him again.

If she'd known what was coming she could have gone into hiding.

Or would she ?

If Chiara was truly asking for her—if she was as badly injured as Rico was implying—how could she refuse to go?

How could she deny the girl the opportunity to apol­ogize if that was what she needed?

She licked dry lips, knowing that she would never be able to live with herself if something happened to Chiara and she had refused to visit. The girl had been unbelievably cruel but Stasia was more than ready to forgive her. She'd always hoped that one day Chiara would find the courage to tell the truth.

But how could she go back there? Back to where it had all happened. And to face his family, who hated her so much, who'd thought she was so unsuitable for Rico.

She closed her eyes briefly and accepted the inevi­table. Facing the enemy seemed less daunting than fac­ing her own conscience should the unthinkable happen to the injured girl and she'd failed to visit. 'Give me five minutes to pack a bag.'

Rico let out a breath and some of the tension left his broad shoulders and it was only then that she realized that he'd been expecting to fight a battle. She sup­pressed a cynical smile. He obviously didn't realize that her taste for battles was long gone.

'You don't need to pack. You took nothing when you left.'

'I left everything because there was nothing I needed.' She met his gaze full on, the message clear in her eyes. I was never interested in your money and I can't believe you don't know that.

The only thing she'd ever needed was him, she thought sadly, and that had been the one thing he'd failed to understand. Clearly accustomed to women who craved access to his bottomless bank account, he'd been totally bemused by her indifference to his staggering wealth.

For a man driven by money and power, something as simple as love was as difficult to understand as a foreign language. And the more jewels and extravagant presents he'd given her, the less she'd felt like a wife and the more she'd felt like a mistress. It had been as if he was paying her for sex.

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