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Reminding herself that all that was in the past, she glanced down at her paint-stained jeans. 'At least let me change.'
She was past caring what his family thought of her but even she drew the line at entering a hospital covered in more paint than her easel.
'You can change on the plane,' he stated immediately, already striding towards her door, very much in control as usual. A man used to commanding those around him.
And she was going along with it. But only for
Chiara.
She shook her head, exasperated with herself. She was independent in every sense of the word. And yet when Rico snapped his ringers she jumped. Every time. And usually into his bed.
But not this time.
Never again.
She closed her eyes briefly, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was about to do. Did an alcoholic take a job in a brewery? Did a drug addict surround himself with illegal substances? And yet here she was about to walk off with the one man who made her forget the very person she was.
She must be mad.
Mad to put herself through the torture of being close to Rico for a teenage girl who had never shown her the slightest degree of warmth or friendship.
Aware that Rico was still watching her, impatience stamped all over his handsome features, she walked towards the door, her palms suddenly clammy and her heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest.
'All right. But this is going to be a short visit.' she muttered, her green eyes fixed on his, not allowing him to evade the issue. 'I see Chiara, I talk to her, I leave.
And you have your fancy plane waiting to bring me home.'
In normal circumstances she would have preferred to walk barefoot from Italy than avail herself of one of the trappings of his incredible wealth but these were not normal circumstances and she wanted to spend as little time as possible in the company of his family.
His lips curled. 'You can rest assured that I have no intention of prolonging your visit any longer than necessary.'
Of course he hadn't. Anger and misery mingled inside her. This had to be as difficult for him as it was for her. He'd made no secret of the fact that he'd made an enormous mistake in marrying her. That she wasn't the type of woman he wanted to have a permanent place by his side. Just in his bed. Or any other available flat surface.
She tried to ignore the intense shaft of pain that stabbed through her body, and reached for her keys and her bag. For a brief moment her eyes flickered to those wide shoulders, displayed in all their glory by the fabric of his perfectly cut designer suit. He had a fantastic body and from the first glimpse she'd been addicted. Dressed, the man was spectacular enough, but undressed —
The sudden memory of sleek, bronzed skin, of powerful muscle and dark, masculine body hair exploded into her brain and she shook her head slightly, trying to free herself from the seductive image imprinted on her mind.
As if sensing her sudden shift in thought pattern, he turned and their eyes locked with a fierce, mutual awareness that simply intensified the images in her brain.
Fire and flame surged between them and she felt herself take a step towards him in an instinctive response to the wild attraction that still existed.
For a brief moment something burned in his dark eyes and then it was extinguished and all that was left was ice.
She stopped dead, rendered immobile by the contempt she read in that cold gaze, remembering too late the two lessons that her marriage to Rico Crisanti had taught her.
That attraction, however powerful, was a shaky and precarious basis for a relationship.
And that loving someone with every beat of her heart didn't mean happy ever after.
CHAPTER TWO
'Feel free to use the bathroom. You know where it is.' Rico was sprawled on the cream leather seat, his laptop computer open next to him, papers covered in figures spread across the desk. As usual, his ear had been stuck to the phone since the moment they'd become airborne and he'd barely glanced in her direction since she'd sat down and fastened her seat belt.
Nothing changed.
Stasia closed her eyes, flayed by his indifference and furious with herself for caring. She didn't care. She really didn't. It was just the shock of seeing him.
And of course she knew where the bathroom was. It was next to the bedroom. The same bedroom where he'd once carried her, laughing and crazily in love with him. The same bedroom where he'd once made love to her for an entire flight.
