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She glared at him. ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you. And as I only sleep with men I like and respect, I’m not going to have sex with you either. But I guess that’s where you and I differ. Your standards are probably a little lower than mine.’
His face felt taut; the blood was pounding in his ears like a battle drum. He couldn’t believe she’d turned him down. Had she any idea how many women would jump at the chance to sleep with him? His anger was slick and hotter than blood.
‘A lot lower. They pretty much hit rock bottom a moment ago.’
Flora’s heart thumped dully in her chest. The contempt of his tone as much as his actual words left her breathless, chilled. ‘You’re a pig,’ she said shakily.
He studied her face, his mouth forming something between a smile and a sneer. ‘I prefer pragmatist. As far as I’m concerned I don’t need to like or respect a woman to want to have sex with her. And I want to have sex with you. Just as much as you want to have sex with me. Except you’re too much of a hypocrite to admit it.’
Heat burned her cheeks. ‘You’re not only disgustingly arrogant, you must be deaf too! I already told you that I don’t want to have sex with you.’
Something flickered across his face—subtle but deliberate and designed to goad.
‘My hearing’s perfect, cara. You told me you wouldn’t sleep with me because you didn’t like or respect me. You never said you didn’t want to. As for the arrogance—I guess I was a little presumptuous. But only because I have cause to be. Women like me.’
She shook her head incredulously. ‘No. They like your money!’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
His taunting smile made her want to drop the sun dial on his head. ‘Fine. Have it your way. Every woman you’ve ever met wants to have sex with you.’ She paused, her eyes flashing with anger. ‘Until now! But don’t take it personally. It’s not as if I have to like or respect a man not to want to have sex with him.’
His eyes hardened. ‘You’re a very good liar, Miss Golding. Plenty of practice, I suppose? But that’s the trouble with telling lies. You stop being able to recognise the truth. And the truth is that you want me like I want you. And pretending otherwise isn’t going to change anything.’
His words were still ringing in his ears. Was that the truth? With shock, he realised it was. That using sex to gain her trust no longer seemed as important as ridding himself of this debilitating haze of sexual frustration.
She stared at him. His words had blunted her power of speech, their sharp, undeniable truth slicing through her skin down to the bone.
He studied her coolly, long enough for her to know that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and then lifting his gaze, he squinted up at the sky. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to your flowers—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—and your righteous indignation. But let me know when you change your mind.’
There was a pulsing silence, and then he turned and walked calmly away without waiting for a reply.
A bubble of hysteria rose up inside her. ‘You’re wrong, Massimo Sforza!’ she shouted. ‘I don’t want you and I never will.’
As she watched him disappear beneath an archway she shivered, feeling both the chill of his absence and the rapidly sinking sun. Pressing her hands against the cool stone of the sun dial, she breathed out slowly. Those few febrile moments in Massimo’s arms had convinced her that having sex with him would not just be a mistake. It would be a disaster. And not because of who he was. But because of how he had made her feel for those few vivid moments.
She bit her lip. It was embarrassing to admit it, even to herself, but she wanted him. With a longing that was as hot and as real as the sun. But it wasn’t lust or even shame that was making her feel like a startled deer. Something had happened even before his fingers had slid over her skin. Something new and unsettling and yet also familiar. Something that had made her heart ache and then start to race like a sprinter. That teasing banter, that soft encircling warmth of his smile had been a reminder of what two people could share.
Her face tightened. And lose.
Looking up, she stared at the arch of colours shifting and fading into the thunderous sky. Massimo Sforza was more than just a temptation. He was dangerous: a flashing red sign, a shrill, warning cry. And to ignore that fact would be like running towards the edge of a cliff in pursuit of a rainbow. Her independence, the sanctuary of calm isolation that was her life in Sardinia, these were solid and real and reliable. And she needed to remember that next time she felt like getting up close and personal with her landlord.
* * *
Massimo strode through the gardens, his gaze fixed on the path ahead of him, currents of confusion and anger tugging him sharply over the stone slabs and the gravel of the drive. Heat was pulsing out a telegraph of dots and dashes over his skin. The same message over and over again.
What the hell had just happened?
Sliding into the driver’s seat of the black Lamborghini slung carelessly across the driveway, he forced his breathing to slow and tried to pull his thoughts into focus. And shift the painful throb of his erection.
She’d kissed him. And he’d kissed her back. And a kiss was just a kiss. So why the hell did it feel as though a hole had just opened beneath his feet?
It made no sense. Flora Golding was a nobody. Up until a few days ago she had been nothing more than a name—a glitch in his plans to make Sforza Industries the biggest hotel and resort company in the world. But now—
A memory of Flora, lips parted, eyes drowsy with desire, slid into his head and a teasing twist of lust spiralled lazily inside him. His heart throbbed in his throat. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking, and he felt a spasm of fury at this sudden and uncharacteristic loss of control.
What was the matter with him? It was bad enough behaving like some adolescent schoolboy. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened in that garden. Something more than mere sexual attraction. Something too blurred and just out of reach.
Gritting his teeth, he shook his head.
