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His stomach tightened. He’d been close to blowing it all; dredging up feelings he’d buried in the furthest corners of his soul. He’d let lust and frustration impa
ir his judgement.
But it wouldn’t happen again. Flora might be sexy and beautiful, but she was dangerous too. Whenever he was with her—like yesterday—he didn’t recognise himself. But whatever might have happened in that café, it didn’t mean that he trusted her. His mouth twisted. Since his father’s betrayal he hadn’t been able to trust anyone, and he couldn’t see that changing any time soon. Probably never. And he was glad. That way the pain of the past would stay in the past.
Beside him, Flora shifted in her sleep, moaning softly. Glancing down at her, he smiled grimly, his confusion forgotten. He’d been careless, that was all. Soon, she would join the long list of women with whom he’d shared a one-night stand. But before that happened, he wasn’t about to turn down what she was offering. After all, he was a normal red-blooded male with natural urges. So why argue with nature?
And, gently lifting her arm, he shifted down the bed and woke her with a kiss.
* * *
Much later, Flora woke again to the sound of running water. The bed was empty and, stretching slowly, she wriggled free of the sheet and sat up. She could just see Massimo in the shower. His gorgeous male body was blurry through the glass, but she felt a shiver of pleasure as she remembered his golden skin and the hard muscles of his chest and back.
For a moment she lay and watched him, her body twitching at the memory of his dark touch, his strong, firm hands drawing out her desire, smoothing her skin, roaming over her body, so intimate, so possessive.
It had felt so right—the weight of his body on hers and the way she’d moved and cried out and begged—
A blush swept over her skin and, closing her eyes, she pressed her face against the cool cotton of the pillowcase.
Not that she was ashamed. It was just that she hadn’t known sex could feel like that. So wild and intense and beautiful. It certainly hadn’t ever been like that for her before. Her cheeks grew warmer. The truth was, she had barely recognised herself.
She’d been like a wild creature, driven by a fierce hunger such as she had never known—a hunger that had swamped her and pulled her under so that she had lost herself in the darkness.
Rolling onto her back, she breathed out deeply. But she had survived. Better than survived. She was fine. She felt calm and happy. For the thing she had dreaded hadn’t happened.
She had feared that at some point her feelings would get tangled up in their feverish coupling. And that no matter what she did she would find herself ensnared: feeling, caring, loving.
She shivered.
But it hadn’t happened. She might have surrendered to his touch, but she knew now that she would give nothing more. And why should she? Who needed feelings when they could have that fire of passion?
Her eyes were still closed when she realised that the shower had stopped—and then, almost before she had a chance to process the implications of that thought, she knew that Massimo was in the room. Her skin began to tingle and her stomach flipped over. Nerves humming, she opened her eyes.
He was watching her, leaning against the doorjamb with an easy animal grace that made her heart quiver. He was wearing nothing but a towel knotted round his waist, his bare chest still damp, the smooth lines of his muscles knife-sharp, like sculpted marble.
But it wasn’t just his muscles that looked like stone. His face was lean and hard and unsmiling, and she suddenly realised two things: one, she was holding her breath, and two, in her haste to examine her own response to what had happened she had pretty much forgotten all about Massimo.
Her sense of calm started to drain away. It was easy telling herself that passion was enough. That she could choose when and what she should feel. But now, with his gaze pressing down on her skin, she realised that not only was that untrue, it was dangerously premature and presumptuous.
She waited, her nerves humming, but he seemed in no hurry to speak; he just studied her face with eyes that were the same cool blue as an Alpine sky.
Finally, when she was on the verge of screaming out loud, he said calmly, ‘Did you sleep okay?’
His voice was cool too. It felt like shards of ice skittering over her skin. It was the voice of a stranger or an adversary. She stared at him, confused; after what they’d shared last night she’d been expecting some small degree of warmth. But then, given that up until last night they’d spent most of their time sparring with one another, perhaps this moment was never going to be anything but awkward.
She nodded warily. ‘Yes. How about you?’
He nodded and there was a tiny, sharp silence, and then abruptly he held out his hand, and she felt a curl of happiness rise up like smoke inside her. He was offering her an olive branch. That meant everything was okay between them. That maybe last night had given him as much pleasure as it had given her.
Lifting her hand, she smiled up at him—and then her stomach seemed to go into freefall as, frowning, he pointed past her to the bedside table. ‘Could you pass me my watch? I need to know what time it is.’
Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She felt stupid and small. But what had she really imagined would happen today? Last night might have left her breathless and dazzled. But to a man like Massimo—a man whose sexual escapades were splashed over the newspapers—it was clearly commonplace, and there was no point in getting upset about that quite obvious fact.
She lifted her chin, feeling her temper rise. Getting upset was at the bottom of her agenda. Her pride demanded that she stayed cool and unemotional—or that she appeared to do so at least. In fact, if she was going to survive this fling with any shred of her dignity intact she needed to remember this moment. Remember how it had made her feel.
She picked up the watch, glancing at it swiftly before she handed it to him. ‘Is that the time? I should get up,’ she said briskly.
Rolling over, she slid out of the bed and pulled on her dress.
