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Carlo stepped back from Jane, his chest heaving with the exertion of his breathing. Jane lifted trembling fingers to her burning lips. Her eyes swarmed with emotions as she stared at him.
“I don’t even know your name,” she whispered into the cold hallway.
His black eyes sparked with certainty. He had come to find Jane Lang only to reassure himself that she was alive and well, but now, he had an entirely different purpose in mind. “My name is Carlo Santini. I’m the man who is going to marry you.”
CHAPTER THREE
The townhouse looked as it always had. The white walls and black wrought iron fence created an imposing impression. Jane had installed lavender window boxes to soften the harshness of the grand property.
A frisson of remembered fear ran through her as she recalled the last time she’d walked inside her gate.
Carlo stood, his hand on the door, waiting for Jane to step out of the chauffeured Bentley. She put one stiletto clad foot on the sidewalk, and then the other. Three days after the attack, the pain had subsided completely. The scar would take time to disappear, though.
“This is your home?” Carlo asked, his dark eyes scanning the frontage with undisguised curiosity.
“Yes.” She ignored the hand he offered for support.
She walked gingerly through the gate, fishing her keys from her handbag on autopilot. As she reached the tiled entrance way, she froze. Someone had mopped up the blood from the tiles, but the scarlet stain had remained in the grout.
Carlo’s gaze followed Jane’s, and a grim line set across his features. The visual evidence of how much blood had been lost incited a deep fury in his gut. Wordlessly, he reached down and took Jane’s keys from her numb fingertips.
Because he was all-powerful, he inserted the correct key into the lock on his first attempt. It was so like Carlo that Jane shook her head. She breathed in the familiarity of her home with relief. It was just as she’d left it. She flicked a light switch, coating the house in a warm glow, and moved down the hallway.
“The house is very like you,” Carlo said, and Jane couldn’t be sure if it was a compliment or not. She looked around and tried to see it through his eyes. When first she’d moved in, she’d been too heartbroken to do anything to the place. She’d bought the simplest furniture, and only what she’d absolutely needed. A bed, an armchair and a small table. Over the years, though, her own taste had crept in. She’d hounded local vintage markets and stocked up on an eclectic range of mismatched chairs. Six sat around an old oak table, each chair a different colour. Her sofas were crafted by a local artist – vintage leather stripped from an ol
d aeroplane had been moulded around a Scandinavian frame. A large felt mat, in bright colours, spread across the floor, like a misshapen rainbow.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, deciding to take it as a compliment. “Can I get you a coffee before you go?”
His eyes narrowed. “You know I do not intend to go anywhere, cara. Not until I know the threat to you has passed.” Her pink lips pouted in a way that made him ache to kiss her. “A coffee would be welcome, however.”
Jane glared at him. “Carlo,”
“Jane,” he responded in kind, walking towards her with a slow and even gait.
The Jane he’d married might have pressed herself backwards against the wall, intimidated by his obvious strength. But leaving Carlo and losing their baby had coated Jane’s heart in an implacable layer of steel. She stood her ground, her blue gaze unwavering as he moved closer and closer, until his body was almost touching hers.
“Why are you so afraid to let me help you?”
She swallowed, but did not look away. “I am not afraid,” she contradicted quietly. “But you’re a long way in my past and that’s how I like it.”
Carlo’s black eyes were heavy as they scanned her face. “Unfortunately, Jane, I’m not as far in your past as you’d like to believe.”
She frowned, not sure exactly what he meant.
He kissed her swiftly, before he could rethink the wisdom of it. His mouth moved over hers, and it immediately felt as though he’d slipped down a rabbit hole, back in time. They fit together as well as they ever had. His lips possessed hers with a hunger that shocked even him.
He had thought he was over her. That her particular brand of innocence and sweetness had been ruined by the way in which she’d left him. But his body stirred immediately, as his mouth tasted hers.
She was wearing an expensive looking dress; navy blue with lace across the neckline. Demure enough, with long sleeves and a high neckline, still he yearned for her. He was overcome by the need to touch her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor, without allowing his mouth to break the contact of their kiss.
Jane’s fingers curled around his neck. He smelled so good; just like she remembered him. She kissed him back, forgetting momentarily that he was the man who’d broken her heart. Their history was lined with pain and regrets, but the fire that flared between them had nothing to do with the past. This had always been good.
He eased her back to the floor, and sought the zip to her dress. He eased it down her back, and pushed the dress off her shoulders. It fell to her waist. She was not wearing a bra. At the sight of her perfect, small yet rounded breasts, he let out a sound of gruff pleasure. He dipped his head forward and took possession of a nipple. His stubble was painful against her sensitive flesh, but the way his mouth sent wave after wave of desire rioting through her body was anything but. She cried out as her whole body began to shake and tremble. This man had always known how to send her into a fit of ecstasy. Apparently that had not changed. She arched her back, granting him greater access to her body, as his fingers rubbed the other breast, plucking at her peach aureole while his warm tongue rolled the other until it was swollen and over-sensitive.
“Carlo,” she ground her hips against his erection. Logical thought was impossible. Her mind had no capacity for anything but long-forgotten pleasures.
He pushed at her dress, and she cried out in distress when he lifted his head from her breast. The cold air of her townhouse hit her like a sledgehammer. Afraid that she was going to slip out of the sensual haze, she ran her hands over her body, touching her own breasts in place of his.
