Wounds of Passion

‘How did you get in?’ she attacked as he confronted her.

‘Climbed over the wall,’ he coolly admitted, staring down at her, his blue eyes wandering over the lilac cotton tunic dress she wore.

‘That’s burglary!’ she accused, wishing he would not look at her that way. His blue eyes dismissed her dress as dull, which it was; but she didn’t want men staring. She wanted to walk the streets of Venice without being noticed, and in this very simple dress she did.

‘You can’t burgle someone’s garden!’ he drawled.

‘Illegal entry, then,’ she furiously said and, as he opened his mouth as if to argue, raised her voice and shouted him down. ‘Well, whatever you call it, I’m going to ring the police if you don’t leave at once. I don’t want you on my property!’

‘This isn’t your property, though, is it? Your uncle has a short-term lease, that’s all.’

‘Why don’t you go away and leave me alone?’ raged Antonia, wishing he didn’t make her feel so helpless. He had this strange effect on her: disabling her mentally and physically, leaving her weak and shivery, as if she had some strange illness.

‘Are you here alone?’ he asked, and she gave him a nervous, frowning look.

‘What?’ Her lids fell over her aquamarine eyes. ‘No, of course not.’

He smiled crookedly, mocking her. ‘Who else is here?’

‘I told you, my uncle and aunt!’

‘Good, I think it’s time I talked to them. You said Alex wanted to apologise to me; now is as good a time as any.’ He walked towards the open door into the house and she ran after him, in great agitation.

‘No, you can’t... He’s not here... I mean, he’s out at the moment; he won’t be back until later.’

She was too late to stop him. He was already in the kitchen, looking around him curiously at the copper utensils hanging in neat rows on the dark brown walls, the red and green curtains at the windows, the modern electric stove, the bright green cushions in a basket chair beside the kitchen table.

‘Very cosy,’ Patrick said, then sniffed. ‘Coffee? That smells good; is there any left?’

‘No, and you can’t stay here!’ said Antonia.

He threw himself into the basket chair, and stretched with a sigh of content, like one of the cats she had been feeding, and she felt a strange quiver of reaction deep inside her. His lean, supple body was a pleasure to watch, just as the graceful movements of the cats were good to watch.

She had believed that all her sensuality had been killed that night on the beach, but it hadn’t; it was alive now, stirring under her skin as she watched him.

His vivid blue eyes watched her expression, assessing it. There was a fraught little silence; she heard herself breathing, knew her body had quickened, her blood running faster, her heart beating harder.

‘How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t have to be afraid of me,’ Patrick said softly, and she listened to the sound of his English voice and wondered how she had ever managed to mistake that other man’s voice for Patrick’s. They were quite different.

‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied.

He looked through lowered lashes at her, smiling mockingly. ‘No? Then can I have a cup of that coffee?’

She had trapped herself, left herself open to that. She had to give in, and, sighing, poured him coffee and handed it to him, being careful not to touch his fingers as he took it.

Over the rim of the cup he surveyed her with sardonic amusement, knowing she had avoided touching him. He drank some coffee, then put the cup down. ‘Very good. You know how to make coffee the way I like it.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ she said furiously, hearing that as patronage, and he smiled at her again, crookedly.

‘You aren’t expecting your uncle back for a couple of days, are you?’

She ope

ned her mouth to lie and met his dry gaze, then fell silent, biting her inner lip.

He gave her a mocking smile. ‘Very wise of you not to lie. I rang your uncle’s agents and asked where he was, and they told me he was in England for the next few days. Which means that you’re in this house alone—which surprised me. I would have thought you’d be nervous of living here alone.’

‘Venice is one of the safest cities in the world,’ she hurriedly said. ‘There is very little crime here. Criminals can’t use cars, which means it’s hard for them to get away; even if they used a boat they would be spotted at once. I feel very safe here.’