Public Wife, Private Mistress

She hated him so much. She really, really hated him for being so cold and unfeeling. For not believing in her. For not loving her.

'To visit your sister, yes. but not to be insulted by you. I never agreed to that. I've been attacked enough by your family.'

He drew in a breath sharply and she knew from the dangerous flash of his eyes that he was struggling with his temper. That temper which he prided himself on having totally under control. Except with her. With her he shot fire and flame. No holding back. It was like watching a long dormant volcano suddenly come to life in a terrifying eruption. But his temper had never fright­ened her. In fact for some strange reason it had com­forted her to know that Rico was capable of displaying emotion, even if it was anger. At least something threat­ened his cool.

'To deal with your first point—obviously we are go­ing to Sicily, since that is where Chiara is.' He looked at her with ill-disguised impatience. 'Despite your worst assessment of my character I do, in fact, care about my family.'

Stasia froze. It was his obsession with family, so much a part of his Sicilian heritage, that had blinded him to the truth. And it had been that same deep love for his family that had prevented her from telling him the truth about his sister. How could she shatter his illusions?

'I've never doubted your love for your family,' she muttered, wondering why on earth they were discussing all this now, when it was all much, much too late. 'You said that you rang the hospital. Has there been any change?'

His glance was as contemptuous as it was chilly. 'Why ask, when we both know that you don't really care?'

> Stasia gave a soft gasp of shock. She cared. Just as she'd cared when it had first become apparent that his family thought he'd made a mistake in marrying her. The first few barbed comments about her supposed obsession with his money had upset her badly. And those same comments had taken away any pleasure that she might have felt when Rico had showered her with gifts. In the end she'd stopped wearing the jewels that he was continually giving her, unable to cope with the knowing looks of his mother and sister. In case, by wearing them, she gave some credence to their unsavoury assumptions about her.

'I care, Rico.' Suddenly it seemed important to say it. To set the record straight on that, at least. 'If you truly believe that then it shows how little you know me,' she said stiffly and those glittering dark eyes clashed with hers.

'I established how little I know you some time ago,' he said, his voice cold and unforgiving. 'But, unfortu­nately for me, not before I'd married you. Had I known your true nature I never would have invited you into my home. And you would never have had the oppor­tunity to corrupt my sister. You took her to nightclubs when you knew I had expressly forbidden her to fre­quent those places and goodness knows what else you encouraged.'

Stasia froze.

His accusation was so unjust—-so far from the real truth of the situation—that for a moment she just stared at him.

How could he have been so intimate with her and still believe—?

'You're so wrong. Rico.' She'd promised herself that she wasn't going to waste any more energy in trying to defend herself but her sense of fair play was so strong that she couldn't stay silent. 'And one day you are going to go down on one knee and beg my forgiveness.'

'Save it,' he said harshly, his darkened jaw set at an aggressive angle. 'You were caught out, my beautiful wife. Admit that you were in the wrong and perhaps we can move on.'

Move on?

Where to?

Hot tears suddenly pricked her eyes and she turned her head towards the window, desperate to compose herself before he noticed her distress. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd upset her.

And she was honest enough to acknowledge that the demise of their relationship couldn't be blamed entirely on the manipulative ways of his sister. Had they truly been a couple— had there been more to their relation­ship than sex —then he never would have believed those things of her. Never would have believed her capable of the things of which she was accused. Forced to ac­knowledge that their relationship had been doomed from the beginning, she sank back into her seat and he immediately released her hands.

'We will be landing in ten minutes.' he informed her curtly, 'and we'll go straight to the hospital.'

Stasia took a deep breath, telling herself that there was no benefit in raking up the past. She just needed to get through the present—this visit—and then she could go home. Away from him. To try and calm herself, she kept the conversation in the present.

'How did the accident happen?'

'She was staying on a friend's estate.' Rico rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes, as if doing so made it easier to recount the awful details. 'They went riding. Something frightened her horse and it bolted on to the road. Chiara came off and she wasn't wearing a hat.'

Stasia winced as a mental vision of the accident filled her mind and for a moment she stared at him, at the thick dark lashes touching his bronzed skin, at the firm mouth and the perfect lines of his face. With his eyes closed he seemed less the ruthless businessman and more human. Less intimidating and more vulnerable.

More the man she'd fallen in love with.

As if feeling her gaze, he opened his eyes and Stasia looked away quickly, reminding herself that there was nothing vulnerable about Rico Crisanti.

He was everything tough.

She turned back to him, needing to speak. Needing to say something. Unlike him, she couldn't keep her emotions locked away. 'Whatever happened between us. I want you to know that I'm sorry about Chiara. Truly I am. This must all be so hard for you. The not knowing, the waiting—' She glanced at him cautiously and for a moment she thought she saw a wry smile touch his mouth.

'Not my strong point, as you well know,' he drawled, glancing at his watch as the plane taxied to a halt. 'We've arrived. I should warn you that my entire family presently inhabits the hospital. Tensions are running high and the atmosphere is already more emotional than is desirable. Needless to say your arrival is hardly going to be greeted with enthusiasm.'

The reminder that his family hated her was like a cold shower, quenching her tentative attempt to build bridges.