'Well, I think if my little sister could see us now, we wouldn't have any trouble convincing her that we're very much together,' he said with a sardonic lift of his black brows.
Stasia jerked as if he'd slapped her, appalled by her own response to him.
She'd stared. Oh, dear God, she'd stared and stared.
She turned away, totally flustered, but he gave a laugh that contained not the slightest trace of humour.
'I think it's a bit late for either of us to pretend indifference,' he drawled, strolling towards her, still gloriously naked. 'The fact that you still do this for me, even knowing what I know about you, says quite a lot about your appeal, cara mia.' There was an edge to his voice that suggested that he was far from pleased to discover that she still affected him.
She kept her eyes averted and clasped her hands behind her back so that he wouldn't see that they were shaking. 'Maria said that my things had been moved.' Her voice was husky and suddenly the room seemed airless. 'I wondered why.'
'Why do you think?' He strolled into his dressing room and reached for a T-shirt, pulling it over his head.
Stasia closed her eyes briefly, wishing desperately that he'd started by dressing his lower half.
But what difference did clothes make, anyway? she reasoned helplessly. Whoever said that 'clothes make the man' had never met Rico. In his case it was more a case of 'man maketh the clothes.' He turned the softest, most casual T-shirt into a fashion must-have but Stasia knew that he spent virtually no time considering his appearance. He bought the best and then he forgot about clothes. His sophisticated style was more a result of accident and physical perfection than design.
Mockery in his night-dark eyes, he reached for a pair of silk underpants and drew them on, his gaze holding hers, challenging her. 'I would have thought the reason is obvious.'
Trousers came next and finally he was fully clothed. Stasia waited for the high frequency buzz of sexual excitement to die down but there seemed to be no relief. Her entire body was on fire for the man.
It was just because she hadn't had sex for a year, she told herself hastily, backing towards the door, trying to ignore the spread of heat low in her pelvis. 'I'll come back later.'
'Of course you will.' His voice was smooth. 'From now on you'll be sleeping in here. Sleeping, dressing— all the things that a normal married couple do in their bedroom.'
She froze. 'You're expecting me to share a room with you?'
'Absolutely.'
'Then you're delusional.' Her heart started to thud. 'There's no way I'm sleeping in here with you.'
He couldn't be serious.
He couldn't—
He walked across the room with a cool sense of purpose. 'Then I call the bank.' He lifted the receiver and she stopped dead.
'No!' Her tone was sharp and she lifted a hand to her forehead as she tried to think clearly. 'Don't do that. Put it down.'
Her heart slumped in her chest as she considered her options. Again he was leaving her no choice. But how was she supposed to share a room with him?
It was the very worst kind of torture.
He replaced the receiver, his eyes fixed on her face. 'From now on, this is your room. Chiara'
s room is just two doors away. If you don't sleep here, then she'll know.'
She forced herself to breathe. 'I'm not sleeping in the bed with you!'
He glanced at his watch, ignoring her passionate statement. 'Dinner is in ten minutes. Don't you need to change?'
She glared at him for a moment and then walked into the dressing room and slammed the door.
Stasia lingered over dinner, prolonging the moment when she would have to return to the
bedroom.
Rico's bedroom.