Public Wife, Private Mistress

'It will be so great to be at home with you both,' Chiara said happily, helping herself to more olives. 'But I do feel guilty, making you stay here. I know you must be itching to get back to Rome, Rico.'

Stasia jumped as Rico's hand covered hers. 'As it happens this is a perfect time for me to spend some time with Stasia.' Dark velvety eyes caressed hers. 'I have neglected her in the past while I've been working and I intend to rectify that.' He lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze loaded with sensual promise.

To her utter horror, Stasia felt a lump building in her throat. Those were the words he should have spoken when they were married and still together. Not now, when it was too late and just for the benefit of his sister.

Chiara just smiled, ignorant of the undercurrents in the room. 'Well, I promise that I won't get in the way this time. You can be as romantic as you like. You won't even know I'm here.'

Romantic?

Swamped by an excess of emotion. Stasia snatched her hand away from Rico's and dropped her fork. 'I'm sorry-—I'm feeling a little tired. I think I'll have an early night.' She ignored Rico's warning glance and rose to her feet. 'I hope you have a good night. I'll see you at breakfast.'

With that she left the room and sought refuge in the bedroom. If there'd been a key she would have locked the door but there wasn't and she knew that it was only a matter of time before Rico joined her.

He strode into the room minutes later, a grim ex­pression on his handsome face as his dark eyes swept over her pale cheeks. 'You'd better work harder on your performance or I'll be making that phone call.'

She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling slightly sick. 'Unlike you, I find it hard to live a lie. It's something I need to learn.'

'Then learn quickly,' he advised silkily, 'or the deal is off.'

'I'm trying.'

'You call sitting in silence throughout dinner trying?' Dark brows rose in question. 'You stared at your plate. What happened to the loving looks?'

'I'm working on them.'

'Then work harder and faster. And from now on I want you to talk as you normally do. Silence is not your trademark, as we both well know. And I want you to smile. And I want you to act as though you can't keep your hands off me, cara mia.'

'Does it count if I strangle you?' Her eyes flashed with some of her old fire and his eyes gleamed in ap­preciative response.

'Save that for the bedroom,' he suggested with a predatory smile that made him seem more dangerous than ever. 'In public I want you to touch me like a lover.'

She looked at him sickly. 'But I don't want to touch you like a lover.'

'That's a lie, and we both know it,' he said softly, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt in a slow, deliberate gesture designed to torment. He pulled the garment over his head to reveal a bronzed torso that would have made a Greek god groan in envy. 'We may both hate the fact, but the truth is that you and I have never been able to keep our hands off each other. Perhaps you need re­minding of that fact.'

She tried to scoot off the bed but he moved with lightning speed, sliding an arm around her waist and preventing her escape.

'Let me go. This wasn't part of our agreement.' Her heart was thudding so hard she thought it would burst and she lifted both hands to his chest, intending to push him away. It was a mistake. The minute the sensitive tips of her fingers made contact with the hair on his chest and the sleek, bronzed skin beneath, she wanted to cling. Desperately she tried to summon up the will­power to free herself from his hold but he was too close. Too tempting. Suddenly she felt dizzy and light-headed.

It had been so long. So long since he'd held her. So long since she'd breathed in that male smell that she found so seductive.

They stayed like that for a moment, poised on the edge of sexual insanity. And then his mouth came down on hers.

It was pure possession. A statement of intent, his tongue immediately demanding access, probing the depths of her mouth with a skill and precision that left her shaking just as he'd known it would. He'd always known exactly how to drive the maximum response from her.

His hands slipped from her waist to her buttocks and he jerked her against him in a primitive male gesture, bringing her burning pelvis into contact with the hard ridge of his arousal. And he held her there. Male against female. Hard against soft. The muscles of his shoulders bunched under her fingers, his mouth plundered and stole and still he held her. Making her aware of what she did to him.

And finally she couldn't stand it any longer. The fire was so intense that she needed relief and he was the only one who could give it. Nothing else mattered.

She groaned into his mouth and he tipped her back­wards on to the bed and came down on top of her, removing the rest of his clothes so swiftly that she wasn't even aware that he'd undressed until she felt the shockingly delicious feel of his naked body against hers.

His eyes fixed on hers, his expression one of grim purpose, he stripped her quickly and then spread her legs for his heated gaze.

She made an embarrassed protest but he ignored her, sliding a warm, leisurely hand from the soft swell of her breast down to the cluster of bright curls that should have hidden her femininity. But he wasn't allowing her to hide. His eyes held hers, increasing the intimacy as his fingers explored her most sensitive flesh with erotic precision.

And it felt wickedly good.

So good that when he gave a low laugh of masculine triumph she didn't even hear him. And if she had heard she wouldn't have cared. She was totally focused on the moment and what he was doing to her body.