The Forbidden Ferrara

Ignoring her, he leaned his head back. ‘You’re the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met, you do know that, don’t you?’

‘You talk to me of aggravating?’ She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘When I needed you most you were nowhere to be seen and now I don’t need you I can’t get rid of you. That’s aggravating. Go back to your other women, Cristiano.’

‘Which one? According to you, I have a harem.’

‘I’m sure any one of them would provide you with the slavish adoration you need.’ Laurel felt the solid warmth of his arm pressing against her. He smelled so good, she thought dizzily. Her senses were heightened, her skin tingling and her nerve endings buzzing. Recognising the danger signs, she felt a stab of alarm. She needed him to leave. Either that or she needed to leave but she didn’t have the available breath. Or anywhere to go. ‘Your problem is that you think women are a homogeneous group. You think we all think and feel in the same way.’

‘You’re wasting precious breath spouting rubbish.’ ‘You think we’re an inferior species.’ He threw back his head and laughed at that. ‘Is that the best you can do to pick a fight? Now I know you’re feeling bad.’

‘I just want you to go.’

‘Sì, I know.’ His voice was low and rough. ‘But I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I find it stressful you being here.’

It was a moment before he answered. ‘Why?’

The sounds of the night intruded on the silence. The rhythmic chirruping of the cicadas and the soft swish of sea on sand. Romance intruding where it had no business.

‘A million reasons.’

The tension pulsed between them and Laurel pressed her hands to the ground, intending to lever herself away from him, but his hand clamped over hers.

‘Name one.’

‘Because our marriage is over. And because you always want everything your own way. There, I gave you two.’ She tugged, but he was stronger. ‘Let me go. My legs are numb. I need to move.’

‘Of course you do. Whenever the conversation becomes uncomfortable you want to move. Usually as fast as possible in the opposite direction.’ He levered himself to his feet. ‘I’ll allow you to go as far as the bed.’ Without giving her the opportunity to argue, he scooped her into his arms.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake—I can walk. I don’t need all this macho stuff. I’ve told you, it does nothing for me.’ Her breathing felt strange again but this time she knew it had nothing to do with her asthma and everything to do with being this close to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, telling herself it was just for support. Nothing else.

The doors were open to the beach and a slight breeze cooled the air as he laid her gently on the bed.

He removed his jacket and slung it carelessly over the sofa. Then he piled the pillows up behind her. ‘Better?’ At her reluctant nod his mouth tightened. ‘When did your asthma become this bad? In all the time we were together I only saw you have an attack once and that was when my pilot had to make an emergency landing and some fool told you about it.’

She didn’t even want to think about the terror of that day. Not now, when she was working on forgetting what they’d shared in the past. ‘You and I were in the middle of a huge project. I didn’t want you dying and leaving me with all the work.’

The corners of his mouth tilted in appreciative humour. ‘Of course. You were worried about the workload. It wasn’t because I rocked your world.’

‘I didn’t see enough of you for you to rock my world. At the most you were a faint tremble.’

‘So if I had so little impact on your life, why did you pack two inhalers to come to this wedding?’

‘Are there two in my bag?’ She feigned surprise and his lashes swept down over his eyes, concealing

his expression, but not before she’d seen the flash of exasperation.

‘I wish you would learn to be honest about your feelings.’

‘I wish you would learn not to let your feelings spill out. I suppose I have to make allowances for the fact you’re Sicilian.’

‘Allowances?’

It was a relief to know she could still irritate him. Two minutes, she thought, and then he’d be ranting in Italian and storming out. She was relying on it. ‘Being Sicilian is a handicap in life,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘Being emotional is welded into your DNA. You can’t help it.’

‘Not everyone is afraid of emotions.’ He undid the cuffs of his shirt in a slow, deliberate movement. ‘But you are. Terrified. Two-inhalers terrified.’

She wondered why he was removing his jacket when what he should really be doing was redoing his bow tie and returning to the party.