The Heat Of Passion

An electrifying silence fell. Carlo dropped her arm as though she had burnt him. Beneath her distraught ga2e, he had tautened. Dark colour had highlighted his blunt cheekbones. 'Is that how you think I am treating you?’ he gritted back at her.

'What do you think?' After that one explosion, Jessica

was drained.

'That was not my intention.' He released his breath

in a hiss. Dully, she looked back at him, her lack of conviction

in that assurance clearly visible.

'I'll go downstairs,' Carlo intoned flatly. 'I suppose I may hope that when I return, you will not have broken out into a rash or got blind drunk in my absence.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Cary Grant and Doris Day... That Touch of Mink,' Carlo supplied sardonically. 'Haven't you ever seen that

movie?'

'I'm afraid not,' she admitted tightly.

'I don't think I'll buy a video. You're doing just great

on your own.'

And he was gone. And she couldn't quite work out how she had managed the feat. Smothering a yawn, she wandered into the bedroom, wondered if he realised that his biggest challenge would be keeping her awake. She rooted through her bag, dug out what she required and went into the bathroom without once looking at the bed.

Maybe he would meet some loose woman down in the bar.

Carlo was very, very good-looking. Funny, how she had sort of blocked that out over the years. Along with so much else. The cliff edge excitement he generated. The swift, volatile changes of mood. She didn't want to think about that afternoon six years ago. The turmoil, the passion, the sobbing utterly soul-shattering pleasure of his mouth and his hands on her body. Briefly she closed her eyes, her skin flaming. She really hadn't realised that the episode could have been anything that special on Carlo's scale of experience.

But evidently it had been. Otherwise why would he be so blatantly impatient to get her into bed? Then, on his terms, nothing very much had happened that long-ago day. A few heated caresses, a little disarranged clothing. But their lovemaking had not gone to its natural conclusion. Carlo had been deprived of that ultimate triumph. And had she come across as some sort of raving sex bomb? She crept into the enormous bed as warmly clad as a great-granny ready for the Blitz in the middle of the night, sheathed from throat to toe in brushed cotton. Why should she make it easy for him?

Tears burned her eyes and crept slowly down her cheeks into the pillow. It was sheer farce... all of it. You are not without experience, Carlo had blithely assumed. A sob tore painfully at her throat. Six years ago she had honestly believed that she had a terribly low sex-drive. Simon had confined himself to occasional rather chaste kisses. Simon had never asked for more. And she had decided that in that field they were as well suited as in every other. Sex did not play a part in their relationship before their marriage. She had been proud of that fact, certain that their bonds were built on far more sturdy foundations than those formed by couples in the heat of passion.

It was frighteningly ironic that Carlo had found her an unbearable temptation then. She just hadn't had a clue how to handle that. It had been an entirely new experience to meet a male who couldn't take his eyes off her, who would use the smallest excuse to touch her and who could turn her scarlet over a dinner table in company just by looking at her.

Yes... Carlo had wanted her. It had been Simon who hadn't wanted her. Simon who got exceedingly drunk on their wedding-night and who continued to drink throughout their fancy honeymoon in the Caribbean without consummating their marriage.

Jessica had gone through hell, reading his lack of interest and his drunkenness as her punishment for her shameless behaviour with Carlo. Guilt had tortured her into a ceaseless circle of blame and unending mortification. It had torn her apart night after night... the belief that she was reaping exactly what she deserved and that she had hurt Simon so badly that he couldn't even bring himself to touch her.

Who did you talk to about something so deeply personal and private? Simon had refused to talk about it, had withdrawn into a shell if she'd dared, and once or twice had taken off for days on end to avoid the subject. Her best friend had stopped being her best friend and become a moody, rarely sober stranger. It took her an incredibly long time to realise that Simon did not want her as a man wanted a woman and that, if she accepted that status quo, he was quite happy to live in a sham marriage and go back to being her best friend again.

She fell asleep wondering how long Carlo would devote to not smoking downstairs and whether he was already regretting their agreement. Regardless, she slept like a log, flattened by complete exhaustion.

And Carlo laughed with a rich appreciation that would have stunned her when he came back upstairs.

CHAPTER FOUR

JESSICA woke up from a long, dreamless sleep, gloriously relaxed. And then she opened her eyes. Carlo was less than six inches away. Dark golden eyes raked mockingly over her startled face. Relaxation vanished. Tension took its place.

'I don't think a woman has ever fallen asleep waiting

for me before. You could be seriously bad for my

ego '

Jessica sat up with a falsely bright smile. 'Gosh, is that the time?' she gasped. 'Why didn't you wake me?'