The Heat Of Passion

'Forget it,' she mumbled, but she never had. That day it had been the last straw when Carlo smoothly suggested she travel round the world with him.

He had said he would 'look after her'. That she could have 'anything her heart desired'. That, unfortunately, he wasn't 'into marriage or serious commitment', as he had put it.

That sadly, 'such arrangements didn't last forever', but he could promise that she would 'have a wonderful time while it did'.

And if that hadn't qualified as an offer to be a travelling tart, she didn't know what did. It had set the final seal of humiliation on their brief intimacy. Carlo hadn't loved her, hadn't cared about her...ha

dn't even respected her. She had just been a stupid girl from a small town very nearly conned into his bed for an hour of entertainment. And then there had been the unholy delight he had demonstrated at the idea of taking her from Simon.

She listened to him running the shower in the bathroom, endured the only slowly subsiding ache in her unsatisfied body. Well, now she knew, didn't she? She knew now that she was still every bit as vulnerable as she had feared. And Carlo had proved his point, she reflected bitterly, stiff with self-loathing. She did want him, probably much as a drug addict craved a fix, knowing that it was dangerous and self-destructive but unable to kill the craving. And if it was humanly possible she hated him more than ever for forcing her to concede that reality. The next three months were going to be a one-way ticket to hell. An exercise in constant humiliation.

Half an hour later, after phoning Dr Guthrie to learn that her father had spent an undisturbed night, she joined

Carlo for breakfast. As she crossed the room towards him, clad in tailored ski pants and a loose green sweater, she was furiously conscious of his critical appraisal.

'Today we go down to London and buy you a new

wardrobe and a ring,' he drawled flatly. "Thursday, we

fly to the Caribbean '

'The Caribbean?' she repeated, losing some of her carefully applied cool front. 'Is that where your father lives?'

He ignored the question. 'That gives you three days to tie up your own affairs here.'

'What about my job?' she suddenly demanded.

'You work?’ Carlo elevated a brow.

'I'm a legal secretary. I'm on holiday right now

because my boss is,' she conceded slowly, biting at her

lower lip. 'He's not likely to give me three months'

leave '

'Tell him you've found more interesting employment.'

'You don't give a damn about me losing my job, do you?' Jessica splintered back.

Impassive dark eyes rested on her angry face. 'When this is over, you can pick yourself a new position in any one of my companies.'

His complete lack of emotion chilled her. There is no sentiment in business, he had told her. A cold, scared sensation deep down inside drove away her appetite.

'No, thanks,' Jessica said jerkily. 'I'll never be that desperate.'

A phone buzzed and Carlo rose fluidly upright.

She found her attention roamed after him, disobedient to her brain. He was wearing an Italian-cut grey suit that fitted him like a glove and screamed expense, sheathing long, lean thighs and squaring broad muscular shoulders. Briefly she squeezed her eyes shut, despising herself.

What was she doing? Dear heaven, what was she doing? It was as if he had conjured up the dark side of

her character and it was insidiously taking her over. Her skin heated, disturbing recollections of an hour past filling her conscious mind, and so real were those images that she could feel the touch of his hands on her flesh, feel the hot, hungry onslaught of his mouth on hers. With a trembling hand she poured herself another coffee, mortified by her own lack of mental discipline. It was tune she got herself back under control... but just how easy was that going to be with Carlo calling all the shots? Perspiration dampened her brow.

A manservant showed Jessica into a beautiful bedroom. He reappeared several times, laden with the day's shopping, and offered to unpack for her. Her skin warming, Jessica said thank you but no and as soon as he was gone she locked the door behind him.

Before today she had not appreciated that the purchase of clothes could be embarrassing...until Carlo took her shopping, that was. She had been trailed round, thrust in ana out of every outfit which attracted him and forced to parade like a concubine for his appraisal in the kind of revealing clothes she would never have chosen for herself.