Second Marriage

OK, so he could cook, Claire thought with a slight touch of despair, the two enormous glasses of flowery white wine she had consumed along with the meal mak­ing her head swim slightly as she looked into the dark, handsome face opposite her. So what? It should be com­pulsory for men anyway!

'Coffee?' Romano's voice was deep and soft and did something indescribable to her hormones. 'Or perhaps you would prefer a glass of grappa?'

'No, thank you, just coffee.' Donato always had grappa served at the end of a meal—a spirit distilled from grapeskins made in Bassano which was alleged to help digestion—but, like Grace, she didn't care for it. 'And that was a lovely meal, Romano. I have to say you are a very good cook.'

'Thank you.' He bowed his head slightly and then his mouth twisted in a crooked smile as he said, 'And you did not like having to say it, did you? It slightly spoils the neat little picture you have tucked away in your brainbox, that of male chauvinist pig, eh? But you will find many Italian men know how to cook, Claire, I am not unique.'

You aren't far off, she thought glumly as she smiled carefully and hoped he didn't realise she was very slightly tipsy.

He had kept refilling her glass every few minutes throughout the long, leisurely meal, keeping her enter­tained with amusing light stories that didn't betray for one moment anything of the man beneath the outward shell, and she had drunk far more than she realised. Not enough to betray any intoxication, but just enough to feel slightly mellow and relaxed. And she couldn't afford to feel relaxed around Romano; she needed to keep her wits sharp and her head clear.

'We will have coffee in the sitting room.' He moved her chair back as he spoke so she was forced to rise and accompany him to the room she had first seen, to leave the more formal splendour of the dining room where she had felt things were under control, sitting as they had been on either side of the large polished dining table with plenty of hard wood between them.

'Sit down, Claire.' Quite how he managed it she wasn't sure, but instead of the chair she had aimed for she found herself sitting on one of the richly upholstered divans scattered about the room, and within moments, or so it seemed, he was back with a tray of coffee, the aroma of which perfumed the air deliciously.

She didn't know whether to be furiously outraged or relieved when he seated himself in a chair opposite, plac­ing the tray on a coffee-table which he moved between them. Well, so much for her suspicions that she was about to be seduced in spite of all his fine words, she told herself wryly. That would teach her to keep her imagination under control. He clearly fancied the bust of Venus that stood in one corner of the dining room more than her!

It was as she reached for the cup of coffee he was handing her, her mind only half on what she was doing, that the accident happened, and scalding hot coffee poured all over her legs as the cup tilted crazily and then left the saucer altogether.

The thick denim of her skirt saved her from bad burns, but it was still fiercely hot and hurt like mad, and as she leapt up with a strangled scream, her hands patting fran­tically at her legs, he was beside her in a second.

'Cold water.'

'What?'

When in the next moment she found herself whisked up into his arms and swiftly carried out of the room and up the stairs, she felt all reason beginning to cloud. The pain was severe, but it wasn't that which was making her head spin—or the wine either, come to that. He had lifted her up as though she were a tiny child, his strength formidable, and now, as he walked quickly to one of the bathrooms, holding her securely against the hard wall of his chest, she could feel his heart thudding against her soft flesh, and the sensual, intoxicating smell of him en­veloping her until she knew she wouldn't be able to stand when he placed her on her feet.

'Get that off.'

'What?' She stared at him appalled, shocked out of her thoughts as he sat her in a big cane chair next to the shower which he then turned on to cold, directing the jet of water downwards.

'Your flesh will still be burning. You need to take the heat out of it. Get your skirt off,' he said firmly, 'now.'

'You go out, then.' She stared at him anxiously.

'No way. You've had a shock and you might be un­steady on your feet,' he said impatiently. 'I'm not asking you to strip off, woman, merely to remove your skirt. You will still be decent, with a lot more clothing than if you were on the beach.'

She couldn't. She just couldn't. Her hand instinctively covered the faint silver lines that criss-crossed her flat stomach and she felt panic grip her. The jumper she was wearing only reached her waist, and her tiny bikini briefs covered only the bare essentials. He would see…

'Look, I'll turn my back while you take it off and just stand here so you can call out if you feel faint or some­thing.' He was clearly on the point of losing his temper, as his next words proved. 'I'm not going to leap on you when you are at a disadvantage, damn it, and I promise you I won't come within a foot of your body, but get under the damn shower!'

She got under the damn shower, stripping off the skirt as the cold water played over her hot legs, and almost immediately relieved the pain. Unfortunately within mo­ments her top was soaking too, the spray covering it despite the downward pointing jet, and as she stood there, dripping wet and freezing cold, with Romano's back to her but his body still managing to express of­fended outrage, she was seized by the most absurd desire to laugh. So much for her careful preparations for this night out, she thought ruefully. She was now more like a drowned rat than anything else.

'How long have I got to stand here?' she asked meekly after a few minutes, when her legs and torso had gone completely numb. 'I'm freezing.'

'Ten minutes in all—five minutes more,' he said gruffly. 'Do you think you'll be OK if I go and clear up the mess downstairs?'

'Yes.' She paused a moment and then said, 'I'm…I'm wet all over, I'm afraid. I couldn't borrow a robe or something, could I?'

'No, I shall expect you to go home dripping wet or stark naked,' he said with cutting sarcasm. 'Of course you can borrow a damn robe. There's one in the cup­board in the far corner, along with fresh towels if you need them.'

'Thank you.' In view of her position, she kept her voice meek.

Once he had left she duly waited the requisite five minutes and then stepped out of the shower and towelled herself dry. Her legs were only faintly pink now, and didn't hurt at all apart from being slightly tender at the very point where the liquid had first hit. After stripping off all her clothes she rummaged in the cupboard, which was stocked with enough towels to supply a leisure cen­tre, finding a huge fluffy towelling robe in dark blue at the very back with a pair of matching towelling slippers that were twice the size of her small feet.

She left the dripping wet clothes in the bottom of the shower for now and padded out onto the landing, her hair still in its high knot on top of her head and the robe trailing on the floor behind her as she made her way downstairs, the voluminous sleeves rolled back several times yet still managing to bury her hands. She had never felt such a fool in her life.

'Hello.' She stood still at the entrance to the sitting room, not sure if he was asleep or merely shutting his eyes, but knowing that the sight of him, spread out in the chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his hands behind his head, was certainly getting her circulation in full flow again after the numbing effects of the water.