‘You know me. You know the kind of place I’d be comfortable with.’
‘I don’t know you.’
‘Of course you do. You know me better than any other woman has ever done.’ Riccardo shocked himself with the admission. A whisper of vulnerability threaded its way through his body and he fought it away. ‘I know you probably have ideas on weddings. All women seem to. I am happy to go along with whatever you want. Big, small, fancy, simple…’
‘I don’t care.’
Riccardo watched her downbent face with narrowed eyes, feeling like the executioner dragging someone to the guillotine. Was this how she truly saw him? Still? Was she coming to him defeated, because he had cleverly put her in a position from which she saw no retreat? Dammit, he was trying!
‘Your call. But I won’t sit around waiting. If you don’t care, then you won’t mind getting married quietly in the Register Office at Marylebone.’
Charlotte shrugged. Gina would be over the moon, which was a cheerful thought. ‘What do we do about…?’
‘About what?’
‘About…’
Comprehension dawned, and Riccardo gave her a slow, wolfish smile. ‘Sleeping arrangements? To put it delicately.’
‘You slept in the guest room before.’
‘That was then and this is now,’ Riccardo drawled. ‘When I am your husband, then I have no intention of our marriage being in name only. And there’s no need to look so primly offended at the prospect.’
He pushed himself out of the chair and strolled over to Charlotte, so that he could lean over her, hands on either side of her chair. ‘We both know that when all the talk of our union being for convenience only is over, there is still left the interesting fact that we want one another. Look at you. Eyes as wide as saucers, pupils dilated.’ He lifted one hand and tugged her bottom lip gently with his finger. It was all the more erotic because his eyes remained pinned to her face. ‘Wouldn’t you like me to touch you right here? Right now?’
‘No, I would not!’ What should have been a firm, controlled, maybe even slightly amused protest—because spinsterish outrage had just not been cutting it—emerged as a strangulated gasp for air, with a feeble denial thrown in for good measure.
‘Tut, tut, Charlie. You’ll really have to do a bit better than that…’ He leant into her and covered her mouth with his, sliding his tongue between her lips, which were parted in surprise.
In that split second, Charlotte realised that she was no longer going to fight him. She loved him and she would take what she could, because her previous efforts at self-denial had been painful and futile. Her body melted and she arched up to return his kiss, feeding his hunger with her own. She felt his momentary surprise, and wondered whether he had been expecting her to put up her usual resistance, but then it was as if her response had fired up something in him, something savage and urgent. He pulled her to her feet, backing her slowly but inexorably towards the cool wall until she was pressed back against it.
They managed to remove her jacket without breaking apart, and she helped him as he began unbuttoning her blouse until he could reach inside and caress her aching, tender breasts through the lacy bra.
Riccardo was dimly aware of the inappropriate nature of their surroundings. He was breaking every single one of his own codes of practice by doing what he was doing in the sanctum of his working environment. Women had always been for pleasure, and pleasure had never crossed over into his working life. The two had been kept apart, physically and mentally.