Second Marriage

'Was that a veiled compliment?' he asked in mocking surprise. 'Careful, you're slipping. I'm the big, bad wolf, remember, and you, you're Little Red Riding Hood,' he finished softly, touching her silky, shining hair with ca­ressing fingers before pulling her into his chest again.

She couldn't stand this. If anyone had told her it was possible to want someone so badly that to be with them was a physical torture she wouldn't have believed it, but there was a hard, grinding ache in her heart region and a sensual warmth in every nerve and sinew that was tearing her apart. And Bianca had had him for five or six years. Had woken up beside him, laughed with him, shared the little intimacies of marriage that were so pre­cious and private, made love with him in the warmth of long Italian nights…

'Claire…' She heard him breathe her name into the scented silk of her hair as he moulded her against him, and then she felt it, with a tiny shock of blinding pleas­ure—the arousal he couldn't hide.

He wanted her. She shut her eyes tight for a moment and resisted the impulse to raise her head and search for his hard, uncompromising mouth. He wanted her; his body wanted her. Whatever he still felt for Bianca, what­ever his heart said, physically he wanted her very much indeed.

'You are beautiful, do you know that?' His voice was whisper-soft and had the effect of sending heat into every pulse-beat. 'So, so beautiful. Your skin is like cream…'

Cream? She thought of the silver threads on her stom­ach, faint now but there nevertheless, and felt herself stiffen.

'Do not be frightened.' He had sensed her withdrawal and misunderstood the reason for it, his voice husky now as he put her slightly from him. 'I know how you feel about me, and I am not about to force my attentions on you because this…chemistry that you spoke of has reared its head again.' His voice was rueful and she sud­denly hated him for it. She wanted him to be devastated, torn apart like she was. 'Just relax, Claire,' he said thickly. 'We're two adult people—surely we can enjoy each other's company for a few hours with no strings attached?'

What did that mean? She wanted to ask him, but he had drawn her back against him, and being held against that hard, masculine frame drove all lucid thought from her head, bringing the senses of touch and taste and smell blindingly alive.

They were on the dance floor for over an hour and he kissed her more than once, bending his night-black head and teasing her lips until they opened under his, only releasing her mouth when he felt her full submission.

She had known deep inside that he was a sensual man, in spite of the cold facade he presented to the world; it was there in the coal-black eyes and firm sexy mouth, the hard, lean body. But the hour on the dance floor was a revelation on how to make love in a room full of peo­ple. His body was doing incredible things to hers, as hers was to him—-his arousal hot and fierce against the thin material between them—and when she allowed her thoughts to roam further, and imagine what it would be like if they were alone, it made her feel faint.

When the floor-show began they returned to their seats, and she knew she wouldn't have been able to walk but for the firm, hard hand at her elbow. And although she kept her eyes on the big, buxom female singer, with the voice of an angel and the figure of a traditional Italian mamma, she was aware of every tiny movement he made, every move of his hands and turn of his head.

They left the restaurant just after eleven, stepping into a cool, fragrant night that was lit with the ethereal allure of millions of tiny stars and the round glow of a full moon, and as they walked to the Ferrari she knew she was trembling and hoped desperately he couldn't feel it through his hand on her arm. She had never felt so vul­nerable in her life—not only because of the physical attraction that was so raw and powerful, but also because he had embedded himself in the very quintessence of her mind.

And he didn't want her at all. Oh, his body might seek to slake the need their nearness had aroused, but that was as far as it went. He was a sensual, passionate man and he had been married for a good number of years. No doubt he had been used to making love regu­larly before he was married too, she added bitterly as Romano opened the passenger door and she slid inside the beautiful car.

But her as a person? A woman? A real flesh-and-blood human being with problems and desires and the whole hundred per cent that went with any sort of com­mitment? No, he had made it crystal-clear he wasn't into any of that, And probably, more than probably, if he saw her naked even the desire wouldn't be there. He had been used to perfection and that was hard to compete with—not that she ever could have before the accident, but since…

What, if she was being honest, could she offer a man like him? she asked herself as he walked round the Ferrari's bonnet to the driver's side. He had everything; he'd always had everything. Wealth, power, good looks, and no doubt his marriage had been a bed of roses that would always be measured, even if he was unaware of it, against any other relationship.

'That is an oh, so serious face,' he said easily as he slid into the car, and when she didn't answer he tilted her chin and looked deep into her eyes f

or a moment before kissing her lightly on the mouth. 'Let's get out of here, shall we?'

Was that it? she asked herself helplessly, not sure if she was relieved or furiously angry, although she sus­pected the latter. After that hour of seduction, and that was what it had been—she discounted the fact that she had been there every inch of the way—was he just going to drive her home and deliver her to Grace like a missing parcel?

He wasn't. When the car stopped a few moments later in a quiet, secluded pull-in surrounded by wispy trees and bushes, she stared at him as he cut the engine.

'I would like to kiss you, Claire, properly.' He turned to face her in the shadows, the quiet of the night making her feel they were the only two people alive in the world. 'I have wanted to kiss you properly all night.'

What on earth had he been doing in the restaurant if not kissing her properly? she thought bewilderedly. But then she found out.

He leant forward and caught her mouth fiercely, and instantly the need was there, raging, overpoweringly strong, taking control of her thoughts, her mind, in a devouring fire that was quite unstoppable. Her lips opened beneath his and he plundered her mouth, the kiss becoming deeper and deeper until the taste and scent of him spun and whirled in her head.

She twisted closer to him, and she knew her action surprised him, her love for him making her sensitive to every movement and reaction of his body, and then his hands began to move over her body in an agony of de­sire, his harsh, ragged breathing and hungry mouth firing her passion still more.

She couldn't believe what was happening to her. She had never thought of herself as particularly sensual—in fact she had been able to control herself, and Jeff, with a minimum of effort—but this, this was something quite different. She wanted to belong to him, to drown in him, to get as close as she possibly could.

The need he aroused was consuming, overwhelming, dangerous. And he had spelt out just how dangerous. He hadn't pretended he was in love with her, given her any sort of line, in fact he had been brutally honest from the first moment they had met. And she could feed herself excuses again—the romantic setting, the wine and so on—but when was she going to face the fact that she was a convenient commodity, like a packaged loaf of bread when one was hungry? The voice in her head was like a douche of cold water.

'Romano?' She pulled away violently, her vision blurred and her heart beating frantically. 'I need to…I need to ask you something,' she stammered painfully.

'No, not now.' His hands were powerful and strong, his voice thick and husky as he pulled her against him again.

'Yes, now.' She avoided his searching mouth and said, 'Can this ever mean anything to you? Beyond a brief…relationship, that is?' She had been going to say 'affair' but couldn't bring herself to voice the word, knowing she was on the verge of taking just that, dev­astating though it would be.

'Claire, what is this?'

'I need to know.' Despite the wild clamour of her heart, the desire to be closer and closer, she found the strength to ask even as she knew the inevitability of his answer.