Second Marriage

'I know what Attilio is,' he shot back violently, 'and also what he would like to be to you. Moreover, you know it too—full well. Given half a chance—'

'He didn't get half a chance.' How could you love someone so much that it tore you apart inside at the same time as wanting to leap on them and bite and scratch and destroy? she asked herself dazedly.

'No?' It was said with magnificent scorn. 'You could have fooled me.'

'Why should I want to do that?' she asked bitterly. 'Why are we even having this conversation? All that could be said was said earlier. I mean nothing to you beyond a romp between the sheets—a quick lay.' It was crude and it was blunt and it was exactly what was send­ing her half-mad with pain and regret, but she knew the second the words left her lips that she had gone too far.

She wanted to turn and run at the look on his face as he towered over her, his eyes glittering with unholy fire, but she was frozen to the spot, utterly terrified. She could hear the sounds of the party in the distance, feel the soft warmth of the Italian night on her skin, smell the sweet perfume of summer all around, but here, in this private little spot, she was completely at his mercy—and she had never been so scared in her life.

'This is what you believe?' he asked tautly. 'This is why you were allowing that moron to hold you, kiss you? And what would have come next if I had not made an appearance?' A hard hand fastened on her wrist as her wits returned and she took a step backwards, ready for flight. 'Answer me, Claire, what would have come next?' he bit out grimly, his grip tightening to steel on her soft flesh as he pulled her close to him again. 'A walk in the garden among the shadows of night? An intimate little interlude when he told you hew much he loved you, that he could not live without you, that he must have you?'

'And what if he did?' she bit out furiously, her fright swallowed in the red-hot rage that was pulsing through her body in ever-increasing ferocity. 'I'm a free agent, aren't I? Just like you, Romano. No strings, no com­mitments, a little fun here and a light affair there—'

'You are not like that!' The words were torn out of him and he shook her none too gently, his eyes blazing. 'Dammit, Claire…' She tried to turn her head as she realised his intention but his lips captured hers before she could escape him, and in spite of everything—his arrogance, his accusations, the sheer unreasonableness of it all—she felt herself melt into him as her love for him took over.

It was crazy, madness. She was behaving like those women she had always secretly despised even whilst pitying them—women who allowed themselves to be treated as doormats, who became walking zombies con­trolled by the partners they adored… The thoughts were there, in the raging tumult of her head, but they carried no weight. He was holding her, kissing her, and that was all that mattered.

Maybe, if he had been rough, threatening, using his superior male strength to dominate and subdue, she might have been able to fight the weakness that had in­vaded her limbs. Maybe. But he was none of those things. He was cradling her against the broad, hard ex­panse of his chest, his mouth passionately tender and his strong hands moving over her body in an agony of desire as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth. 'Claire, Claire…' His voice was a desperate murmur against her lips. 'I want you. I want you so badly…'

And she wanted him, more than he would ever know, she thought helplessly. Would it be so bad to take one night, one magical night of love that would have to last her for the rest of her life? She drove herself deeper into the hard frame of him, her response firing the desire that was shaking his body still more as his hand twisted the rich silk of her hair, bringing her head back and allowing him greater access to her mo

uth, her throat, the soft swell of her breasts.

She was quivering in his arms, he could almost taste her moistness, and the white-hot fire that was ravaging his body with a desire that was indescribable had taken him beyond the brink of holding back. This was what he had feared when he came here tonight. It had to stop—he had to stop. But he had never known anything like this before… The thoughts were tearing through his brain even as he lowered her onto the soft warm grass, the cool, hard control that he had prided himself on all his life consumed by heat.

'Claire?'

Grace's voice, made sharp by worry, cut through the night like a whistling blade, and had much the same effect on the two people hearing it.

'Claire? Where are you? Are you all right?'

Romano rose instantly, lifting Claire to her feet almost without her being aware of it, and then steadying her as she stood swaying, her eyes enormous and dazed and her hair tousled.

'We are here, Grace.' His voice was cold and con­tained, his handsome face dark and imperious with no hint of the passion that had consumed it moments earlier, and the shock of the transformation brought Claire to her senses like a douche of cold water would have done. She pulled herself from his hold, smoothing her hair with shaking hands and adjusting her clothing moments be­-fore Grace rounded the corner, stopping abruptly at the sight of them standing stiff and stony-faced in front of her.

'Are…are you all right?' Grace asked uncertainly as she glanced at Claire. 'I…Attilio said you had gone to talk to Romano and that you had been some time. He thought there might be something wrong.'

'But as you can see he was mistaken,' Romano said, with a silkiness that told Claire the other man's inter­ference was something he would not forget. 'Claire is quite safe.'

'Oh, I didn't think…' Grace's voice trailed away for a moment before she drew herself up a little straighter and said, her voice resolute and determined, 'Do you want to come back to the party, Claire?'

Sisterhood. Romano's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Grace move close to Claire and put an arm round her waist. He had heard of the phenomenon, of course, but the bright social butterflies and hard busi­nesswomen he usually came into contact with didn't consider that sort of thing important. It was the final irony that of all the women he had known the only two that he could fully respect, one of whom he loved like a sister and the other, the other… He closed his mind to the searing groan at the heart of him. Both were now united against him. Dammit…

'Romano?' There was a faint thread of hope in Claire's voice, and something else—something that twisted his guts into knots. 'Do you want to…to say anything else?'

They stared at each other for a long, long moment, the tall, ruthlessly handsome and dangerously powerful man, and the slight, fair-skinned English girl.

Yes—yes, he wanted to say more, much more. He wanted to explain how it really was, appeal to that soft, voluptuous warmth that was at the heart of her, wrap himself in it, submerge all the torment and agony and just let it enfold him like a comforting blanket.

He wanted to possess her—hell, did he want to pos­sess her… He was still as hard as a rock at the thought of what might have been if Grace hadn't interrupted them. He wanted to drive deep into that soft female body, fill it, stretch it until there was no room in her mind for anything but him. He wanted to take her to the brink of fulfilment and spend time touching and tasting her until they tipped over into the abyss of sensual pleas­ure that was pure undiluted sensation, and then he wanted to do it all over again.

He wanted to see her face as he possessed her so completely that he became her world, to feel every tiny movement, each rhythmic undulation that he knew he could bring forth from that warm, secret place deep in­side the core of her.

He wanted… He wanted her—mind, soul and body— and the desire for the first two left him with no option but to walk away. He had known he shouldn't come here tonight; it had been an act of inexcusable self-indulgence, a need to justify himself, to explain the unexplainable. He couldn't take her into the hell he in­habited!—

'Romano?'

The bewildered, tentative whisper was the final straw, and he stared at her one last time, his eyes taking in every contour of her face, the vulnerability in the liquid brown eyes, the tremulous quiver that her mouth was trying so hard to hide, and his own straightened into a thin, grim line.