by Abby Green
After the bath, which soothed her tender muscles and her skin, Lara got out and dried herself perfunctorily. She pulled on the voluminous terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door and steeled herself before going into the bedroom.
But it was empty.
She went out through the door and took a deep, shaky breath before going in search of her husband.
* * *
Lara had been a virgin. Innocent. Untouched.
Ciro was feeling such a conflicting mass of emotions and sensations that he couldn’t quite pin down what was most prominent: anger, confusion...or, worst of all, a humiliating level of relief at knowing that he had been Lara’s first lover and not that old man.
With that relief came more confusion and anger, and in the midst of it all was a residual heavy feeling of sexual satisfaction on a level he’d never experienced.
Before, it had been a fleeting thing. Soon forgotten. Much like the women he’d slept with, before. But this satisfaction felt as if it was seared into his bones and as his hunger grew for her again. Already. Insatiably.
There had been a moment out on the terrace, after Lara had said, ‘Please make love to me...’ when for a split second Ciro had been tempted to reject her. As she’d rejected him. And yet even though he might have fantasised about such a moment in the previous two years, when it had been there, right in front of him, he’d been aware of how petty it was.
And also that he didn’t have the strength to reject her. Not when his mouth had been full of her taste and his hands imprinted with the shape of her body.
Madre di Dio.
He heard a noise at that moment.
Lara.
Ciro’s whole body tensed against the inevitable reaction his new bride would precipitate. His new virgin bride.
* * *
Lara tracked Ciro down to a room she hadn’t yet been in. A state-of-the-art modern study with humming computers and shelves full of books and periodicals.
He was standing at a window which looked out over the sea. He’d dressed in low-slung faded jeans and a T-shirt. Bare feet. Messy damp hair. She could see his face reflected in the window. The long white line of his scar. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, which pulled the material of his jeans taut across the perfect globes of his bottom.
Her heart thumped. ‘Ciro...look...’
He turned around and she saw the full extent of his anger on his face. ‘Dio, Lara. How the hell were you still a virgin?’
‘How did you know?’
Even as she asked the question she wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. A man as experienced as Ciro? Of course he’d known. He wasn’t some boorish bully like her first husband had been.
He emitted a harsh-sounding laugh. ‘How did I know? I felt it in your body and there was blood on the sheets.’
A hot wash of humiliation rushed up under Lara’s skin. She hadn’t even noticed the blood. She felt utterly gauche. She pulled the robe around her, tightening it.
Ciro sent her a dark look. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’
Lara noticed a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Can I have a drink, please?’ She needed something if this was going to be the tone of their conversation.
Ciro went over and asked tightly, ‘Brandy?’
Lara shook her head. ‘No—anything but that.’
He poured something into a glass, then came and handed it to her. ‘It’s whisky. What do you have against brandy?’
Lara took the glass, relieved that Ciro was distracted from his inevitable questions for a moment. ‘Brandy reminds me of funerals. When my parents and brother died my uncle made me drink some. He said it was for the shock but it made me sick.’
She took a sip of the whisky, wincing at the tart, acrid taste. It slid down her throat and landed in her stomach, sending out a glow of warmth. But she knew it was just illusory and wouldn’t last.
‘How old were you?’
Lara glanced at Ciro warily. ‘Thirteen.’
‘You were close as a family?’
Lara nodded, her hand clasping the glass. ‘The closest. My parents loved each other and they loved me and Alex. We were a very happy family.’
Ciro surprised her by saying, ‘You were lucky to have had that, even if only for a short while. My father loved my mother, but it was a suffocating love and she wasn’t happy to be adored by just one man. After he died she remarried within a month. She’s now on husband number three—or four. I’ve lost count.’
The careless tone in Ciro’s voice didn’t fool Lara. He couldn’t be immune to the fact that his mother had failed to be the kind of mother every child deserved. No wonder he was so cynical.
Ciro sat back against his desk, and folded his arms. The reprieve was over. ‘So. Are you going to explain to me how you were married but still a virgin?’
Lara took another fortifying sip of whisky and sat down on a chair behind her. Her legs didn’t feel steady all of a sudden. She looked up at Ciro and then away. She didn’t want to see his expression.
‘On our wedding night Henry came into my bedroom expecting to—’ She stopped.
‘Go on.’
Lara felt sick. She looked at him. ‘Do we really have to discuss this now?’
Ciro nodded. Grim.
He stood up and pulled over a chair so that he was opposite Lara, sat down. She knew he wouldn’t budge until she’d told him the ugly truth.
‘On our wedding night he came into my bedroom... He...we’d agreed that we wouldn’t share a room. I somehow...obviously naively...assumed that would mean he wouldn’t try to...’ She faltered and stopped.
‘Try to...what? Sleep with his new wife? A natural expectation, I would have thought.’
Lara hated Ciro’s faintly scathing tone. It scraped along all the raw edges of the memories crowding her head. She stood up and went over to where he’d been standing, at the window. She could see dark clouds massing over the sea and the white edges of rough waves. There was a storm approaching.
It was easier to talk when Ciro wasn’t looking at her. ‘He came into the bedroom. He’d been drinking all day so he was very drunk. He grabbed my nightdress and ripped it. Before I could stop him he’d pushed me backwards onto the bed. I was in shock... I couldn’t move for a moment... He was so heavy and I couldn’t breathe...’
Lara didn’t even hear Ciro move. He caught her arm and turned her around to face him. She’d never seen that expression on his face before—disgust mixed with pure anger.
‘He tried to rape you?’
Lara nodded. ‘I thought we had an agreement...that he was just marrying me for appearances. He was old... I didn’t think...’ She trailed off, humiliated by her naivety all over again.
Ciro was grim. ‘Old men’s libidos can be voracious.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Did you really think he wouldn’t demand sex from you?’
Lara pulled her arm free and moved away. Some liquid slopped out of her glass and she looked at the carpet in dismay.
‘Leave it—it’s nothing.’
Ciro took the glass and put it down. Lara flinched minutely at the clatter against the silver tray.
‘But he didn’t rape you?’
Lara looked at Ciro, remembering how thinking of him had given her the strength to deal with Henry Winterborne. ‘No. I managed to kick him off me...somehow. He was unsteady from the drink. He fell backwards. He injured himself badly in the fall...and he was in a wheelchair for the rest of our marriage. Eventually he had a stroke—that’s how he died.’
Lara couldn’t excise the memory of Henry Winterborne’s bitter words from her head. ‘You little bitch—you’ll pay for this. Your only currency is your beauty and innocence. Why the hell do you think I paid so much for you?’
Fresh humiliation washed over her in a sickening wave. She hadn’t even known until
then the full extent of her uncle’s machinations—that he’d actually sold her like a slave girl. Ciro didn’t know the half of it.
Ciro was reeling. All he could see in his mind’s eye was that paunchy old man shoving Lara down onto a bed and then climbing on top of her like a rutting bull. Anger bubbled in his blood. No, worse—a ferocious fury that she had put herself in harm’s way like that.
‘Was the prospect of marrying me really so repulsive that you would choose a man capable of rape over me? Dio, Lara...’
He turned around and speared a hand through his hair, not wanting her to see the emotions he couldn’t control. He’d thought he’d underestimated her before. This put a whole new perspective on her ambition.
She stayed silent. Not responding.
Ciro steeled himself before turning. Wild dishevelled blonde hair trailed over her shoulders. The robe had fallen apart slightly, to reveal the plump globes of her high firm breasts. Breasts he could still feel in his hands and on his tongue...
Her eyes were huge and he hated her ability still to look so...innocent. Even when he’d just taken that innocence in a conflagration that had left him feeling hollowed out and yet hungry for more.
He felt the need to push her away. Gain some distance. He couldn’t think when she was so close. When she was telling him things...putting images into his mind that made him want to go out and put a fist through the face of a man who was already dead.
Her silence grated on his nerves. It was as if there was something she was withholding.
‘Was it that important to you? Status?’
Her eyes flashed. ‘You have some nerve when you’ve admitted you only wanted to marry me for one thing—my connections.’
Ciro’s gut was a mass of tangled emotions he really didn’t want to investigate. But this woman had always touched more than just his body. A minute ago he’d wanted to put push her away and now he needed to touch her. Damn her.
He closed the distance between them, noting with satisfaction how a line of pink scored each of her cheeks. She couldn’t hide her reaction. It was the only honest thing between them.
He slid a hand around the back of her neck, felt the silky fall of her hair brushing his hand. ‘Not just for your connections, cara mia, but also because I wanted you. Your social connections and impeccable breeding were a bonus.’
Ciro’s words dropped like the poisoned barbs they were into Lara’s heart. And yet could she blame him when she’d convinced him that she’d never intended to marry him?
She pulled away, hating the way her body was reacting to his proximity. Excitement was building already, heat melting her core. She was still so sensitised she was afraid that if he even kissed her it would be enough to send her over the edge.
‘Well, you’ve had me now. I’m sure the novelty is already waning.’
Ciro easily closed the distance between them again, and this time he took Lara’s elbows in his hands, tugging her towards him. All she could see was that wicked sculpted mouth, and all she could think about was how it had felt on her body. Against her skin.
‘Waning? I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, cara, and you’ve haunted me for two years. Believe me, once is nowhere near enough to sate my appetite.’
His mouth was on hers and Lara couldn’t formulate another word. All she knew was that for a while at least there would be no more cruel words. Her heart was pounding, blood flowing to every tender part of her...
Ciro swung Lara up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. She knew she should protest, try to reclaim some minute modicum of dignity, but as he carried her back upstairs she couldn’t help but think of how she’d endured two barren years of regretting the fact that she hadn’t slept with Ciro.
So she wasn’t going to regret a single moment now. No matter how much Ciro might resent her for this inconvenient desire he felt. It would burn out, sooner or later, and this time, when Lara walked away, she would have no regrets.
* * *
When Lara woke the following morning she was in her own bed. Naked. The French doors were open and the white drapes were moving gently in a warm breeze. She grabbed for a sheet, pulling it up over her chest even though she was alone.
She had a very vague memory of Ciro carrying her into this room as dawn had been breaking over the horizon, the storm clouds of the previous night banished.
Silly to feel bereft when he’d told her he didn’t think it necessary for them to share a room. After all, he wasn’t interested in morning-after intimacy. In a way, Lara should be grateful that this time around all the romantic illusions she’d harboured were well and truly shattered.
She tried to absorb everything that had happened in the space of twenty-four hours but it was overwhelming. This time yesterday she’d still been a single woman, on her way to get married.
She’d still been a virgin.
And now...she felt transformed.
She didn’t want to admit that Ciro’s touch had had some kind of mystical effect on her—but it was true. In spite of the way he felt about her, his touch had soothed something inside her—the lonely place she’d retreated to for the past two years in a bid to survive an impossible situation.
She heard a familiar low rumble and got out of bed to investigate, pulling on a robe as she did so. She went over to the French doors that led out to the balcony, knotting the robe around her.
Hesitantly she peeked over the railings, to see Ciro standing on the terrace below. He was dressed in those faded jeans and another T-shirt and Lara’s mouth dried. He reminded her too painfully of when they’d first met in Florence and he’d been casually dressed. When she’d fallen in love with him.
At that moment Ciro turned around and looked up. Lara stepped back hastily, her heart spasming. Love. Did she still love him?
No. The rejection of such a disturbing thought was swift and brutal.
How could she still love a man who had betrayed her as much as he believed she’d betrayed him? After years of protecting herself from the pain of loss Ciro had come along and smashed aside her petty defences. Leaving her vulnerable all over again. She’d never forgive him for that.
Enduring all the things she had, had made her strong. Strong enough to withstand this marriage so she could finally move on with her life, her conscience salved. But the little whispers of that conscience told her that as much as she might try to justify why she was doing this, she wouldn’t be here unless deeper motives were involved. Far more personal motives.
After all, if she’d really wanted to she could have told Ciro the full truth from the start. Or even last night, when she’d had a chance. But she hadn’t. Why?
She knew the answer. Because however much he disliked her now—resented her, even, for this desire that burned between them—he would truly despise her if he knew about her uncle and his involvement in the kidnapping and ruination of their wedding. In the very public humiliation Ciro had gone through.
Lara knew that after eroding Ciro’s trust in her so effectively he would never believe she hadn’t had a part in it... She also knew it would be another huge blow to his pride to find out that she’d known who was behind the attack. He’d never forgive her for that.
There was a peremptory knock at her door and Lara whirled around, expecting to see Isabella. But it was Ciro. Immediately her belly clenched at the memory of how he’d felt between her legs, surging into her body over and over again.
‘Buon giorno, mia moglie.’
There was something so palpably satisfied about his tone that Lara injected as much coolness into her voice as she could when she answered. ‘Good morning.’
‘I’ve decided that we’re leaving today. We’ve been invited to an event in London tonight.’
Feeling prickly at how cool he appeared to be after a night in which her world had been seismically altered, she said
, ‘You mean you’ve been invited.’
Ciro leant against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘No, we’ve been invited. To the Royal Opening of the Summer Exhibition at the Longleat Gallery.’
Lara was impressed. Henry Winterborne had been incandescent with rage last year when he hadn’t received an invitation to the opening. He’d blamed her, of course.
Ciro straightened up. ‘Isabella is on her way up with a breakfast tray. We’ll leave in an hour. I’ve arranged for a stylist to deliver some clothes to the townhouse in London, so you don’t need to pack.’
He walked away and Lara breathed out slowly, her pounding pulse mocking her attempts to affect the same coolness as Ciro exuded so effortlessly. But then what had she expected? Morning-after cuddles and tender enquires as to how she might be feeling?
Lara turned around to the view again. She would be sorry to leave Sicily so soon, but at the same time she was a little relieved. It had been a cataclysmic twenty-four hours and it would surely be easier to deal with Ciro and try to maintain some emotional distance from him in a busy city surrounded by people, than here, in this effortlessly seductive and intimate environment.
CHAPTER SIX
CIRO WAS AWARE that he should be feeling more satisfied than he was. And that irritated the hell out of him.
Lara was standing a few feet away, a vision in a long yellow evening dress. She effortlessly stood out from the crowd. The dress was one-shouldered, revealing the alluring curve of her bare shoulder and the top of her back. A decorative jewel held the dress over her other shoulder. All it needed was a flick of his fingers and it would be undone, letting the dress fall down to expose her beautiful breasts—
Basta! Ciro cursed his overheated imagination.
Her hair was smoothed back and tied low at the nape of her neck in a loose bun. Long diamond earrings glittered from her ears. She wore minimal make-up. She epitomised cool elegance, and yet all he could think about was the fire that lay under her pale skin. The ardent passion with which she’d made love to him last night. It was hard to believe she’d been a novice...but she had been. And that bugged him like a thorn under his skin.
