by Sarah Morgan
But even as everything in her caught fire, a small part of her brain came back to life, ignited by some sense of self-preservation too powerfully ingrained to be completely silenced even in circumstances as intense as these.
Poised on the edge of oblivion, Izzy tried to speak but his mouth was on hers and the heat of that kiss shimmered through her, muting sound.
She flattened her hands on his shoulders and tried again.
No sound emerged but something must have communicated itself to him because for a fraction of a second he paused and that brief interlude was enough to shake her out of the sexual trance that gripped her.
‘No.’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘No—’
His eyes were black as night. ‘Izzy—’
‘Condom.’ It was all she could manage to say and she could have sobbed with frustration when he froze because, although they had to stop, she didn’t want to. She desperately hoped he’d just reach into his pocket and whip out the goods but he stayed utterly still, as if unable to move, his breathing harsh and uneven.
Then he lowered her gently to the ground and pushed her skirt down. For a moment he stayed still, his forehead resting against his arm as he struggled for control. Then he breathed deeply and hauled himself away from her, turning so that she couldn’t see his face.
She had no idea what he was thinking but she had a fair idea.
‘Matteo—’
‘Just … give me a minute.’
Her body was shimmering with unfulfilled sexual need and her treacherous libido was urging her to grab him and drag him back to her but he turned suddenly, his mouth a grim line in the shadowed darkness. Apart from one missing button on his shirt there was no outward evidence of their close encounter.
‘We need to leave.’
‘But—’
‘Now.’
‘All right.’ Except that it wasn’t all right and she didn’t want to go back. Part of her wished she hadn’t said anything, but even as that thought flew into her head, she dismissed it. Decisions had consequences and an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t romantic; it was foolish and irresponsible. Her face scarlet, she retrieved her torn panties and stuffed them in her pocket.
Life wasn’t black and white, Izzy thought numbly as she picked her way through the darkness. Hers was a massive lump of grey.
They boarded the helicopter in silence.
Not one word was spoken throughout the flight. When they landed, he sprang from the helicopter, waiting just long enough to check that she was safely on the ground and clear of the deadly blades before striding in the direction of his office with no more than a curt goodnight.
Anger replacing passion, Izzy paused only briefly and then stalked after him.
If he thought they were just going to pretend it hadn’t happened then he had another think coming.
Inside his offices he flipped on a light and then opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whisky.
Izzy stood in the door, anger mingling with vulnerability. She didn’t regret stopping him but she did regret the sudden shift in their relationship. Their fledgling friendship had been crushed under the weight of more powerful emotions.
‘I’ve driven you to drink already? That was quick, even for me. Usually it takes more than a couple of days.’ Flippancy didn’t hide her misery and she bit her lip. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but—’
‘Why are you sorry? You did the right thing. The sensible thing.’ His voice raw, he sloshed liquid into a glass and drank. ‘I’m not in the habit of indulging in public sex. I assume you’re not either.’
Izzy forced herself to breathe slowly. This was nowhere near as bad as discovering that your fiancé had only proposed to get his picture in all the tabloids, so why did she feel as if someone had removed her insides with a sharp implement? Feeling sick, she watched as he topped up his glass. ‘You’re going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow.’
‘That’s my business.’
‘That’s it?’ Her voice rose. ‘That’s all you’re going to say?’
‘There’s nothing more to say. I lost control. That’s it.’
Regret mingled with misery, forming a dark, swirling mass of horrible feelings in her stomach. What had she expected? That he’d sort out the whole protection issue and carry on where they’d left off?
The moment had gone.
They no longer had the seductive darkness of the amphitheatre as an excuse for sexual madness. The lights were on and they were both sober. ‘Right. I’ll just leave you to beat yourself up about losing control then.’
The fact that he didn’t have a single gentle word to soften the hardness hurt her deeply, but still, if he’d made a move towards her she would have willingly gone to him because she was as shaken by the encounter as he was, but he made no move.
Even when she walked towards the door, nothing.
Turning the handle, Izzy paused for a fraction of a second. But still he made no move, so she walked from the room without looking back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MEN!
There was nothing quite like a man to mess with your head and throw everything off course. Furious with herself, Izzy stuffed her clothes into her suitcase. She was going home. And she was going to create a man-free exclusion zone and focus on her work.
Eyes gritty after yet another sleepless night, she zipped the case and dragged it bumping behind her down the curving, ornate staircase.
It seemed impossible to believe she’d only been at the palazzo for a few days. It felt as if her whole life had changed. And yet how could she possibly stay now? It would just be hideously embarrassing for both of them. Ignoring the heavy ache inside her, she focused on practicalities—booking a flight, getting to the airport, dodging the press. She thought about where she was going to go when she arrived back in England. The only thing she was careful not to think about was what had almost happened the night before.
Maybe one day, when it wasn’t likely to hurt any more, she’d retrieve the thought from her brain, polish it up and enjoy the memory. Right now she didn’t dare look at it.
Abandoning her case in the middle of the floor, she stalked off in search of Matteo.
Serena informed her that he was working out in the gym and that it wasn’t wise to disturb him, but Izzy reasoned that their relationship couldn’t exactly deteriorate any further and there was no way she was running away like a coward without facing him.
Plenty of women would have slunk away but she’d never been one to slink anywhere.
She strode over to the gym complex expecting to find him on a row of treadmills pounding away. Instead she saw a boxing ring and the prince stripped to the waist, muscles pumped up and hard and gleaming with sweat as he fought another man of similar build.
Izzy was so shocked that for a moment she couldn’t move.
Without the concealing properties of precision tailoring, there was no hiding the raw masculinity and primitive sex appeal. Nor was it any longer possible to block out the memories of the night before.
Leaning against the wall for support, she stared as the man she’d thought of as cold and restrained threw hard, lethal punches at his opponent. Even she, ignorant about boxing, could see that the prince was stronger and his skill superior. His torso was hard and muscled, not overbuilt like a bodybuilder, but super-fit and strong as he put himself through a demanding training routine. He was light on his feet and lethally accurate, and there was no missing the explosive power behind each punch he threw.
She’d known he was strong, of course. There were the times he’d scooped her up and carried her, and then there was last night when he’d supported her weight easily when they’d almost made love.
Not ‘made love,’ Izzy corrected herself instantly. They’d almost had sex. She was determined not to spin warm fantasies out of cold reality.
His bronzed shoulders gleamed with the sweat of hard physical exertion and Izzy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was punishing himself rather than h
is opponent. Like a relentless machine, he threw punch after punch. Either he had extraordinary reserves of energy or he hadn’t been lying awake all night as she had.
She had no idea how long she stood there watching but while she did something inside her shifted and reshaped because she realised that there were different sides to this man. She’d caught glimpses of it the night he’d dragged her off the stage and again the night before when he’d flattened her to the cold stone of the ancient pillar.
Superior strength and skill gave him the upper hand and Izzy winced as he knocked the other man to the ground. Or maybe she actually made a sound because he lifted his head, those stormy eyes narrowing as he noticed her for the first time.
‘Izzy?’
He vaulted the ropes and she took an involuntary step backwards. After what had happened the night before she didn’t trust herself to be that close to him, especially when he was looking like a modern-day version of Hercules.
‘How long have you been standing there? I gave orders I wasn’t to be disturbed.’ He reached for a towel he’d slung over a bench and draped it round his neck. His muscles were pumped up and hard and her mouth dried because she’d had her hands on those muscles and she wanted to put her hands on them again. And because she was desperate to stroke and touch, she kept her eyes fixed on his face and didn’t look at his body.
‘I wanted to see you before I left.’
‘Left?’ Frowning, he reached for a bottle of water. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Home.’ It was hard to concentrate when all she really wanted to do was feast her eyes on gleaming bronzed skin and vibrant masculinity. ‘This just isn’t working out for either of us.’
The prince turned to his opponent, who had been hovering at a respectful distance, and said something in Italian that must have been a dismissal because the man melted away, leaving the two of them alone.
Izzy watched him go with mixed feelings. ‘You knocked him down and you didn’t even say sorry.’
‘He knocked me down in yesterday’s session.’ Unapologetic, Matteo drank. ‘It’s training. It’s not personal.’
‘You did this yesterday?’
‘I box every day.’
‘Why?’
He lowered the bottle slowly. ‘Fitness training. And, Izzy, you’re not going home.’
‘Most people just use treadmills and weights,’ Izzy said absently. ‘And I am going home. If you were a decent person you’d be considering my feelings and not just your own.’
‘I am considering your feelings.’
Tense and exhausted, Izzy exploded. ‘No, you’re not! If you were considering my feelings you would have given me a big hug last night or said something nice and caring, instead of which you stood as far away from me as possible and proceeded to make me feel smaller than plankton.’ She registered the astonishment in his eyes and ploughed on. ‘Not that I was expecting much, but something a bit complimentary would have been nice and presumably there must have been something you liked about me or you wouldn’t have had almostsex with me in the first place, and to go from that to realising that the man you’ve just had almost-sex with is only thinking about himself is frankly really depressing. It’s not easy keeping your self-esteem intact in this world where so many people want to put you down. So basically I’m leaving before I develop performance anxiety and while I still have the confidence to travel unaccompanied.’ Hating herself for being so open when he was so closed, Izzy went to stalk past him but he took a step and blocked her path.
‘Last night I was not thinking about myself.’
‘Yes, you were! You felt remorse because you let your precious control slip, not because you cared about me. You were furious with yourself for dropping those rigid standards you’re so proud of. And actually, it’s all very confusing. You’re like two different people. I get the occasional glimpse of this wild side of you, and by the way I quite like that side, and then you lock it down. What’s wrong with losing control once in a while?’
‘I don’t have a wild side.’
‘Tell that to a woman you haven’t flattened against a pillar.’ Still not looking at him, she tried to push her way past him but he didn’t budge. ‘Excuse me!’
‘I’ve really upset you.’ His voice was deep and rough and played havoc with her insides.
‘Yes, you have upset me. Now move before I hurt you.’ Before I give in and look. ‘And don’t think those muscles will save you because there are moves I know.’
There was a pause and then she felt his hands close over her arms.
‘You know moves?’ His fingers were gentle and there was a hint of humour in his tone. ‘Are those the same moves you showed me last night?’
Her heart rate accelerated at an alarming rate. ‘You had your chance to talk about last night and you blew it. Now we’re just going to forget it.’
‘I hope you’re having more success at that than I am.’ His fingers slid under her chin and he gently lifted her face. ‘You’re not leaving, Izzy.’
‘You kept me here because you were worried the press would be more interested in me than my sister, but that’s all fine now. The whole country is excited about the engagement. Everyone is happy and I’m going to go home and keep a low profile. And that’s fine. Frankly I’m fed up with being a national joke….’ Finally she looked at him and her voice trailed off as she noticed the vicious-looking scar that puckered the skin on his otherwise smooth, muscular torso. It started under his ribs and carried on around his back. How could she not have noticed that before? ‘What … what happened to you?’ Shocked, Izzy lifted a hand to touch the scar but he released her instantly and stepped back, his expression blank.
‘Nothing.’
‘You see? You’re doing it again.’ The fact that he didn’t trust her hurt more than anything that had gone before. ‘You know every sordid detail of my life and I haven’t even bothered to try and hide it, but when I ask you about yours you lock it all down and tell me “nothing,” but it must have been a hell of a nothing to leave scars like those.’ She breathed deeply, wondering why her emotions were always so exaggerated around this man. ‘I’m leaving because I’m not getting anything done here and because this whole thing is getting too complicated. Good luck with the concert.’
Just about maintaining her dignity, she shot past him out of the door but she’d barely gone five steps when he spoke.
‘You want to know about the scars?’ His tone was harsh. ‘They happened the one and only time I trusted someone. I was eighteen years old and so arrogant I was blind to everything except my own importance. She was thirty. Sophisticated, intelligent—or so I thought. The attraction was instant. I was young, governed by testosterone and not much else. I was a prince and I had no idea what to do about that. My brother was the heir. I had no role apart from finding new ways to enjoy myself. I thought I could take whatever I wanted.’
Izzy swallowed. ‘And you wanted her?’
‘I chased after her like a stallion after a mare and she refused to be caught. It was months before I could see what a clever game she’d played.’
Izzy winced because it was so easy to predict what was coming. ‘Social climber?’
The sun glinted off his dark hair. ‘At first I didn’t think so. She refused to be seen with me in public. She was almost ridiculously discreet. I thought she was perfect. Turned out she was keeping her best till last.’
He was silent for so long she was about to prompt him but then he spoke. ‘I was about to leave to take up my place at Cambridge University when the package arrived.’
‘What was in the package?’
‘A film she’d made of us having sex. Revealing photographs. And with it the blackmail. Pay or else.’
It was all so horribly predictable. ‘Kiss and sell. What did you do?’
‘The worst thing anyone can do in that situation. I tried to fix it myself. I was young and very angry.’ His voice was soft. ‘I arranged to meet her in a secluded place to talk
about our relationship. I wanted to make sense of it.’
Izzy’s heart clenched. Hadn’t she felt the same way when useless Brian had dumped her? ‘You can’t make sense of someone else’s manipulative behaviour.’
‘I was furious, humiliated, appalled that I’d put myself and my family in this position.’ He ran his hand over his face and breathed out slowly. ‘I arrived at the summer house where we’d been meeting in secret. I had one security officer with me because when we were growing up we were never allowed to go anywhere without a bodyguard in tow. He was supposed to wait at a discreet distance.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I told her that she disgusted me and that I’d never pay her a penny. And that was when her brother appeared. My security officer. The man appointed by my father and assigned to protect me.’
Izzy stared. ‘She was his sister?’
‘They’d plotted it between them. They expected me to pay. I refused. Turned out that was another bad decision on my part, although I did give him more trouble than he’d anticipated.’ The brevity of description together with the scars she’d seen on his torso told her just how severe that beating must have been.
‘Who rescued you?’
‘They left me unconscious. It would have looked like a random mugging had it not been for the fact that my father’s head of security had received reports about people using the summer house and chose that afternoon to check it out for himself. He arrived as they were leaving. They were arrested and I was flown to hospital.’
‘How seriously were you hurt?’
‘Four broken ribs, ruptured spleen, two broken fingers on my left hand. The scar you saw on my back was where he dragged me over a gravel path.’
‘So that’s why you box. And why you don’t have bodyguards.’
‘I do, sometimes, but these days I prefer to be responsible for my own security.’
