He was tempting her. Unbearably. Reminding her of how much she had loved being with him, being part of him—even though it had been only a very tiny part. ‘I’m going to put the phone down in a minute!’ she threatened.
‘Wait!’ He hesitated, thinking that it was never simple with this woman, and wondering why he did not have the sense to put the phone down himself. ‘Come and see me, Kate. Please.’
It was the ‘please’ that did it—it crept into a heart which she had determinedly steeled against him. Yet that one little word brought all her defences tumbling down like a house of cards. Admit it, she thought to herself—just hearing his voice again was like a soothing balm on a soul which had been tortured and troubled without him.
What was the point of existing in a dull state of misery, when she had the means to make herself happy? Maybe not one hundred per cent happy—but since when did anyone get that? Surely even a little happiness was better than this aching anguish which now seemed second nature to her.
‘OK.’ Had she really said that?
He wondered if he had heard her properly. ‘Was that a yes?’ he demanded.
‘No. It was an OK,’ she repeated stubbornly.
He smiled, unseen. Very lukewarm, he thought. Almost verging on the sullen—but it was still the surrender he had been intent on. He bit down an instinctive little murmur of triumph, because he sensed that she had been very close to saying no to him. And he wanted her far too much to risk that, though his desire for her still confused him.
Why did her memory persist in possessing him like a fever? he asked himself in silent frustration, as he had been asking himself since he had touched down in Sicily that day three months ago.
He had tried applying logic to a situation where logic seemed redundant. She was beautiful, yes—but he had seen women more beautiful than her.
So was it simply her skills as a lover?
For a while he had tormented himself with the idea that she must have had many, many lovers to be that sensational in bed. To think of her as a whore would make it easy to disregard her. And yet the image had stubbornly refused to stick and, for the life of him, he could not work out why.
‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘You won’t regret it, cara.’
‘I think I’m regretting it already.’
‘The flight touches down at eight. I’ll be waiting for you, Kate.’
‘OK,’ she said again, and put the phone down.
She was almost frightened about telling Lucy what she had agreed to, expecting her sister to rage against her and tell her that she must be the most stupid woman on the planet—a sentiment which Kate herself could have sympathy with.
But Lucy surprised her.
‘I don’t blame you,’ she said quietly.
‘You don’t?’
‘Uh-uh.’
‘Why?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I can see his obvious appeal; men like Calverri don’t come along more than once in a lifetime—if you’re lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ echoed Kate, with hollow sarcasm.
‘And you’ve been as miserable as sin since he went away—’
‘I haven’t—’
‘Oh, I know you’ve tried not to be. You’ve been almost ridiculously cheerful at times—throwing yourself into your work even more than you usually do, which is saying something! But you’ve had an air of sadness about you which hurts me to see. So if you’re going for a chance of lasting happiness with him—then go for it wholeheartedly.’
But Kate shook her head. ‘Not lasting happiness, no—it will be purely temporary. I know that. I’m realistic enough to see that there’s no future in it.’
‘Then you might ask yourself whether you’re just setting yourself up for an even bigger hurt by going. You might be better trying to wean yourself off him for good.’
But she couldn’t not go—that was the trouble. The thought of seeing him again was making her feel half-mad with the sense of being really and truly alive once more. Just the thought of flying to meet him in Barcelona was like landing in bright sunlight after three months of existing in some kind of shadowland.
She blew a small fortune on new clothes for the trip, telling herself that a shopping expedition was long overdue—she hadn’t had the enthusiasm for new clothes since he had gone away. She phoned up the travel agent who told her that the weather would be very warm, but not oppressive.
The flight was smooth and uneventful, but Kate’s heart was in her mouth as she walked towards Arrivals, a sudden and debilitating insecurity making her wonder what she would do if Giovanni hadn’t bothered to turn up…
She needn’t have worried. He was there—of course he was—eclipsing every other person in the vicinity with his presence. Tall and striking, leaning lazily against the barrier. Blue eyes were trained on her like blazing guns, though his expression was as dark and as shuttered as she remembered it.
Kate tried to keep her face calm as she walked towards him, but it wasn’t easy—not when she wanted to run at full speed and hurl herself into his arms and tell him how much she had missed him…wanted him…
He was wearing a dark coat of the softest leather imaginable, and it made him look very, very European. More as a distraction from the fact that she didn’t know what to say, or how to greet him—for where was the rule-book in a situation like this?—Kate ran her finger along the cuff of the expensive coat.
‘This is new,’ she observed.
He shimmered his fingertip along the lapel of a sage-green silk jacket, thinking that he had not been expecting such a cool reunion. ‘So is this,’ he said softly.
His words drew her eyes to his, and once they were locked there she seemed unable to break the gaze.
‘Hi,’ he murmured.
‘Hello,’ she said breathlessly.
Her big green eyes drove all conventional greetings clean out of his mind. Oh, what the hell? he thought savagely, and bent his head to kiss her.
‘G-Giovanni!’ The suitcase fell uselessly from her hand and her fingertips went straight up to his shoulders, biting into the sensually scented leather with an abandon which gathered momentum with each thrust of his tongue as he kissed her with shameless abandon.
‘Kate,’ he murmured into her mouth, his hand straying irresistibly to the firm swell of her breast, and briefly cupping it in his palm. Until he remembered that they were in a public place, and with an effort he tore his mouth and his hand away.
‘Matri di Diu!’ he swore softly, staring down into the hectic glitter of her eyes. ‘I think that we had better go straight to the hotel, don’t you, cara? Before we are arrested for indecent exposure,’ he added, with a low, slightly incredulous laugh.
She supposed that she should be relieved that he wasn’t being hypocritical. Not bothering to dress up the true reason for this weekend together. Straight back to the hotel for two whole nights and very probably two whole days of sensational sex, then back on the plane to London.
And if she had wanted more than what he was offering her she should never have come.
‘Sounds wonderful,’ she agreed evenly.
Outside the air was warm and soft, and the sky a canopy of indigo velvet, punctured by starlight. He glanced at her as they walked out towards the car. ‘You’ve lost a little weight,’ he noticed.
‘I needed to.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ He had thought her quite perfect before, but now there was an angular edge to her appearance which made her look like some high-profile model. He saw the side-looks she was getting from the taxi drivers who stood waiting for fares, and instead of feeling a swagger of masculine pride in her beauty he found himself wanting to go and verbally threaten them.
‘You’re saying that I’m too thin now?’
‘A little.’ He smiled. ‘It will give me enormous pleasure to feed you up, cara.’ One of many pleasures he anticipated during the days to come.
He settled her into the car, and placed her bags in the back, but thought that she seemed te
nse as he drove out of the airport towards the hotel.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked softly.
‘Mmm! Just fine,’ she answered brightly.
He didn’t want her brittle; he wanted her fiery in his arms again. ‘Ever been to Barcelona before?’ he enquired conversationally as he raced the car towards the city.
She shook her head. ‘No, never.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Do you know it well?’
‘Well enough to find my way around without a map.’
Her nerves were making breathing difficult. ‘And you’re here on business?’
‘That’s right. A big deal has been concluded.’ He shot her a glance, reading nothing in her shadowed profile. ‘I have to have dinner with some people tomorrow night. I’ve known them for years and years.’ He indicated right. ‘I thought you might like to come along, too?’
‘Well, unless you’re planning to leave me alone in the hotel for the evening!’ she joked, but she felt a surge of satisfaction before reprimanding herself. Just because he wanted to take her out to meet some people he was doing business with didn’t mean that they were conducting a normal relationship.
No, her role had been defined from the very beginning: she was his mistress—she gave him pleasure.
And you? mocked an inner voice. Does he give you pleasure, too?
She stole a glance at the hard, dark profile. Of course he did, though she suspected that it had been without any effort on his part. She was almost completely smitten now—so imagine what it would be like if he was trying to impress her…if he were courting her in a traditional way! But why bother wishing for what she couldn’t have? That way led only to disillusionment and heartache.
So snap out of it, she told herself. There was no point in agreeing to come here if she was just going to mope around and wish for the impossible.
She glanced out of the window again. ‘So come on, Giovanni,’ she murmured, ‘let’s have the guided tour.’
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured back, unwittingly echoing her thoughts as he began to tell her about each majestic building they passed.
The hotel was in the Ramblas, close to the enchanting Gothic Quarter of the city, and suitably impressive. He checked her in and then they rode up in the lift towards his suite, but the presence of other guests meant that they stood on opposite sides of the confined space, as awkwardly as strangers.
But the moment he had shut the door behind them, he took her into his arms and began to kiss her, and—whilst part of her wished that he might have waited—she gave herself up to the glory of that kiss. Three months without him became a distant memory as his hard mouth danced sensation all over her skin, and she was shaking and dazed when he finally lifted his head to stare down at her.
‘So did you miss me?’ he questioned silkily.
As a mistress, surely she could be as truthful as she liked. ‘I missed that,’ she admitted.
His mouth hardened. ‘And nothing else?’
‘My coffee bill has been halved,’ she joked and saw the narrowing of his eyes. ‘What do you want me to say, Giovanni?’ she provoked, half in exasperation. ‘That I sat around weeping into my little handkerchief, dreaming of you night after night?’
In her way, her lack of sentiment made it easier to do what he had been almost beside himself with the thought of doing since he had driven away from her flat that morning. His planned offer of a drink forgotten, he ran his hands possessively down the sides of her body, feeling her responding shiver.
‘This is how I dreamt of you,’ he purred, and shrugged the silk jacket from her shoulders, before tossing it over the back of a chair. ‘Like this.’ With one fluid movement he slid the zip of her skirt down, and as it fell to the floor with a whisper he let out a small, impatient groan when he saw what she was wearing beneath.
A scarlet thong and a matching scarlet garter belt, holding up stockings of creamy white which clung silkenly to the tantalisingly long legs.
‘Matri di Diu!’ he muttered hoarsely.
‘You like it?’
‘Is it new?’ he breathed.
‘Mmm.’ Kate did her flirty little pirouette, and heard him suck in a ragged breath. She turned round to face him, unprepared for the look of dark, unspoken anger on his face.
‘You don’t like it,’ she observed in surprise.
‘Who bought it for you?’ he demanded.
‘What?’
‘You heard what I said! A woman does not buy these kind of garments for herself. A man buys these for his mistress!’
‘So?’ she interjected furiously. ‘That’s exactly what I am, isn’t it?’
‘Kate—’
She shook her head in anger. ‘Just what are you suggesting, Giovanni—that as soon as you got on the plane back to Sicily I replaced you with another stud in my bed?’
Just the thought of it filled him with a murderous rage. ‘And did you?’
She very nearly slapped him round the face. ‘The fact that you feel the need to ask makes me wonder why I ever agreed to come here,’ she told him icily, stooping to retrieve her skirt, but he stayed her, placing his hand on her elbow and gently levering her back up to face him.
‘Kate—’
‘Take your hands off me,’ she said, despising herself for the lack of conviction in her voice.
His voice dropped to a placatory caress. ‘I should not have said that, cara mia—’
‘No, you bloody well shouldn’t! If you must know—I bought it…’ her voice faltered as she wondered about the wisdom of admitting this ‘…for you!’
‘For me?’
Truthful she was allowed to be, but only up to a point. No need to tell him that if she was going to play the part of mistress then she would play it with a vengeance. And a mistress being reunited with her Sicilian lover would surely wear the finest and flimsiest silk and satin to clothe her body. Delicate garments which she had imagined him slowly or not-so-slowly removing. Garments which would guarantee another invitation for another weekend…
‘I’ll go and get some big knickers and a plain navy bra if that will make you feel better!’ she declared, but he shook his head, and his blue eyes looked almost luminous as he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger.
‘Nothing will make me feel better than having you back in my arms again, Kate,’ he told her gently. ‘Come. Come to me.’
And with a helpless little moan she did exactly that.
He laced his fingers into the thick abundance of her hair and drew her into his body, her warm scent drifting over his senses and igniting their fire. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.
‘Honestly?’
‘Of course. Do you imagine that you are easy to forget?’
She felt his hands slide from her hair to cup the smooth globes of her bottom, and she gave a little cry. She had missed him, too—but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him how much.
Because mistresses did not make such statements of ardour and commitment. That tended to scare the object of their affection away. Instead, she began to unbutton his shirt. ‘There’s a time for talking,’ she said shakily.
‘And that time isn’t now,’ he agreed, his eyes closing as her questing fingers found his nipples and began to stroke enticing little circles.
It took him precisely ten seconds to remove her clothes.
‘You’ve hardly noticed all my new finery!’ she complained as the bra slithered off to join the skirt.
‘Another time! I want to see you naked,’ he ground out, his breath hot and urgent as it sucked on one tight and hungry breast and she gave a sharp gasp of pleasure.
Her fingers faltered with the buckle of his belt as she felt him slide the thong right off, his hands lingering suggestively on her bottom, and sliding briefly against the cool flesh of her inner thighs, until she was left wearing nothing but a pair of emerald-green high-heels.
He threw his shirt off and stepped out of his trousers and underpants just as Kate bent over to unstrap her shoes.
Now this really was mistress-like, Kate thought, torn between anticipation and self-consciousness, as the cool linen of the duvet whispered against her back. Having your dark, beautiful lover tower over you in a foreign bedroom, with you wearing nothing but a pair of very sexy, green shoes.
‘You look like my every fantasy come to life,’ he whispered, his voice deepening.
‘How?’ she whispered back.
‘Wicked. Abandoned. And…’
She heard his hesitation, was intrigued by it. ‘And what?’
‘Here,’ he admitted. ‘Now. On my bed after too long. Waiting for me to make love to you over and over again.’
She closed her eyes, so that he wouldn’t read the regret there. Making love. It was nothing but a turn of phrase. What they were about to do was a lot more basic than that. ‘Then don’t keep me waiting too long,’ she said shakily.
Wait? Why, he could barely contain himself enough not to thrust straight into her as soon as his hands began to explore her. But she was as ready and as turned on as he was and it was only moments before he was poised against her.
Provocatively she parted her legs for him and then engaged in intimate capture, teasing him, edging him against her enticingly until he was completely in her power, and she in his.
It all happened so quickly. Too quickly, she thought as regret was dissolved by wave after wave of gut-wrenching pleasure by an orgasm which exploded into instant life.
‘Giovanni!’ she sobbed.
There was a long silence afterwards while they struggled for breath, and it was a long moment later before he looked down into her face, his dark brows criss-crossing as he saw the tears which slid from beneath her closed eyes.
‘Why are you crying?’ he asked quietly.
Because this was the only place she could find happiness, locked in the embrace of a man motivated only by desire. Hopeless.
‘Because it was beautiful,’ she answered, and that was no lie.
He pushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. ‘The best,’ he agreed softly. ‘The very best.’
The Sicilian's Passion Page 11
