Extreme Provocation

by Sarah Holland

  ‘How many muscles are there in your chest?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘I don’t know offhand,’ he drawled lazily, his eyes on her face.

  She trembled under his gaze unaccountably and looked away, feeling very shy, swamped with powerful feelings which she neither understood nor wanted to understand.

  They dressed together. He was ready first, wearing an impeccably cut lightweight grey-blue suit, his white shirt open at the throat. Lucy was dressed in a light blue silk shift dress, seated at the dressing-table applying light make-up.

  Randal lay on the bed in silence, watching her, a faint smile on his hard mouth. She was acutely aware of him. What was happening? Why did she feel so close to him?

  They had a late lunch. They were both starving and ate hungrily—rich sauces over beautifully cooked veal, washed down with full-bodied red wine. Afterwards, they sat in fulfilled silence, looking out at the sun-drenched city.

  ‘What do you want to see first?’ Randal drawled lazily.

  ‘It’s your favourite city,’ she said with a shrug, trying to prove an indifference she did not feel. ‘You decide.’

  He took her to St Peter’s. The taxi dropped them in fierce sunlight at the edge of the cobbled circle. Lucy was breathless with awe, walking with Randal towards the vast towering cathedral, surrounded by gleaming white stone, statues of saints etched against a piercingly blue sky.

  ‘This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,’ Lucy murmured, staring up at the white statue of Christ.

  ‘See the Vatican guards?’ Randal indicated the men in fifteenth-century blue and yellow uniform at the white gates to that fabled city.

  ‘I wish we could sneak in,’ she admitted, laughing. ‘I’d be utterly fascinated.’

  He laughed. ‘You’d be utterly thrown out on your ear, too. Nobody gets in there.’

  They toured the hushed marble beauty of St Peter’s. Randal pointed out Michelangelo’s Pietà. It took over an hour, and they emerged into the brilliant sunshine, going straight to the Vatican museum round the corner, eventually shuffling with hundreds of others into the Sistine Chapel to stare at that famous ceiling.

  ‘Let’s go to a gelateria,’ Randal drawled as they walked along hot Italian roads surrounded by crumbling beige buildings. He found a very beautiful and very expensive café on a curving main street. They sat down outside at a gaily coloured table with a parasol to shield them from the sun. Italian voices lilted like music all around them.

  ‘Si, signore?’ asked a smouldering Latin beauty.

  Randal gave her an encompassing glance of amused appraisal. ‘Due gelati di cioccolato e nociola, per favore.’

  Lucy glared at the girl as she pouted at Randal. When she had gone, she said, ‘I didn’t know you could speak Italian.’

  ‘It’s a very sexy language,’ he drawled, eyes mocking her. ‘Of course I speak it. I’m attracted to anything sexy.’

  ‘I noticed,’ she said, arching blonde brows. ‘That waitress was practically bursting out of her dress.’

  He shot her a teasing glance. ‘You sound almost jealous.’

  ‘Just trying to be realistic,’ she said resentfully, averting her green-eyed gaze. ‘After all—it’s the only reason you married me.’

  ‘And how well you lived up to it last night,’ he drawled softly.

  Hot colour flooded her face. ‘I’m just performing my wifely duties,’ she said tightly.

  His smile grew barbed. ‘Anything rather than admit you enjoyed it.’

  Her flush deepened.

  ‘Randal!’ a throaty female voice purred next to them. ‘Come stai, mio caro!’

  Lucy’s head whipped round to stare as another smouldering brunette in another tight dress bent her dark head to kiss Randal’s hard cheek with ripe red lips. A vague sense of familiarity pricked at her mind.

  ‘Apollonia!’ Randal said, kissing her as he stood up. ‘Va’bene, cara—e tu?’

  Jealousy twisted like a knife. Recognition flashed like shock over her body as she sat there, going first hot then cold as she remembered the girl as the brunette who had danced with Randal at the Mallory Ball.

  ‘This is my wife, Lucy,’ Randal was drawling, eyes moving over the tight red dress the girl was spilling out of. ‘You met her at Mallory, I believe. A shame you couldn’t get to the wedding.’

  ‘Mi dispiace,’ drawled Apollonia insincerely, glowering at Lucy. ‘I was too busy. Too much work.’

  ‘Apollonia is a model,’ Randal informed her with a sardonic smile.

  ‘And a very good close friend,’ purred Apollonia, flashing him a sultry look. ‘But not so good and close if you don’t tell me you are here in this city of mine.’

  He smiled lazily. ‘We only arrived last night. I was going to call you after a couple of days, cara.’

  Lucy stiffened, going pale as she felt jealousy revolve like a knife. He was going to call her? This sensual, exotic creature who had quite obviously either been his mistress in the past or fully intended to become his mistress in the future. Whatever the nature of their relationship, Lucy could see Apollonia desired Randal, and that he desired her, too.

  ‘But now you see me by surprise, caro.’ Apollonia twirled one of the buttons of Randal’s shirt, pouting up at him. ‘And tonight I have a party. You come—yes?’

  ‘Would you like to go, Lucy?’ Randal drawled, flicking a sardonic glance at her.

  ‘Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do,’ Lucy said with an indifferent shrug, desperate not to show the fierce jealousy she felt.

  ‘Eight o’clock,’ Apollonia said triumphantly. ‘My apartment on the Via Veneto.’ She smiled and kissed him full on the mouth with those ripe red lips, her sensual body curving as her hands clung to his broad shoulders. ‘Ciao!’ Another kiss. ‘Arrivederci!’ Another kiss. ‘I see you later, gorgeous!’ she purred, moving away with a meaningful flick of those sultry black eyes.

  Lucy was so jealous that she was almost gibbering with rage. Her eyes looked daggers at the sexy brunette as she swayed away in her tight red dress, and Randal—damn him to hell—watched her with blatant appreciation, a sardonic smile on his cynical mouth.

  Suddenly, his gaze flicked back to Lucy. His eyes gleamed. ‘You look furious,’ he drawled mockingly.

  Hot colour washed up her face and neck. ‘Well, I think she was rather insolent. All those kisses! She doesn’t know our marriage is built on mutual dislike.’

  He laughed unpleasantly, sat down again, his eyes probing hers. ‘You think she went a little too far, do you?’

  ‘I most certainly do,’ Lucy said coldly.

  ‘That’s the Italians for you,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘They’re a hot-blooded race. Passionate, sensual, abandoned...you could learn a lot from them, Lucy.’ His smile was barbed. ‘You look a little frigid at the moment. Loosen up. She only kissed me.’

  Her mouth tightened. ‘I don’t care that she kissed you, Randal. I just think she’s ill-mannered and rather vulgar.’

  ‘Then why did you accept her invitation to this party?’

  ‘Because I can’t stand the thought of another night like last night,’ she said scathingly. ‘Why else?’

  His teeth met. He was violently angry suddenly. She saw it blaze from his eyes, saw the dark colour invade his face. ‘Really?’ he bit out thickly. ‘Maybe I should make love to Apollonia instead. How would you like that?’

  Lucy went white. Pain lacerated her. Her mind screamed the word ‘no’. Abruptly, she jerked her head away, breathing hoarsely. I don’t care, she told herself, I don’t care...I don’t care...

  ‘If that’s what you’d prefer,’ she managed to say icily, ‘by all means go ahead.’

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. He said nothing, and they continued their tour of Rome with an air of tension that grew to a frazzled edge as they arrived back at their hotel at six.

  She thought he might punish her for her continued denials of enjoying his lovemaking. She thought he might throw her across th
e bed and force her to admit how much she clamoured for him. But he didn’t. He coolly went into the bathroom and took a leisurely bath, leaving Lucy to contemplate the party with anger, jealousy and dread.

  Had Apollonia been his mistress? Her heart thudded with jealous pain. Of course she had...it had been obvious from every curve of her body, her mouth, her kisses. The thought of Randal making love to another woman was suddenly intolerable to her. And there was nowhere to run to escape the influx of emotion she was being deluged under.

  They took a taxi to the Via Veneto at eight. Rome was hot and lively, nightlife beginning everywhere. Apollonia’s apartment was on the fifth floor of a tall marble building. Voices and laughter floated out from luxurious tall doors.

  ‘Apollonia is something of a celebrity in Italy,’ Randal drawled as he rang the doorbell. ‘There are bound to be some very famous people here.’

  The doors were opened by a manservant in white-gold livery. They were led to a very long high-ceilinged room. The guests were sunflushed and expensive and beautiful. Lucy recognised several faces: an Italian-American director, two actresses and a cluster of models.

  ‘Randal!’ Apollonia spotted them, undulated towards them in a tight silver dress that gave her sexuality explosive impact. ‘You came!’

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ drawled Randal, bending his dark head to kiss her. Apollonia’s body pressed against him invitingly. He held her by the waist, his mouth coolly amused. ‘You’re looking unbelievably gorgeous tonight, mia cara.’

  ‘In your honour,’ purred the sultry Latin beauty, and cast a dark glance suddenly at Lucy, who was watching in barely controlled rage. ‘Oh yes...your wife. We’d better get her a drink, Randal.’

  Lucy’s blood was boiling like Vesuvius, but she could not show it, must not show it. If Randal guessed that she was this jealous...her pride rose up in furious refusal to let that happen.

  ‘Champagne for you, little wife,’ drawled Apollonia, handing her a glass. ‘And a friend to talk to.’ She drew the famous Italian-American film director closer. ‘Michael—this is Lucy. She loves your films.’

  ‘Hi,’ Michael Salvatore gave her a firm handshake and smile. ‘Are you English or American?’

  ‘English,’ Lucy said, aware of Randal watching her, and gave the man a brilliant smile, touching his arm as she said, ‘I loved your last film. I saw it three times...’

  Apollonia led Randal away. Lucy concentrated on Michael Salvatore, discussing films, Hollywood, finance and temperamental actresses with him. But all the time she was acutely aware of Randal talking closely to Apollonia, smiling at her, kissing her red mouth...

  ‘I’ve been looking for a replacement all day,’ Michael Salvatore was saying later as they grazed on fresh strawberries and the music pounded on and on. ‘She just stormed out in a huff and filming is suspended.’

  ‘How annoying for you,’ Lucy said, staring in agony as she saw Randal dancing very close with Apollonia. The little witch was clinging to him like a limpet.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever acted, have you?’ Michael was watching her with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Never.’

  He surveyed her, then said slowly, ‘Come and dance.’

  They moved to the centre of the long luxurious room. Michael Salvatore was a handsome man, very tall with jet-black eyes and black hair. He was in his mid-forties now, and a vein showed at his smooth temple, his face made more attractive with lines at those powerful black eyes.

  ‘You look very like her,’ Michael was saying as they danced closely, ‘and it’s not a difficult part.’

  She gave a tense laugh. ‘I’ve never acted in my life.’

  ‘But we need an English blonde,’ he said frankly, ‘and we need her now. Like—yesterday. She’s only in four scenes. Trouble is—they’re vital.’

  Lucy shook her head, smiling and flattered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m here on my honeymoon. I can’t possibly do it.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ he laughed, eyes reflecting shock. ‘But where the hell is your husband? Surely he should be glued to your side.’

  Lucy stiffened, then said lightly, ‘My husband is Randal Marlborough. He’s somewhere about.’

  At that moment, Randal danced by with Apollonia. Lucy’s body tensed with frightening emotions. How could she feel this much...how? There was red lipstick on Randal’s cheek and his eyes met hers with cynical mockery.

  Michael Salvatore did a double-take. He was silent for a moment. Then he said shrewdly, ‘Would you like to step on to the balcony for a breath of fresh air?’

  Pale, violently jealous, Lucy gave a brief nod. ‘Thank you.’

  The balcony looked down over night-time Rome, brightly lit, a jamboree of cities—ancient Rome, Catholic Rome and modern Rome, all side by side and gleaming with spiritual power.

  ‘Is that really your husband?’ Michael asked suddenly.

  She nodded, green eyes flicking to his handsome face.

  ‘And this is your honeymoon?’

  She nodded again, a bitter smile on her mouth. ‘We got married two days ago!’

  Cars drove by, far below. A Lambretta sped to the traffic lights. The road was wide and tree-lined, the night hot and sultry. Michael Salvatore took a card from his top pocket.

  ‘Here’s my number,’ he said in that Italian-American drawl. ‘Give me a call if you change your mind about the part. I need to hear by tomorrow, but I’d certainly give you a test.’

  She took it with a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  He studied her for a moment, then put a hand on her cheek. ‘You’re very lovely,’ he said softly, and bent his dark head to kiss her mouth.

  Suddenly, she was wrenched away from him, her eyes flying open in shock to stare at Randal towering over both of them, his face dark red with rage.

  ‘What the hell is going on!’ he bit out thickly, bristling with aggression.

  ‘Your wife was lonely, Marlborough,’ drawled Michael. ‘I was keeping her company. Any objections?’

  Randal’s eyes flicked over him with contempt. ‘Only if you try to put her in one of your appalling films.’

  ‘It goes against my rules,’ Michael replied lazily, ‘but she’s so lovely I think I could break just about every rule in the book for her.’

  Randal smiled tightly, took Lucy’s wrist. ‘Too bad, Salvatore. She’s got my ring on her finger, and my brand on her forehead. You keep away from her or I’ll punch your handsome face through the back of your cunning little head.’

  He dragged Lucy off the balcony, and she struggled angrily. ‘Why were you so rude to him? He was kind to me!’

  ‘He offered you a part in his latest picture, did he?’ Randal drawled tightly, storming out of the party and slamming the door behind him, dragging her into the lift.

  ‘Yes!’ she said angrily as the lift rode down. ‘An actress stormed off the set today and—’

  ‘And you look just like her,’ he drawled nastily. ‘It’s not a big part, just three or four scenes, but you could play it and he’d help you.’

  She stared at him, struck dumb.

  ‘Yes,’ Randal said with a sneer, ‘it’s a good line and it generally works. But not with my wife.’ The lift doors opened and he dragged her out of the building on to the hot, bright Via Veneto.

  ‘Do you mean he does that all the time?’ Lucy said faintly, staring at the card Michael had given her.

  Randal gave a harsh laugh. ‘If you weren’t so naïve, I’d be inclined to think you were just plain stupid.’ He hailed a taxi, his eyes angry, and bundled her into the back of it, sliding in beside her.

  They rode back to their hotel in tense silence. Lucy felt a fool, angry and jealous over his relationship with Apollonia, and even angrier with Michael Salvatore. He had seemed so genuine...

  When they got back to the bridal suite, Randal ripped the card from her fingers and tore it into tiny pieces. ‘Don’t even think about ringing that calculating little bastard!’ he said tightly, le
tting the card flutter in pieces to the floor. ‘He’d have you on the casting couch before you knew what had hit you!’

  Defiantly, she said, ‘Well, why should you care? You spent the whole evening dancing with another woman! I wouldn’t be surprised to find you’d made a date with her while we’re here!’

  ‘Jealousy!’ he drawled, striding arrogantly towards her. ‘Your eyes are very green. Any minute now you’ll fly at me in a rage.’

  ‘Was she your mistress?’ she asked thickly, unable to prevent herself.

  ‘And if she was?’ he drawled, sliding strong hands on to her waist. ‘How would you feel about that, Lucy?’

  ‘Indifferent,’ she whispered, and shivered as his mouth moved over her throat.

  ‘Then why ask?’ he murmured tauntingly.

  Her hands slid to his strong neck, her face lifting to his. ‘I’m your wife, now. I have a right to demand respect from you.’

  ‘And are you going to demand it?’ He was mocking, smiling as his mouth brushed hers burningly.

  ‘Yes!’ Dry-mouthed, she felt her fingers slide into his black hair, pulling his head down to kiss her properly as she whispered urgently, ‘And I won’t allow you to have mistresses!’

  ‘Be sure to give me everything I need, then,’ he said thickly, eyes blazing. ‘Will you do that, Lucy? Give me everything...?’

  Her slender body curved wantonly against him. With a thrill of greedy desire she looked hotly at him through her lashes, her mouth parted in blatant invitation.

  With a rough gasp, his mouth closed over hers. She opened her lips to receive the hot exploration of his kiss, clinging to him, her body leaping with excitement as she unleashed all those feelings like a tidal wave, exhilarated and knocked off balance by the sheer force of them, moaning under the hot onslaught of his mouth. Randal swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. When they were both naked, he took her, his body tormenting her with pleasure, her heart in pain as her body rode to ecstasy beneath his.

  Later, when pleasure had receded and she lay sprawled against his chest, she thought of Apollonia and felt nothing but pain.