The Italian Match

‘For a man to die without a son to carry on his name is a sad matter indeed! Should anything happen to Lucius before he produces a son, our own lineage will be finished too. You would think, would you not, that he would recognise such a responsibility?’

‘I am not about to die,’ he declared calmly.

‘Who can tell?’ his mother returned. ‘You must marry soon. You have a duty. And who better than Livia Marucchi!’

His shrug made light of the moment, but Gina sensed an underlying displeasure that such matters should be discussed in the presence of a stranger. She’d found the episode discomfiting enough herself. From what little she had seen of him, she judged him a man who would make his own decision about whom and when he should marry anyway. His choices, she was sure, would in no way be limited to one woman.

‘What was your father’s name?’ asked Ottavia, jerking her out of her thoughts and into sudden flaring panic. She wasn’t ready! Not yet!

‘Barsini,’ she said, plucking the name out of some distant memory without pause for consideration. ‘Alexander Barsini.’

She regretted the impulse the moment the words left her lips, but it was too late to retract.

‘Barsini,’ Ottavia repeated. ‘Which part of Italy did he come from?’

Having begun it, she was left with no option but to continue, Gina acknowledged ruefully. ‘Naples,’ she said off the top of her head.

‘He has family still living?’

This time Gina opted for at least a partial truth. ‘I don’t know. I came to Italy to try and find out.’

Ottavia’s brows lifted in a manner reminiscent of her brother, though minus any humour. ‘Your mother failed to maintain contact?’

Gina returned her gaze with a steadiness she was far from feeling. ‘My mother never met his family. They knew nothing of the marriage.’

‘I think that enough,’ Lucius cut in before his sister could continue the catechism. ‘Let the matter rest.’

Ottavia looked as if she found the command unpalatable, but she made no demur. Gina doubted, however, that her curiosity would remain contained. Catching Donata’s eye, she tried a smile, receiving a glare in return. There would be no softening of attitude there for certain. She was well and truly in the doghouse!

Dinner proved less of a banquet than anticipated, with no more than four courses. Gina drank sparingly of the free-flowing wines. She loved the reds, but they didn’t always love her. The last thing she needed was to waken with a hangover in the morning.

Lucius insisted that all conversation was conducted in English for her sake, which made her feel even more of an outsider. Marcello, she learned, was the estate comptroller, Ottavia a lady of leisure. The latter confined her questions this time to Gina’s present background, expressing astonishment on hearing she was a qualified accountant.

‘Such an unusual job for a woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you not think so, Lucius?’

‘An admirable achievement for anyone,’ he returned, directing a smile that set every nerve in Gina’s body tingling. ‘Especially at so young an age.’

‘I’m twenty-five,’ she felt moved to respond. ‘Not that much younger than yourself, I imagine.’

The smile came again, accompanied by an unmistakable glint in the dark eyes. ‘Eight years is no obstacle, I agree.’

Obstacle to what, Gina didn’t need to ask. Neither, she was sure, did anyone else. That his interest in her was purely physical she didn’t need telling either. It could hardly be anything more.

Her cool regard served only to increase the glint. Opposition, it appeared, was an enticement in itself. More than ever she regretted the situation she had landed herself with. If she wanted to know the truth, not only was she faced with the prospect of explaining a lie she had no logical reason to have told in the first place, but the possibility of mortifying Lucius with the news that he had been making advances to a relative.

‘And what does your stepfather do for a living?’ Ottavia persisted, claiming her attention once more.

‘He’s in textiles,’ she acknowledged.

‘On his own account?’

‘His own business, yes.’ A highly successful one, Gina could have added, but saw no reason to go into greater detail—especially when said success was dependent on factors she found rather worrying at times.

Ottavia seemed content to leave it at that for the moment, but Gina sensed that the digging was by no means done. Plain nosiness, she assured herself. There was no way the woman could suspect the truth.

Midnight brought no sign of an end to the evening. Hardly able to keep her eyes open, Gina finally gave in.

‘I hope it won’t be taken amiss if I go to bed,’ she said. ‘I was on the road at seven this morning, and didn’t have all that good a night’s sleep before it.’

‘But of course!’ Signora Carandente responded. ‘You must feel free to do whatever you wish while you are our guest. Perhaps you would prefer to have breakfast served in your room?’

‘Not at all,’ Gina assured her. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She added impulsively, ‘Your hospitality is second to none, signora.’

‘Contessa,’ corrected Ottavia with some sharpness of tone.

‘You may call me Cornelia,’ her mother told Gina graciously.

Still grappling with the implications, Gina inclined her head. ‘Thank you.’

She took her leave with a general ‘Goodnight,’ avoiding any clash of glances with Lucius himself. If his mother was a Contessa, his father obviously had to have been a Count, which meant the title must have been handed down. It made the likelihood of her father having any connection seem even more remote. What would a son of such a family have been doing attending an English university as an ordinary student?

On the other hand, it was surely unlikely that either now or in the past another, entirely unconnected, Carandente family resided in Vernici.

She was going around in circles, Gina acknowledged. The only way to be sure was to do what she should have done several hours ago and tell the whole story. Concealing the name had been an idiotic gesture all round. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come clean. It was hardly as if she was after feathering her nest in any fashion. All she wanted was to know who her father had really been.

CHAPTER TWO

DESPITE her tiredness, Gina was wide awake at six. The early morning sunlight beckoned her out onto the balcony to view the beautifully landscaped gardens stretching to all sides. The vistas beyond were shrouded in early morning haze.

There was no one about that she could see from here. On impulse, she returned to the bedroom to don a pair of light cotton trousers and a shirt. Half an hour or so’s exploration would still leave her plenty of time to get ready for the day proper.

She could hear the muted sound of voices coming from somewhere towards the rear of the premises as she descended to the lower floor, but no one appeared to question her purpose. Not that any member of staff would do that in any case, Gina supposed. As a guest of the house she was, as Cornelia had assured her, entitled to do as she wished.

All the same she reduced the chances of running into anyone by using the front entrance. The Fiat was gone, the driveway clear of vehicles of any kind. There would be garages around the back somewhere, she assumed.

She headed left, away from the house, dropping down stone steps between white marble pillars to terraces over-hung with luxuriant plant life and strewn with classical statues. Gina revelled in the beauty of it all against the clean, clear blue of the sky.

On one level lay a pond laced with water lilies of every hue, the carved stone bench at its edge positioned to take full advantage of the harmonious view across the valley. She slowed her steps on sight of the man already seated there.

‘I didn’t realise anyone else was up and about yet,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘I thought I’d take a look around before breakfast.’

‘I saw you from my window,’ Lucius admitted. ‘It seemed probable that you would eventually reach this spot.’ His regard this morning was fathomless. ‘So, how do you find our home?’

‘It’s truly beautiful,’ she acknowledged. ‘A dream of a place! Why didn’t you tell me you were a Count?’ she tagged on.

He gave a brief shrug. ‘I have no use for status symbols.’

‘Ottavia doesn’t appear to share the aversion.’

‘My sister clings to an order long gone.’ He patted the seat at his side. ‘Come sit with me.’

‘I have to get back,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It must be getting on for breakfast time.’

‘Food will be served whenever and wherever required,’ he advised. A hint of amusement in his eyes now, he added, ‘You are afraid of me, perhaps?’

‘Of course not!’ she denied.

‘Then, of what I make you feel?’ he continued imperturbably.

Pretending not to know what he was talking about would be a waste of time and breath, Gina knew. ‘You take a great deal too much for granted,’ she retorted.

The amusement grew. ‘That is your English half speaking. Your Barsini blood responds to mine.’

The time to tell him the truth was now, but the words wouldn’t form themselves.

‘Grateful as I am to you for what you’re doing with my car, I’m not about to become your playmate for the week,’ she said coolly instead.

‘Playmates are for children,’ he returned, not in the least rebuffed. ‘We are neither of us that.’

‘But we are strangers,’ she replied with deliberation. ‘You don’t really know anything about me.’

‘Then, tell me,’ he invited.

The moment was there again, but Gina still couldn’t bring herself to take advantage of it.

‘I should be getting back,’ she repeated.

‘Then, I will come with you,’ he said.

He got to his feet, lean and lithe as a panther in the black trousers and shirt. Gina steeled herself as he moved to where she stood, but he made no attempt to touch her, falling into step at her side as she turned back the way she had come. Catching the faint scent of aftershave, she was supremely conscious of the fact that she had yet to shower, yet to put a brush to her hair.

‘Are you always up this early of a morning?’ she asked.

‘I rise when I awaken,’ he said easily. ‘No later than six, sometimes as much as an hour before that.’

‘Even when you don’t get to bed until the early hours?’

‘A matter of custom. If I tire in the day I may take siesta. It depends on my commitments.’

‘I imagine those are extensive.’

‘Not too much so.’

Doing her best to keep the conversational ball rolling, she said, ‘You speak excellent English.’

‘But somewhat structured compared with the way you speak, yes?’

Gina cast a glance at the chiselled profile, responding to the curve of his lips. ‘My old English teacher would approve every word. It’s usually tourists who introduce bad habits.’

‘Few tourists find Vernici,’ he said. ‘It is off the regular routes.’

‘I know. I had some difficulty finding it myself.’

It was Lucius’s turn to slant a glance, expression curious. ‘Why were you looking for Vernici at all if your father came from Naples.’

Do it now! an inner voice urged her, even as she mentally cursed the slip-up. ‘Latterly,’ she heard herself saying regardless. ‘But he was apparently born in Vernici, so I thought it worth taking a look there too.’

‘I see.’ From his tone, it was obvious that he was wondering why she hadn’t mentioned that fact last night. ‘The name is unfamiliar to me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘but the older townsfolk will surely recall the family. I will have enquiries made.’

She was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, thought Gina unhappily. What the devil was wrong with her that she kept on fabricating things?

They had reached the front of the house. Lucius preceded her up the steps to open a door for her to pass through, too close by far for comfort as he followed her in. Soles wet from their passage across the grass, her sandals had no purchase on the terrazzo. Lucius shot out an arm as she skidded, hauling her up against him, his hand warm at her waist.

‘You must take more care,’ he said, making no immediate attempt to let her go again.

‘I will,’ Gina assured him. ‘I’m fine now, thanks.’

His laugh was low, the brief pressure of his lips at her nape where the curtain of hair had parted stirring her blood in a manner she deplored.

‘I’d prefer you didn’t do that,’ she got out.

He laughed again, but this time released her. Gina made herself meet the dark eyes. ‘I realise you probably won’t be used to it, but I’m telling you again that I’m not…available.’

‘Do you not think that you might be the one now taking too much for granted?’ Lucius returned with mock gravity.

‘Am I?’ she challenged, and saw the glint return.

‘No. I would be only half a man if I could look at you and not want you in the instant, cara.’ He gave her no time to reply—if she could have come up with a reply at all. ‘I will begin enquiries about the Barsini family this very morning. I would hope to have news of them before the day is over.’

A forlorn hope, Gina reflected ruefully. The longer this charade of hers continued, the harder it became to revoke.

‘There’s something I—’ she began, breaking off as Guido heaved into view.

‘Something you…?’ Lucius prompted.

She shook her head, courage lost. ‘Forget it.’

Leaving him standing there, she ran lightly up the stairs to head for her room. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult. If it weren’t for her lack of transport, she would be tempted to abandon the whole idea and return home. She was vitally attracted to a man who might just be a close blood relation, a man who was making no effort to conceal his objective. Even if there should prove to be no connection, she wasn’t into the kind of casual, ships that pass in the night, relationship that was all Lucius would have in mind.

Despite last night’s refusal, breakfast was brought to her at eight o’clock. Gina ate it out on the balcony, enjoying both the view and the warmth. The sky was so blue, the quality of light a joy in itself. It was possible that her father had viewed the same scene—perhaps even from this very room. Could she really bear, Gina asked herself, not to know for certain?

She went downstairs again with no notion of how she was going to spend the day. Wandering out to the terrace, she found Ottavia stretched out on a lounger beneath an opened umbrella. She was wearing a gold-lamé bikini that barely covered her voluptuous curves, her eyes shielded by designer sunglasses. Her toenails, Gina noted, were painted the same shade of scarlet as her fingernails and lips, the whole effect more reminiscent of the film world, she thought, than Italian aristocracy.

‘Buon giorno,’ she proffered tentatively.

Ottavia pulled down the sunglasses a fraction to run a disparaging eye over the cotton dress Gina had elected to wear. ‘You are quite recovered from your weariness, I trust?’ she enquired, without bothering to respond to the greeting.

‘Quite, thank you,’ Gina confirmed. She felt it necessary to add, ‘The breakfast was very good, but I really don’t expect to be waited on while I’m here.’

‘As you are here at my brother’s invitation, you are entitled to be treated as any other guest,’ came the smooth reply. ‘You realise, of course, how fortunate you are to have gained his support in this affair.’ She didn’t wait for any answer. ‘A word of warning, however. Lucius may pay you some attentions because he is a man and you are attractive to look at, but it means nothing.’

‘In other words, don’t run away with the idea that he might be about to offer marriage,’ Gina returned. ‘I’ll certainly bear it in mind.’

The irony left no visible impression. ‘Good,’ was the only comment.

Her presence wasn’t exactly welcome, Gina gathered, as the glasses were replaced and the head returned to the supporting cushion. She was tempted to stay anyway, just for the hell of it, but there was little to be gained from keeping company with someone who so obviously didn’t want her there.

She had only covered a small part of the immediate grounds earlier. Now would be the right time to take a turn round the other side of the house before the heat became too great for comfort. With several days to fill, and nowhere else to go, she was probably going to be spending a lot of time out of doors. Which in this climate would be no great hardship, she had to admit.

She was crossing the drive when a low-slung sports car came roaring round the bend. Gina leapt instinctively for safety, missed her footing and went down on one knee in the gravel, steeling herself for the impact she was sure was to come. The car screeched to a halt with its front bumper bare inches from her. Spouting Italian at a rate of knots, the driver leapt out without bothering to turn off the engine, a look of concern on his handsome face as he came to lift her to her feet.

‘Inglese,’ Gina said for what seemed like the millionth time in response to what she took to be a spate of solicitous enquiry. ‘Non capisco.’

‘English!’ he exclaimed on a note of surprise.

‘That’s right.’ Gina gave a wry grimace as she eased her knee. ‘Does everybody round here drive like bats out of hell?’

His brows drew together in puzzlement. ‘Bats?’

‘It’s just a saying,’ she explained, regretting the use of it. ‘It means fast, that’s all.’

The frown cleared. ‘Ah, fast!’ Concern leapt once more in his eyes as he caught sight of the trickle of blood running down her leg. ‘You are hurt! Why did you not tell me you were hurt?’

‘I hadn’t realised it was grazed,’ Gina admitted, lifting the edge of her skirt to view the not inconsiderable damage. ‘I thought I’d just knocked it.’

‘It must be cleaned and dressed,’ he declared. ‘Before it becomes infected.’

‘It will be,’ she assured him. ‘Just as soon as I get back to the house. I’m a guest there,’ she added, in case he was in any doubt. ‘Gina Redman.’

‘A friend of the family?’ He sounded intrigued.

‘Not exactly. There was an accident. My car was badly damaged. Lu—Signor Carandente very generously invited me to stay until it’s repaired.’

His lips curved. ‘But of course. Lucius is the most generous of men. I am Cesare Traetta. You must allow me to drive you to the villa.’

‘It’s hardly any distance,’ Gina protested. ‘I might get blood on the upholstery.’

‘If so it will be cleaned.’ He went to open the passenger door. ‘Please to get in.’

Gina wiped away the trickle of blood with her handkerchief before doing so. The soft leather seat cocooned her, its contours designed to hold the body in position. Definitely needed, she thought, as Cesare set the car into motion again with a force that caused the rear wheels to spin. She judged him around Lucius’s age, which made him Donata’s senior by fifteen years, yet the two of them appeared to be on a par when it came to road sense.

They rounded the final bend to come to a further screeching stop outside the house. Switching off the engine, Cesare got swiftly from the car to help Gina from the seat she was struggling to vacate without having her skirt ride up any further than it already had.

‘I think I can manage, thanks,’ she said drily when he made to assist her up the steps. ‘A damp flannel, and I’ll be as good as new!’

‘You are bleeding!’ exclaimed Lucius from the doorway, startling her because she hadn’t seen him arrive. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I slipped and fell on the drive.’ Gina saw no reason to go into greater detail. ‘Signor Traetta was kind enough to give me a lift.’

‘Cesare,’ urged the man at her back. ‘You must call me Cesare.’

She gave him a brief smile. ‘Cesare, then.’ To Lucius she said, ‘I’ll go and clean myself up.’

‘The necessary materials will be brought to you.’ he said. ‘We must be sure no foreign substances remain in the wound.’

‘Of course.’ Gina was fast tiring of the fuss. ‘I can cope.’

‘I am sure of it.’ His tone was dry. ‘Your self-sufficiency does you credit. You will, however, wait for assistance in this matter.’

He took her agreement for granted, indicating that she precede him into the house. Gina battened down her instincts and meekly obeyed. ‘I’m sure you know best,’ she murmured in passing, tongue tucked firmly in cheek.

The dress was not only dirty but torn at the hem, she found on reaching her room. Not beyond repair, she supposed, examining the rip, though she was no expert needle-woman. At any rate, she had plenty of other things to change into, so it could wait until she got home.

Despite instructions, she ran hot water in the bathroom basin and began cleaning off the worst of the mess. The graze was quite extensive, with tiny pieces of gravel embedded in the shredded flesh. Concentrating on extracting them, she was taken unawares when Lucius entered the room bearing a first-aid box.

‘You were to wait until I brought this!’ he exclaimed.

Seated on a padded stool, her foot raised on the bath edge to enable her to see what she was doing, Gina resisted the urge to pull down the skirt she had raised to mid thigh.

‘I hardly expected you to bring it up yourself,’ she said lamely.

Dark brows rose. ‘You think such a task beneath me?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. I just took it…’ She left the sentence unfinished, holding out her hand for the box. ‘It’s very good of you, anyway.’

Lucius made no attempt to hand it over. Placing it on the long marble surface into which the double basins were set, he seized soap from the dish and washed his hands. Gina watched in silence, reminded that she should have done the same before attempting to touch the graze at all.

His presence in the confines of the bathroom—spacious though it was—made her nervous. She found it difficult to control the quivering in her limbs when he took a pair of tweezers from the box and sat down on the bath edge to start work on the gravel.

The hand he slid about the back of her calf to hold her leg still was warm and firm against her skin, his fingers long and supple, the nails smoothly trimmed; she could imagine the way they would feel on her body—the sensual caresses. Her nipples were peaking at the very notion.

Stop it! she told herself harshly, ashamed of the sheer carnality of her thoughts. It might be a long-established fact that women were as capable as men of enjoying sex without love, but she had never followed the trend. From her mid teens she had determined not to settle for anything less than the real thing: the kind of love her mother had known for Giovanni Carandente. The possibility that Lucius could be her father’s nephew was enough on its own to prohibit any notion she might have of relaxing her ideals.

‘I am sorry if I hurt you,’ Lucius apologised as her leg jumped beneath his hands. ‘There are only a few more small pieces to come, and then we are finished but for the antiseptic.’

‘No problem,’ she assured him. ‘You’re being very gentle. It’s quite a mess, isn’t it? I didn’t realise how deep some of the bits had gone.’

‘Thankfully, there should be no lasting scars,’ he said without looking up from his task. ‘It would be a pity to mar such a lovely leg.’

‘Don’t you ever stop?’ she asked with a sharpness she hadn’t intended.

This time he did look up, expression quizzical. ‘You find my admiration irksome?’

Gina drew a steadying breath. ‘I find it a little too…practised, that’s all.’

‘Ah, I see. You think I express the same sentiments to all women.’ The dancing light was in his eyes again. ‘Not so.’

He was hardly going to admit it, Gina told herself as he turned his attention once more to her knee. Not that it made any difference.

The antiseptic stung like crazy, but Lucius made no concessions. He finished the dressing with an expertly applied bandage.

‘You may remove the dressing tomorrow to allow the healing tissue to form,’ he said, relinquishing his hold on her at last.

Gina got to her feet to try a somewhat stiff-legged step, pulling a face at her reflection in the mirrored wall. ‘I haven’t had a bandaged knee since I was eight!’

‘Long skirts, or the trousers women everywhere appear to have adopted, will cover your embarrassment.’

The dry tone drew her eyes to the olive-skinned face reflected in the mirror. ‘You disapprove of the trend?’ she asked lightly.

‘I prefer a woman to dress as a woman,’ he confirmed. ‘As most men would say if asked.’

‘Donata wears them,’ Gina felt bound to point out, stung a little by the implied criticism. ‘With that attitude, I’m surprised you allow it—to say nothing of the rest!’

‘I said preference not outright rule,’ came the steady response. ‘Assuming that by the “rest” you refer to the state of my sister’s hair, no amount of castigation can hasten the regrowth.’

Gina turned impulsively to face him, ashamed of the dig. ‘I spoke out of turn. You said yesterday that she’d recently returned from school?’

The smile was brief and lacking in humour. ‘She was despatched from her school for behaviour no reputable establishment could tolerate.’

‘Not just for a haircut, surely!’

‘A minor transgression compared with breaking out of the school in order to attend a nightclub in the nearby town. Not for the first time it appears. This time she was caught by the police when they raided the place in search of drugs.’

Gina gazed at him in dismay. ‘You’re not saying Donata was actually taking them?’

‘She assures me not.’

‘You do believe her?’

Lucius lifted his shoulders, mouth wry. ‘I hardly know what to believe. I bitterly regret allowing her to persuade me into sending her to Switzerland at all. Her education was complete enough without this “finishing” she was so anxious to acquire.’

‘She can’t have been the only one to kick over the traces,’ Gina ventured.

‘If by that you mean was she alone on the night in question, the answer is no. There were two others caught with her. One American girl, one English. They too were despatched to their respective homes.’

‘I see.’ Silly as it seemed, Gina felt like apologising for the part the English girl had played. ‘I don’t suppose it helps much.’

‘No,’ Lucius agreed. ‘I am still left with the problem of a sister turned insurgent. While she resides here at Cotone I can demand that she obeys certain rules of conduct, but there are limits to the penalties I can impose should she choose to defy me.’

‘I can appreciate that,’ Gina said carefully. ‘It isn’t as if she’s a child any more.’

‘She is eighteen years of age,’ he advised on a harder note. ‘By now she should be looking towards marriage and children of her own!’

‘Marriage isn’t the be all and end all of every woman’s ambition.’ Gina felt moved to protest, turning a deaf ear to the faint, dissenting voice at the back of her mind.

The dark eyes regarded her with a certain scepticism in their depths. ‘You intend to stay single all your life?’

‘I didn’t say that. It depends whether I meet a man I want to marry.’

‘And whom, of course, also wishes to marry you.’

‘Well, obviously.’ The mockery, mild though it was, stirred her to like response. ‘Two hearts entwined for all eternity! Worth waiting for, wouldn’t you say?’

‘The heart has only a part to play,’ he said. ‘The body and mind also have need of sustenance. The woman I myself marry must be capable of satisfying every part of me.’

‘Typical male arrogance!’ She exploded, driven beyond endurance by the sheer complacency of the statement. ‘It would serve you right if…’ She broke off, seeing the sparkle of laughter dawn and realising she’d been deliberately goaded. ‘Serve you right if you were left high and dry!’ she finished ruefully. ‘Not that it’s likely, I admit.’

The sparkle grew. ‘You acknowledge me a man difficult for any woman to resist?’

‘I acknowledge you a man with a lot more than just looks going for him, Count Carandente,’ she said with delicate emphasis.

If she had been aiming to fetch him down a peg or two, she failed dismally. His shrug made light of the dig. ‘Despite Ottavia’s claim, the woman I marry will not carry the title of Contessa because she will be no more entitled to do so in reality than anyone in the last few hundred years. As I told you this morning, it is simply a status symbol. One for which I have little use myself.

‘Which leaves me,’ he went on with a wicked gleam, ‘with just the looks you spoke of going for me. The looks that warm both your English and your Italian blood to a point where the differences no longer have bearing. Or would you still try to deny what lies between us, cara?’

The pithy response that trembled on her lips as he moved purposefully towards her was rejected as more likely to inflame than defuse the situation. What was she doing indulging in the kind of repartee scheduled to bring this very situation about to start with? she asked herself.

‘Whatever you have in mind, you can forget it!’ she said with what certainty she could muster, resisting any urge to try fighting him off physically as he drew her to him. ‘I already told you, I’m not playing!’

‘Words! Just words!’ He put a forefinger beneath her chin to lift it, bending his head to touch his lips to hers with a delicacy that robbed her of any will to resist.

She was conscious of nothing but sensation as he kissed her: the pounding of her blood in her ears, the warmth spreading from the very centre of her body, the growing weakness in her lower limbs urging her to give way to the need rising so suddenly and fiercely in her. He drew her closer, moulding her to the contours of his masculine shape—making her aware of his own arousal in a manner that inflamed her even further. The words he murmured against her lips transcended all language barriers.