Carrying His Scandalous Heir. Julia James
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Plunge headlong into an affair with a man like this? An affair that can come to nothing?
But that, surely, was why she was doing it! Because it could come to nothing! There could be no future with a man for whom marriage to her could never be an option, and therefore love could never be a possibility—never a danger. She would not follow in her mother’s footsteps, imagining love could come from an affair.
And that is all it will be—an affair. Nothing more than indulging in the overpowering effect he has on me, such as I have never, never known before.
She could see the pulse beating at her throat, the heightened colour in her cheeks, the quickening shallowness of her breathing. All telling her one thing and one thing only. That it was far too late for any qualms now.
With a quick spritz of scent from her handbag, she headed back downstairs. A pair of double doors stood open now, leading through to a beautifully appointed drawing room with French windows. Beyond, she could see Cesare.
Waiting for her.
At her approach, he smiled, his eyes washing over her with satisfaction.
Yes—he had been right to make the decision he had. This would go well, this affair with this enticing, alluring woman. He had no doubts about it. Everything about her confirmed it. Oh, not just her sensual allure and her responsiveness to him—powerful as it was—but any lingering reservations he might have had about her suitability for such a liaison were evaporating with every moment.
All his conversations with her so far had been reassuring on that score. Though she was Guido Viscari’s stepdaughter, she made no special claims on the relationship, which indicated that she would make no claims on the relationship that he and she would share.
Her cool, English air of reserve met with his approval—like him, she would seek to avoid gossip and speculation and would draw no undue attention to her role in his life while their affair lasted—or afterwards. She had a career of her own to occupy her—one that was compatible with some of his own interests—and intelligent conversation with her was showing him that she was a woman whose company he could enjoy both out of bed and in.
She will enjoy what we have together and will have no impossible expectations. And when the affair has run its course we shall part gracefully and in a civilised manner. There will be no trouble in parting from her.
Parting with her...
But all that was for later—much later. For now, the entirely enticing prospect of their first night together beckoned.
His smile deepened. ‘Come,’ he said, as she walked towards him.
A little way along the terrace an ironwork table was set with two chairs, and there was a stand on which an opened bottle of champagne nestled in its bed of ice. But Carla’s eyes were not for that—nor for Cesare. They were on the vista beyond the terrace.
Once more a pleased exclamation was on her lips, a smile of delight lighting her features.
‘Oh, how absolutely perfect!’
Beyond the terrace, set at the rear of the villa, a large walled garden enclosed not just a pretty pair of parterres, one either side, but in the central space a swimming pool—designed, she could see at once, as if it were a Roman bath, lined with mosaic tiles and glittering in the sun. Ornamental bay trees marched either side of the paving around the pool, and there was a sunlit bench at the far end, espaliered fruit trees adorning the mossed walls.
Cesare came to stand beside her as she gazed, enraptured.
‘We shall try out the pool later,’ he said. ‘But for now...’
He turned to pour each of them a glass of softly foaming champagne. As she took hers Carla felt the faint brush of his fingers, and the glass trembled in her hand. She gazed up at him, feeling suddenly breathless.
His dark gaze poured down into hers as he lifted his glass. ‘To our time together,’ he murmured.
She lifted her glass, touching it to his. Then drank deeply from it.
As she would drink deeply from her time with this most compelling of men...
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