Sins of the Past. Elizabeth Power
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that the place was empty—which left her free to get on with her planning without the distraction of the man’s disturbing presence.
It was much later in the afternoon when she heard a car growl into the cobbled courtyard at the front of the house, and instantly her whole body tightened up.
The desire to trip along the hall and sneak a glimpse out of the window was curbed by the mortifying thought of Damiano seeing her—because there was no doubt, from the throbbing power of that engine, that it was him.
Every tight, tense cell alerted Riva to the front door closing a few moments later, and then that steady stride coming along the hall, and her fingers were making nonsense of the characters on her computer screen as she tried to keep typing, feigning a total lack of interest in his arrival.
‘Buon giorno.’ The velvety softness of his greeting made her look up, and she wished she hadn’t when the sheer impact of his masculinity made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth.
Sleek black hair—damp, as if he had just showered—accentuated the pristine whiteness of his shirt, which was partially unbuttoned, exposing the crisp dark hair of his olive-skinned chest. His arm was resting against the doorjamb, and where the jacket of his light beige suit had parted she could see how tight and firm his waistline was, how the fabric of his trousers stretched across the hard, lean breadth of his hips.
‘Were you so engrossed in your innovative ideas that you didn’t hear me come in, Riva? Or is it a determined effort on your part to show me that you aren’t the least bit interested one way or the other?’
She shivered at how easily he could read her.
‘You lied to me,’ she breathed accusingly. She didn’t have to enlighten him. He knew exactly what she was talking about.
‘That makes two of us.’ There wasn’t an ounce of compunction in that lean, hard body as he strode in.
She glanced quickly away as he came towards her, uncertain which part of his splendid anatomy she’d feel comfortable looking at. What chance had she had against that potent masculinity, she thought, when she had been a naïve creature of nineteen?
‘I was beginning to think you wouldn’t be here today.’ That was preferable to asking him why he’d lied. She knew why. He’d known she would have wriggled out of the job if she’d been forewarned.
‘I forgot to mention that I was scheduled for a couple of very punishing hours of squash this afternoon.’
‘Really?’ She didn’t believe that a man as influential and powerful as Damiano D’Amico would forget anything. He had probably relished the thought of keeping her in suspense as to when he was coming back! ‘Did you win?’ She didn’t know why she asked it. She couldn’t imagine anyone punishing him—in any sense whatsoever. Physically he was built like a god who paid homage to health and strength and fitness, and heaven help anyone who tried to pit their wits against that awesome brain!
‘It was a satisfactory outcome.’
‘Satisfactory for you? Or for your opponent?’ She didn’t need to ask. She just couldn’t seem to contain the desire to bait him at every given opportunity. And that way lay disaster if she had any intention of hanging on to her job, she reminded herself sharply.
The freshness of the shower gel that still clung to his body invaded her nostrils as he came over to the table where she was sitting and picked up a sheet of paper, examining the various sketches that she had been making.
‘I would have thought experience would have taught you, Riva. I always play to win.’
She sucked in an audible breath. ‘No matter who gets hurt?’ She couldn’t look at him as she said it. She couldn’t seem to breathe either, too aware of his scent, the sound of his voice, his disconcerting nearness, and, as he returned her sketches to the table, of the dark lean strength of his hands.
‘No one gets hurt as long as they know their limits,’ he assured her, ‘and don’t indulge in games which are totally out of their league. But if you’re referring to that little game you were playing with me in the past—which I’m sure you are—don’t try and pretend to me that I hurt you, Riva. Oh, perhaps a little physically—but then you didn’t exactly prepare me for your … innocence.’ His voice derided. As well it might, she realised bitterly. A virgin she might have been, but he hadn’t seen her sacrifice and everything that had led up to it as anything other than part of a calculated plan. ‘If you had, I would never have let things get so out of hand.’
‘What would you have done?’ Her tone was wounded, hurt, shrill. ‘Locked me in a room and used an interrogation lamp on me instead? Well, if it’s any consolation to your macho pride and your failing judgement about me, I would never have gone to bed with you if I’d known I’d be sleeping with a snake!’
‘What did you expect? That I’d be taken in as easily as Marcello? The fact is it is something that we both have to live with. But just for the record … I don’t recall that much sleeping was done.’
Wings of bright colour suffused her pale cheeks, and she felt decidedly sticky under her silky top.
Pushing herself disconcertedly to her feet, she crossed the room to put some distance between them, and started making more than a show of measuring the floor area. The red glow of the laser tape measure cut through the space like his brutality had once cut into her young, unsuspecting pride.
‘As far as I’m concerned, Damiano, you were just an unfortunate episode in my life.’
‘And how many more … fortunate episodes have there been, Riva?’
‘That’s none of your damn business!’
‘Or should I amend that to profitable?’
‘How dare you? You make me sound like …’
‘Like what? ‘
Features contorted with disgust, she couldn’t bring herself to answer. What was he saying? Who did he think he was?
‘As you said to me … What was the expression again …? If the cap fits …’
‘And as you said to me—’ she was striding purposefully back across the room ‘—it doesn’t!’
He was perched on the edge of the table as she came around the other side, putting the safe shield of her chair between them. She made a show of picking up papers, tidying them up and putting them down again. She wanted to sit down, get on with her work. She wished he would move.
‘All right. So it’s an episode we both want to forget. We both had an agenda. You lost. That’s life. But, regardless of our individual motives, I don’t think that either of us can deny that it was a very pleasurable experience.’
A small strangled sound escaped Riva, and the eyes she fixed on his were wide with disbelief. ‘You’re not for real! If you think I enjoyed it, then your ego’s even bigger than I imagined it was. If you want the truth, the whole experience just made me sick!’
She wanted her stapler, which was on the other side of the table. She had to go around him to retrieve it and did so, giving him a significantly wide berth.
‘I’m not a tyrant, cara, but if you’re determined to treat me like one then we are not going to have a very satisfactory working relationship. And that’s something I think we’d better put an end to right now.’
For a brief heart-sinking moment she thought that he was going to call it a day. Report back to the studio that she wasn’t up to the job and get someone else to come in and work on his precious brief. Bitter experience, though, should have warned her about underestimating Damiano D’Amico: men like him didn’t need anyone else to do their dirty work for them.
Perched, as he still was, on the edge of the table, when she made to move past him he reached out and in one fluid movement caught her by the wrist.
Her senses leaping,