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mar his good looks.

      He had been attending a wedding when they’d first met.

      Maybe this time when he kissed her she would know better how to respond.

      Try as she might, though, she couldn’t keep her focus on Bastiano. Her thoughts strayed to Raul.

      With a sob of frustration Lydia hauled herself out of the bath and dried herself.

      In a last-ditch attempt, Lydia rang Arabella. Searching for an excuse—any excuse—to get out of this meeting tonight.

      ‘Lydia!’ Arabella was brusque. ‘I meant to call you. You didn’t say it was this weekend you were in Rome.’

      Of course Lydia had.

      ‘I’ve actually got a party on tonight,’ Arabella said.

      ‘Sounds good.’

      ‘Invitation only.’

      And of course Lydia was not invited.

      And there she sat again, like a beggar beside the table, waiting for Arabella’s crumbs.

      ‘That’s fine.’

      Lydia rang off.

      Maurice was right. She had no friends.

      Arabella was her only contact from her first school, but she kept her at arm’s length, and there hadn’t even been a semblance of friendship at the other school.

      Lydia could remember the howls of laughter from the other students when she had shaken hands and made a small curtsey for the teacher at the end of her first day.

      It was what she had been taught, but of course her norms weren’t the norms of her new school.

      She didn’t fit in anywhere.

      Yet this morning Lydia had felt she did.

      Oh, Raul had been far too forward and suggestive, but when they had spoken she had felt as if she were confiding in a friend—had felt a little as if she belonged in the world.

      But all Raul wanted was sex.

      Lydia had hoped for a little more.

      Not a whole lot, but, yes, perhaps a little romance would be a nice side dish for her first time.

      Wrong dress, Lydia thought as she looked in the mirror.

      Wrong shoes, Lydia thought as she strapped on her neutral heels.

      Wrong man, Lydia knew as she walked into the bar and saw Bastiano waiting.

      Oh, he was terribly good-looking—even with that scar—and yet he did not move her. But perhaps this was romance, Lydia thought sadly, for he was charming as he ordered champagne. He was the perfect gentleman, and on the surface it was all terribly polite.

      As was her life.

      She thanked him for his generous hospitality. ‘It’s so lovely to be here. We’ve been looked after so well.’

      ‘It is my pleasure,’ Bastiano said. ‘Are you enjoying Rome?’

      ‘Absolutely.’ Lydia smiled and thought of her far more honest response this morning with Raul.

      It was after six, and she knew—just knew—that Raul wouldn’t wait for very long.

      And that she would regret it for ever if she missed out on tonight.

      ‘I was thinking,’ Bastiano said, ‘that for dinner we might—’

      ‘Actually…’ Maurice interrupted, and put his fingers to his temples.

      Lydia knew he was going to plead a headache and excuse himself from dinner. Leaving her alone with Bastiano.

      It was seven minutes past six and she made her choice.

      ‘Oh, didn’t Maurice tell you?’ Lydia spoke over Maurice, before he could make his excuses and leave.

      Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maurice clench the glass he was holding, and she could feel his eyes shoot a stern warning, and yet Lydia spoke on.

      ‘I’m catching up with a friend tonight—we’re heading off to dinner soon. I wanted to stop by and say thank you, though.’ She gave Bastiano her best false smile, but it wasn’t returned. ‘I don’t want to get in the way of your business talk.’

      ‘I don’t think you could ever be in the way.’ Bastiano’s response was smooth.

      ‘Oh, you’re far too polite!’ Lydia offered a small laugh to a less than impressed audience.

      It sank like a stone.

      ‘I’ll leave you two to talk castles.’

      She placed her unfinished drink on the table and said her farewells, and simply ignored the fury in Maurice’s eyes and the muscle flickering in Bastiano’s scarred cheek.

      Oh, there would be consequences, Lydia knew.

      But she was prepared to bear them.

      For now she was free.

      She wanted the red dress and the lipstick to match. She had, Lydia acknowledged, bought them for this moment, after all.

      But there just wasn’t time.

      He could be gone already, Lydia thought in mild panic as she swept out through the revolving door.

      When she glanced across the street she felt the crush of disappointment when she saw that Raul wasn’t there.

      But then she heard him.

      ‘You’re late.’

      Lydia turned and there he was, tie loosened, tall and gorgeous, and, yes, she had made her choice.

      ‘For the first time in my life.’

      He was going to kiss her, she was sure, but she walked on ahead.

      ‘Come on,’ Lydia said quickly, worried that Maurice might follow her out.

      They walked briskly, or rather Lydia did, for his stride beside her seemed slow and more measured. She felt fuelled by elation as they turned into a side street.

      ‘Where to now?’ Raul asked, and they stopped walking and she turned.

      ‘You’re the expert.’

      Oh, he was—because somehow she was back against the wall with his hands on either side of her head.

      She put her hands up to his chest and felt him solid beneath her palms, just felt him there for a moment, and then she looked up to his eyes.

      His mouth moved in close, and as it did so she stared deeper.

      She could feel heat hovering between their mouths in a slow tease before they met.

      Then they met.

      And all that had been missing was suddenly there.

      The gentle pressure his mouth exerted, though blissful, caused a mire of sensations—until the gentleness was no longer enough.

      Even before the thought was formed, he delivered.

      His mouth moved more insistently and seemed to stir her from within.

      Raul wanted her tongue, and yet he did not prise—he never forced a door open.

      No need to.

      There it was.

      A slight inhalation, a hitch in her breath, and her lips parted just a little and he slipped his tongue in.

      The moan she made went straight to his groin.

      At first taste she was his and he knew it, for her hands moved to the back of his head, and he kissed her as hard as her fingers demanded.

      More so, even.

      His tongue was wicked, and her fingers tightened

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