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      The phone continued to buzz, but rather than turn it off Raul went back to lying on the bed, as he had been when Lydia had arrived.

      And that was how she found him.

      The bath had been soothing. Lydia had lain in the fragrant water, terribly glad of his suggestion to leave her phone.

      It had given her a chance to calm down and to regroup.

      ‘They’ve been calling,’ Raul told her by way of greeting.

      ‘I thought that they might.’ Lydia sighed. ‘I doubt they’ll give up if Bastiano hasn’t. Apparently Maurice has said he’ll meet him tomorrow and I’m supposed to be there.’

      ‘And what did you say?’

      ‘No, of course—but it’s not just about dinner with Bastiano…’

      ‘Of course it’s not,’ Raul agreed.

      ‘I think he wants sex.’

      ‘He wants more than sex, Lydia. He wants to marry you. He thinks you’d make a very nice trophy wife. Bastiano wants to be King of your castle.’

      He watched for her reaction and as always she surprised him, because Lydia just gave a shrug.

      ‘I wouldn’t be the first to marry for money.’

      And though the thought appalled her it did not surprise her.

      ‘I doubt my mother married Maurice for his sparkling personality,’ Lydia said, and Raul gave a small nod that told her he agreed. ‘Would you marry for money?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘No,’ Raul said, ‘but that’s not from any moral standpoint—I just would never marry.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I’ve generally run out of conversation by the morning. I can’t imagine keeping one going with the same person for the rest of my life.’

      He did make her smile.

      And he put her at ease.

      No, that wasn’t the word, because ease wasn’t what she felt around him.

      She felt like herself.

      Whoever that was.

      Lydia had never really been allowed to find out.

      ‘You’d have to remember her birthday,’ Lydia said, and sat next to him when he patted the bed.

      ‘And our anniversary.’ Raul rolled his eyes. ‘And married people become obsessed with what’s for dinner.’

      ‘They do!’ Lydia agreed.

      ‘I had a perfectly normal PA—Allegra. Now, every day, her husband rings and they talk about what they are going to have for dinner. I pay her more than enough that she could eat out every night…’

      Yes, he made her smile.

      ‘Do you believe in love?’ Lydia asked.

      ‘No.’

      She actually liked how abruptly he dismissed the very notion.

      It was so peaceful in his room, and though common sense told her she should be nervous Lydia wasn’t. It was nice to talk with someone who was so matter-of-fact about something she had wrestled with for so long.

      ‘Would you marry if it meant you might save your family from going under?’

      ‘My family is gone.’ Raul shrugged. ‘Anyway, you can’t save anyone from going under. Whatever you try and do.’

      The sudden pensive note to his voice had her turning to face him.

      ‘I wanted my mother to leave my father. I did everything I could to get her to leave, but she wouldn’t. I knew I had to get out. I was working a part-time job in Rome and studying, and I had found a flat for her.’ He looked over at Lydia briefly. ‘Next to the one I told you about. But she wouldn’t leave. She said that she could not afford to, and that aside from that she took her wedding vows seriously.’

      ‘I would too,’ Lydia told him.

      ‘Well, my mother said the same—but then she had an affair.’ It was surprisingly easy to tell her, given what Lydia had shared with him. ‘She died in a car accident just after the affair was exposed. I doubt her mind was on the road. After she died I found out that she’d had access to more than enough money to start a new life. I think her lover had found that out too.’

      He wanted to tell her that his mother’s lover had been Bastiano, but that wasn’t the point he was trying to make, and he did not want to make things worse for her tonight.

      ‘Lydia, what I’m trying to say is you can’t prevent anyone from going under.’

      ‘I don’t believe that.’

      ‘Even if you marry him, do you really think Bastiano is going to take advice from Maurice? Do you think he will want to keep your mother and her husband in residence?’

      He took out all her dark thoughts, the fears that had kept her awake at night, and forced her to examine them.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Take it from me—the only person you can ever save is yourself.’

      Strong words, but clearly she didn’t take them in, because when her phone buzzed Lydia went to pick it up.

      ‘Leave it,’ Raul said.

      ‘I can’t do that,’ Lydia admitted. ‘I might turn it off.’

      ‘Then they’ll know you’re avoiding them. Just ignore it.’

      ‘I can’t.’

      ‘Yes, you can—because I shan’t let you hear it.’

      She had thought Raul meant he would turn the ring down, but instead as the phone started to ring again he reached for her and drew her face towards him.

      Nothing, Lydia was sure, could take her mind from her family tonight.

      She was wrong.

      His kiss was softer than the others he had delivered.

      So light, in fact, that as she closed her eyes in anticipation all he gave was a light graze to her lips that had her hungry for more as his hand slid into her hair.

      Kiss by soft kiss he took care of every pin, and Lydia found her lips had parted, but still he made her wait for his tongue.

      She had tasted him already, and her body was hungry for more.

      Yet he was cruel in attack for he gave so little.

      He undid the knot of her robe with the same measured pace he had taken in dealing with her hair and then pushed it down over her arms so that she sat naked.

      Lydia felt something akin to panic as contact ceased and he ran his gaze down her body. It wasn’t panic, though, she thought. It was far nicer—because as the phone buzzed by the bed she was staring down at him, watching his mouth near her breast, and she would have died rather than answer it.

      ‘Do you want to get that?’ Raul asked, and she could feel his breath on her breast.

      ‘No…’ Her voice had gone—it came out like a husk.

      ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, and then he delivered his tongue in a motion too light, for she bunched the sheet with her fingers and fought not to grab his head.

      ‘No,’ she said, and when his mouth paused in delivering its magic, she added, ‘I don’t want to answer.’

      ‘Good.’

      He sucked hard now, and she knew he bruised.

      Raul gave one breast the deep attention that her mouth had craved, and she fought not to swear or, worse, to plead.

      She

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