CHAPTER TWO

      LARA’S SENSE OF panic and desperation increased. ‘I told—you I don’t owe you anything.’

      Ciro responded, ‘We’ve been through this and, yes, you do. You owe me a wedding.’

      Lara fought to stay calm. To appear unmoved. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to marry you.’

      He shook his head. ‘Not ridiculous at all. Very practical, actually. Like I said, I’m in need of a wife, and as you deprived me of one so memorably two years ago, you can step up now and honour the commitment you made when you agreed to marry me in the first place.’

      Vainly scrabbling around for something—anything to make sense of Ciro’s crazy suggestion, Lara asked, ‘Why do you need a wife so badly?’

      ‘The circles I’m moving in... Let’s just say things would be better for me if I had an appearance of stability. Settling down. Conforming to societal norms of what people expect of a man my age.’

      ‘An appearance... So this would just be a sham...a fake marriage?’

      ‘Call it a marriage of convenience.’

      ‘But it’ll mean nothing.’

      Ciro’s lip curled. ‘As if that was a concern in your first marriage... As if you cared about Winterborne.’

      Lara had to hide her flinch at that.

      Ciro continued, ‘It’ll be a lesson in learning that your actions have consequences.’

      She took a step backwards, surprised that her legs were still working. ‘This is beyond crazy. If marriage is so important to your image then I’m sure there are many more suitable women who would be happy to become your wife.’

      Like any of the hundreds of women she’d seen on his arm over the past twenty-four months, for a start.

      ‘I don’t want any of them. I want you.’

      Ciro was finding it hard to maintain his composure. Lara was right—there were plenty of women he knew who would jump at the opportunity to become his wife. He’d found himself seeking out women who were the antithesis of this woman’s cool blonde looks, but none of them had made his blood run hot as she could, just by standing in front of him.

      For two years his bed had been lonely and he had been frustrated. Not that the world would believe it. But he hadn’t wanted any of them. He wanted Lara. And now, after two years of a kind of purgatory, hating her and wanting her, she was finally within reach again.

      He would be the first to admit that his pride had suffered a huge blow when she’d walked away from him and from their marriage commitment. He was, after all, descended from a long line of proud Sicilians.

      She’d accused him of only wanting to marry her to further his ambitions for social acceptance and he hadn’t been able to deny it. But it hadn’t been as much to the forefront of his desire to marry her as he’d let her believe. However, he had to admit that it had always been in the back of his mind...her strategic connections.

      But, more than that, he hadn’t been done with her. When she’d told him she was a virgin—most likely a lie—Ciro had been stunned. To think that she was untouched...a rare novelty in his jaded world, had been, surprisingly, and seriously, erotic. The prospect that he would be her first lover had tipped Ciro over the edge of his restraint where Lara was concerned.

      He’d always been traditional and Sicilian enough to envisage taking an innocent wife some day, but also cynical and experienced enough to know that it was next to impossible in this modern world. And yet there had been Lara, with her huge innocent blue eyes that had looked at him sometimes as if he was a hungry wolf, and her body with its slender lines and lush curves, telling him that she was this rare thing. An innocent in a world of cynics.

      She’d led him a merry dance. Convincing him that she had something he’d never seen before in his life: an intoxicating naivety. But it had all been an act. For her own amusement. Because she’d been bored. Or as jaded as him.

      Lara stood in front of him now, tall in her heels, but she’d still only reach his shoulder. For a second something inside him faltered.

      Had her eyes always been so blue and so huge? She was pale now, her cheeks and lips almost bloodless. Because she was disgusted by his proposal? Good.

      Ciro had to forcibly curb the urge to clamp his hands around her face, angle it up towards him and plunder that mouth until she was flushed and her mouth was throbbing with blood.

      No other woman had ever had the same effect on him. Instantaneous. Elemental. He vowed right then that she would never see how easily she pushed him to the edge of his control.

      He took a step back. Lara had denied him before but she wouldn’t deny him now. She owed him. Owed him her body and the connections a marriage to her would bring him.

      ‘Well, Lara?’

      ‘This is the day of my husband’s funeral...have you no sense of decency?’

      Ciro could have laughed at her dogged refusal to stop acting. ‘Are you telling me you really cared about the old man?

      The thought that she might actually be grieving for her husband slid into his mind for a second before he brutally quashed it. Impossible.

      She flushed. With guilt. Ciro didn’t like the rush of relief he felt. ‘Save your energy, cara. Your acting skills are wasted on me.’

      ‘Stop calling me that. I’m not your cara.’

      Her hands were balled into fists by her sides and her eyes were bright blue.

      Ciro uncrossed his arms. ‘You never minded it before... If I remember correctly you used to love it.’ He mimicked her breathless voice, ‘“Ciro, what does it mean...? Am I really your cara?”’

      ‘That was before.’ Lara’s cheeks had lost their colour again.

      ‘Yes,’ Ciro said harshly, angry that he noticed so much about this woman. Every little tic. ‘That was when you were only too happy to court infamy by becoming engaged to me to alleviate your boredom. What I can’t quite understand, though, is the virginal act? That was a touch of authenticity that deprived us both of mutual pleasure.’

      It was excruciating to Lara that Ciro remembered how ardently she’d loved him. How much she’d wanted him.

      Without thinking about it, just needing to wound him as he was wounding her, she let words tumble out of her mouth. ‘I never wanted you.’

      As soon as she’d said the words she realised her mistake. Colour scored Ciro’s cheekbones, making the scar stand out even more lividly. His eyes burned a dark brown, almost black. She was mesmerised by the fierce pride she could see in his expression. He was every inch the bristling Sicilian male now.

      ‘Little liar,’ he breathed. ‘You wanted me as much as I wanted you. More.’

      He