Modern Romance August 2019 Books 5-8. Trish Morey
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never intended to marry him?
She pulled away, hating the way her body was reacting to his proximity. Excitement was building already, heat melting her core. She was still so sensitised she was afraid that if he even kissed her it would be enough to send her over the edge.
‘Well, you’ve had me now. I’m sure the novelty is already waning.’
Ciro easily closed the distance between them again, and this time he took Lara’s elbows in his hands, tugging her towards him. All she could see was that wicked sculpted mouth, and all she could think about was how it had felt on her body. Against her skin.
‘Waning? I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, cara, and you’ve haunted me for two years. Believe me, once is nowhere near enough to sate my appetite.’
His mouth was on hers and Lara couldn’t formulate another word. All she knew was that for a while at least there would be no more cruel words. Her heart was pounding, blood flowing to every tender part of her...
Ciro swung Lara up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. She knew she should protest, try to reclaim some minute modicum of dignity, but as he carried her back upstairs she couldn’t help but think of how she’d endured two barren years of regretting the fact that she hadn’t slept with Ciro.
So she wasn’t going to regret a single moment now. No matter how much Ciro might resent her for this inconvenient desire he felt. It would burn out, sooner or later, and this time, when Lara walked away, she would have no regrets.
* * *
When Lara woke the following morning she was in her own bed. Naked. The French doors were open and the white drapes were moving gently in a warm breeze. She grabbed for a sheet, pulling it up over her chest even though she was alone.
She had a very vague memory of Ciro carrying her into this room as dawn had been breaking over the horizon, the storm clouds of the previous night banished.
Silly to feel bereft when he’d told her he didn’t think it necessary for them to share a room. After all, he wasn’t interested in morning-after intimacy. In a way, Lara should be grateful that this time around all the romantic illusions she’d harboured were well and truly shattered.
She tried to absorb everything that had happened in the space of twenty-four hours but it was overwhelming. This time yesterday she’d still been a single woman, on her way to get married.
She’d still been a virgin.
And now...she felt transformed.
She didn’t want to admit that Ciro’s touch had had some kind of mystical effect on her—but it was true. In spite of the way he felt about her, his touch had soothed something inside her—the lonely place she’d retreated to for the past two years in a bid to survive an impossible situation.
She heard a familiar low rumble and got out of bed to investigate, pulling on a robe as she did so. She went over to the French doors that led out to the balcony, knotting the robe around her.
Hesitantly she peeked over the railings, to see Ciro standing on the terrace below. He was dressed in those faded jeans and another T-shirt and Lara’s mouth dried. He reminded her too painfully of when they’d first met in Florence and he’d been casually dressed. When she’d fallen in love with him.
At that moment Ciro turned around and looked up. Lara stepped back hastily, her heart spasming. Love. Did she still love him?
No. The rejection of such a disturbing thought was swift and brutal.
How could she still love a man who had betrayed her as much as he believed she’d betrayed him? After years of protecting herself from the pain of loss Ciro had come along and smashed aside her petty defences. Leaving her vulnerable all over again. She’d never forgive him for that.
Enduring all the things she had, had made her strong. Strong enough to withstand this marriage so she could finally move on with her life, her conscience salved. But the little whispers of that conscience told her that as much as she might try to justify why she was doing this, she wouldn’t be here unless deeper motives were involved. Far more personal motives.
After all, if she’d really wanted to she could have told Ciro the full truth from the start. Or even last night, when she’d had a chance. But she hadn’t. Why?
She knew the answer. Because however much he disliked her now—resented her, even, for this desire that burned between them—he would truly despise her if he knew about her uncle and his involvement in the kidnapping and ruination of their wedding. In the very public humiliation Ciro had gone through.
Lara knew that after eroding Ciro’s trust in her so effectively he would never believe she hadn’t had a part in it... She also knew it would be another huge blow to his pride to find out that she’d known who was behind the attack. He’d never forgive her for that.
There was a peremptory knock at her door and Lara whirled around, expecting to see Isabella. But it was Ciro. Immediately her belly clenched at the memory of how he’d felt between her legs, surging into her body over and over again.
‘Buon giorno, mia moglie.’
There was something so palpably satisfied about his tone that Lara injected as much coolness into her voice as she could when she answered. ‘Good morning.’
‘I’ve decided that we’re leaving today. We’ve been invited to an event in London tonight.’
Feeling prickly at how cool he appeared to be after a night in which her world had been seismically altered, she said, ‘You mean you’ve been invited.’
Ciro leant against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘No, we’ve been invited. To the Royal Opening of the Summer Exhibition at the Longleat Gallery.’
Lara was impressed. Henry Winterborne had been incandescent with rage last year when he hadn’t received an invitation to the opening. He’d blamed her, of course.
Ciro straightened up. ‘Isabella is on her way up with a breakfast tray. We’ll leave in an hour. I’ve arranged for a stylist to deliver some clothes to the townhouse in London, so you don’t need to pack.’
He walked away and Lara breathed out slowly, her pounding pulse mocking her attempts to affect the same coolness as Ciro exuded so effortlessly. But then what had she expected? Morning-after cuddles and tender enquires as to how she might be feeling?
Lara turned around to the view again. She would be sorry to leave Sicily so soon, but at the same time she was a little relieved. It had been a cataclysmic twenty-four hours and it would surely be easier to deal with Ciro and try to maintain some emotional distance from him in a busy city surrounded by people, than here, in this effortlessly seductive and intimate environment.
CIRO WAS AWARE that he should be feeling more satisfied than he was. And that irritated the hell out of him.
Lara was standing a few feet away, a vision in a long yellow evening dress. She effortlessly stood out from the crowd. The dress was one-shouldered, revealing the alluring curve of her bare shoulder and the top of her back. A decorative jewel held the dress over her other shoulder. All it needed was a flick of his fingers and it would be undone, letting the dress fall down to expose her beautiful breasts—
Basta! Ciro cursed his overheated imagination.
Her hair was smoothed back and tied low at the nape of her neck in a loose bun. Long diamond earrings glittered from her ears. She wore minimal make-up. She epitomised cool elegance, and yet all he could think about was the fire that lay under her pale skin. The ardent passion with which she’d made love to him last night. It was hard to believe she’d been a novice...but she had been. And that bugged