Modern Romance August 2019 Books 5-8. Trish Morey
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of women?
He didn’t like getting things wrong. Underestimating people. He’d learnt a harsh and brutal lesson at the hands of those kidnappers. The kidnappers who’d yet to be caught and whom he was still investigating—with not much luck.
Until that day he would have been the first to admit that life had always come easily to him. Blessed with good looks, a keen intellect and a sizeable family fortune, he’d lacked for nothing. But since those days at the hands of violent thugs Ciro had learnt not to be so complacent. And since the day Lara had informed him she’d never had any intention of marrying him he’d learnt not to underestimate anyone.
His cynicism had become even more pronounced. Any kind of easy charm he’d displayed before had become something much darker.
Unbidden, a memory resurfaced at that moment. Lara, not long after they’d met, admitting to him sheepishly that she’d looked him up on the internet. He’d immediately felt betrayed. And disappointed. She was like everyone else. Assessing his worth. Looking for the salacious details of his family history.
And then she’d stunned him with an apparently sincere apology, saying that she should have asked him face to face. Normally he abhorred women trying to get him to reveal personal details, but within seconds he’d been saying to Lara, ‘Ask me now.’
That was the night she’d confided in him about her family and their history. How she had a trust fund worth millions. For the first time in his life someone had surprised Ciro. And it had only added to her allure.
Until she’d pulled the rug out from under his feet.
For the first time in a long time he wanted to know why she’d done it. Created that persona. But something held him back. Some sense of self-preservation. A feeling that he’d be exposing himself if he asked the question.
As if sensing his brooding regard, she turned and looked at him, and for a second Ciro couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful. And the memory was so vivid. He could almost imagine that the previous two years hadn’t happened.
But they had.
He cast aside memories and nebulous dangerous thoughts. She was here by his side. His. That was all that was important.
He lifted his hand and crooked a finger, silently commanding her to come to him. He saw the way her eyes flashed, the subtle tensing of her shoulders. The resistance to his decree. But then she came. Because she was here in her own milieu and of course she wouldn’t cause a scene.
It was time to remember why he had spent two years keeping tabs on her and why he’d married her at the first opportunity. For revenge, yes, but so much more. He caught Lara’s hand in his, very aware of the absence of his little finger. The reminder firmed his resolve to stop thinking of the past.
He bent his head close to hers, inhaled her scent drifting up to tantalise his nostrils and threatening to dissolve that resolve. He directed Lara to look across the lawn to where heads of state, royalty and A-list celebrities sipped champagne and mingled. ‘Do you see Lord Andrew Montlake over there?’
Lara nodded.
‘He was a friend of your father’s, yes?’
Lara nodded again. ‘Yes—a good friend.’
Ciro smiled. ‘Good, then introduce me. I’ve been trying to get a meeting with him for months, to discuss the chateau he’s selling outside Paris.’
* * *
A few hours later Lara’s feet were aching almost as much as her facial muscles ached from smiling and pretending that it was totally normal to be back in London society with a new husband just over a week after burying her previous husband. She’d felt every searing look and heard every not so discreet whisper and had held her head high with a smile fixed in place.
They were in the back of Ciro’s car now, and she looked out of the window at the streets of London bathed in late summer sunshine. Young couples stood hand in hand outside pubs, drinking and laughing. Carefree.
She’d never had the chance for a life like that. As soon as her uncle had taken over his role as guardian he’d had his nefarious plan mapped out for Lara and she’d been totally unaware of it.
Pushing down the uncharacteristic welling of self-pity, Lara thought of the event they’d just been to. As much as she’d been the centre of attention, so had Ciro. Lara had noticed the looks and whispers directed his way too, the way people’s eyes had widened on his scarred features. It had made her want to stand in front of him and stare them down. Shame them for their morbid fascination.
She’d seen the masterful way he’d operated, winning people around, charming them into submission. He might have needed someone like her for access into this rarefied world, but it wouldn’t be long before he became an indelible part of it. And then her role would be obsolete.
Ciro turned to look at her then, as if aware of her regard. The back of the luxury car suddenly felt tiny. All evening Lara had been acutely aware of Ciro, of his every movement as he’d taken her hand, or touched her arm, or the small of her back. Her skin felt tight and sensitive. Her body ached with a wholly new kind of yearning. And her lower body tightened with need every time his dark gaze rested on her. Like now.
She didn’t feel in control of herself at all any more. If she ever had around this man. And she hated it that he seemed so cool, calm and collected.
If he so much as touched her right now she knew she wouldn’t be able to control her reaction, but he surprised her by saying, ‘We’re going to stay in London for a few days. I have some meetings lined up.’
Lara hid her skittishness and said, ‘Fine.’
And then, just when she thought she could gather herself, he reached for her, taking her hand and tugging her across the divide in the seat, closer to him.
‘What are you doing?’ Lara cast a glance at the driver in front.
Ciro said something in Italian and the privacy window went up, cocooning them in the back of the blacked-out car. The streets outside faded into insignificance as Ciro’s hand sneaked around the back of Lara’s neck, where with deft fingers he loosened her hair so it tumbled over her shoulders.
Lara’s heart rate increased as Ciro’s fingers massaged her neck—and then his hand moved to where the dress was held up by the jewel over one shoulder.
Excitement curled low in her abdomen as she protested weakly, ‘Ciro...we’re in the back of the car...’
He said, ‘Do you know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you all evening?’
She shook her head, mesmerised by the look on his face. She could see it now—the desire bubbling just under the surface, barely restrained—and she felt it reach out and touch her.
With a flick of his fingers the dress opened and loosened around her breasts. She gasped and put a hand up, but Ciro caught her hand and said roughly, ‘Leave it.’
Ciro peeled her dress down, uncovering her breasts. Lara shivered with a mixture of arousal and illicit excitement, aware of the people outside the car on the pavement, where they were stopped at some lights. Only the blacked-out windows and some steel and glass separated her from them and their eyes.
Ciro looked at her and cupped her naked breasts, thumbs moving back and forth over her nipples. ‘So beautiful,’ he breathed.
‘Ciro...’ Lara was almost panting. She stopped talking, afraid of exposing herself even more.
His dark head bent towards her, and when his mouth closed around one tight tingling nipple the spiking pleasure was so intense she speared her hands in his hair. She quickly got lost in the maelstrom Ciro had unleashed in her body, knowing that she was showing her weakness but unable to do anything about it...
* * *
Ciro looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom and took in his glittering eyes and the still