Claimed by the Italian. Christina Hollis
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her to him again, and this time his kiss was filled with fiery passion, robbing her of breath and sanity. Only when they came up for long-denied air could Lily get out on a shaky gasp, ‘Why would you want to marry when you’ve already told me you hate the idea?’
She pushed self-protectively away from him, privately thanking her guardian angel for allowing her that much strength of mind. And he let her. He had to have some ulterior motive for that insane proposal. She hadn’t a clue what it was, knew only that it had to be cruel, because she was already hurting.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me!’ she managed unevenly.
And she despised herself for what he must see as the pall of disappointment that covered her expressive features as he took one of her hands and countered, ‘What is falling in love? Just a sanitising phrase to make the basic urge of lust seem more acceptable.’ He trapped her hand with lean bronzed fingers. ‘I freely admit to lust—you turn me on, you make me burn, you touch me on a deeper level than any woman has ever done, cara mia. I know you too are desperate for our lovemaking, the way you respond tells me this, but I also know you are not mistress material. You are sweet and innocent, and I would not demean you by asking you to share my bed without marriage.’
There was unhidden male appreciation in his warm golden gaze now. ‘Therefore, I have changed my mind about marriage. It would not be such a bad thing.’
With one fluid movement he reached for her again and tumbled her back onto the herb-scented grass, that tormenting hand slipping beneath her top to explore her unbearably sensitised breasts, sending a fireball of eroticism scorching through her.
His wickedly sensual mouth was a whisper away from her trembling lips as he murmured urgently, ‘Marriage. Think of it, my Lily. Being able to enjoy your delightful body, giving you pleasure with an easy conscience, caring for you, pleasing Mamma instead of having to present her with a broken engagement at some time in the future.’ His hand was now sliding down to the soft curve of her tummy, making her weak with longing—until he asked on a thickened growl, ‘What could be more convenient?’
Convenient!
For him!
Give Fiora what she wanted, make her happy. Allow him to slake his self-admitted lust until she bored him as, with his track record, she surely must.
And what about me? she wanted to howl, but didn’t. No point in letting him see how deeply he could hurt her. Allowing him to guess that she’d fallen in love with him. Adding several more cubic metres to that already massive ego of his!
His insulting proposal was all about doing his duty by his mother and slaking his newly discovered lust for someone he had termed an innocent. The way he’d talked about bedding her with an easy conscience made her pretty darn sure he’d never had sex with a virgin before.
And how did he know she was a virgin—an ‘innocent’? Was it that obvious? Was she that gauche?
Well, the novelty of bedding a virgin would soon wear off, Lily knew. Tears stung at the backs of her eyes. He had a low boredom threshold. She knew that, too. He would tire of her, as he’d tired of his first wife, and she’d be shuffled off, hidden away, forgotten. Broken?
Not even the short-lived ecstasy of being his novel new wife would compensate for that sort of hurt.
But not for anything would she let him guess at the emotions that were threatening to pull her apart. Give him the smallest hint of how she really felt about him and he’d move in for the kill! And, knowing how weak she was where he was concerned, she’d make a very willing victim!
Taking a deep breath, she called on every last scrap of her will-power and told him, more or less levelly, ‘I won’t marry you, Paolo. I’m flattered. I think. But it’s not going to happen.’
Steeling herself for another determined assault on her senses, she was left bewildered and perhaps, she thought, with more than a little self-disgust, disappointed as he slowly released her.
He was on his feet with enviable ease, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his cargo pants, his smile frighteningly assured. ‘Then, cara, I have two more days before the party to change your mind. Don’t stay out in the sun too long. Even at this time of year delicate skins can burn.’
Somehow Lily managed to avoid Paolo until dinner that evening. Cook had excelled herself, with lobster in a light sauce followed by caramelised grapes, but she was barely able to swallow more than a mouthful of each.
Forcing herself to keep up with Fiora’s lively chatter on the dreaded subject of the coming engagement party was the only way she could deflect attention from her lack of appetite. Inside she was wound up tight, fit to blow at any moment.
As for Paolo—well, she didn’t dare look at him. But she felt him watching her, and from his occasional lazy comments she knew he understood how she was struggling to avoid his gaze, and was mightily amused by it.
Because—
Because he knew as well as she did that he only had to exert a fraction of the sexual magnetism he possessed in spades to have her helpless, completely in his power, agreeing to anything he demanded of her—even a marriage she knew would end in bitter failure.
And it scared her silly!
She wanted him—wanted to be his wife more than she’d ever wanted anything before. The offer was there, but she couldn’t take it.
With the evidence of one broken engagement, one short-lived marriage and countless casual affairs behind him, she would be committing emotional suicide if she gave in to temptation. If he loved her she would be the happiest woman on the planet. But he didn’t. He’d said as much. And she wasn’t prepared to have her heart broken.
She wasn’t that recklessly stupid, was she?
Diving into a tiny gap in the on-going conversation around the table, Lily asked in a thin, tight voice she didn’t recognise as her own, ‘Fiora, could you spare Carla for a short while tomorrow morning? I need to go into Florence—without Paolo. I’d like to buy him a betrothal gift!’ She forced a smile to hide her dismay at yet another miserable lie, her heart rattling. ‘If she could drive me in, I could find my own way back.’
She held her breath, fully expecting him to offer to drive her himself. He’d know the betrothal gift was pure fabrication and smell a rat. Know she was avoiding his company at all costs because she was terrified of his stated intention to make her change her mind about accepting his proposal before the guests arrived for the wretched party.
But all he said was, ‘Mario shall drive you, cara. Just tell him what time you wish to return and he will come for you. Spend all day exploring our beautiful city, if that is what you want. But as for a betrothal gift—all I need is your sweet self, you know that. However, if it pleases you to choose something, a small gift to mark the occasion, then I, of course, will be delighted.’
Louse! What was he playing at? He would know that her sudden desire to go into town was an avoiding tactic. That she didn’t trust herself when faced with his devastating brand of ‘persuasion’. She might love him, but she would never understand him in a million years!
She did look at him then, and the perfection of his features took her breath away. The slow, sexy smile he gave her worked its usual havoc. Her breath catching, she excused herself, pleading a slight headache, and headed for the sanctuary of her room, locking the door behind her. Just in case.
Florence was an assault on Lily’s already reeling senses. So much beauty, so much style, it was difficult to take in—especially as she felt in need of an enormous ball of string in order to find herself back in the square where Mario had dropped her off and had promised to collect her at five in the afternoon.
Footsore, but slightly easier in her mind after time alone, without the fear that Paolo might find her and work that special magic that could make her resolve melt like ice on a summer’s day, Lily made it back to the meeting place with half an hour to spare. Tables outside a trattoria