It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

He was watching her, she realised angrily, with open amusement and had probably been doing so for several minutes, book discarded, hands loosely clasped behind his head as he leaned back on the cushions.

‘I’m not a bit tired,’ she denied hurriedly and saw his smile widen.

‘I am delighted to hear it,’ he told her softly. He got up and put the guard in front of the fire, then moved round the room, checking the door and turning off the lamps. Making the usual preparations for the night, as if he’d done so a hundred times before. Whereas, in fact…

Her mind closed off at that point. She sat where she was, unmoving, her whole body taut, aware of the uneven barrage of her heart against her ribs.

At last he came to her in the fire glow, reaching down for her small, cold hand and drawing her to her feet.

‘It is time for bed, mia bella,’ he said quietly and led her upstairs to the room where the shadows waited.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMILY stood in the middle of the room, staring down at the floor, anticipating the moment when he would touch her and the fight to resist the lure of her senses would start once again. Along with the realisation that she was by no means sure of victory.

Rafaele came to stand behind her and she felt him remove the band that confined her hair and begin to free it from its tight braid. His fingers were gentle and very thorough, combing through the silky strands until they hung loose about her face and shoulders.

In some strange way, she thought dazedly, her skin warming, it was one of the most intimate things he had ever done to her. Almost more so than sex itself.

Then he lifted the scented auburn mass in both hands and she felt his lips caress the exposed and vulnerable nape of her neck.

Her entire body shivered at the brush of his mouth and she wondered if he knew this, and realised it was all too likely. That he knew everything about female bodies, their responses and reactions. Knew—and exploited his knowledge. So any sign of weakness on her part could be her ultimate downfall, and she must never forget that. Never.

It also seemed, from the smoothness of his skin against hers, that he’d had the promised shave—presumably while she’d been preparing dinner.

Advance planning, she thought, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. He said softly into her ear, ‘Don’t make me wait too long, cara,’ and moved away, but only, she realised at once, to undress. She knew, too, that he expected her to do the same, there in front of him. And that there was no real reason to hesitate, because he’d already seen her naked. Had already touched and kissed every inch of her, his astonishing patience pitched against her stubborn will.

She had nothing left to hide from him, but her hands were still slow and reluctant as she tugged her sweater over her head and tossed it on to the nearby chair. She unzipped her cords and eased them down over her hips, stepping out of them in order to do the same with her tights, all the time keeping her back resolutely turned to him.

His approach was soundless. She only realised he was standing close behind her when she reached round awkwardly to unhook her bra and felt him move her hands aside so that he could perform the task himself.

He slid the straps from her shoulders, kissing the faint marks they’d left on her skin, then removed the little garment completely, dropping it to the floor.

He drew her slowly back against him, her head resting against his bare chest, letting her feel the heat of his aroused body. His lips feathered kisses down the side of her throat as his hands cupped her small firm breasts, his fingertips drawing lingering circles round her nipples, making them rise proudly like dusky roses in bud.

‘Bellissima.’ His voice was husky. ‘Deliciosa.’

He let one hand move slowly downwards with smooth and deliberate purpose, his fingers slipping under the edge of her lacy briefs to seek the silken triangle at the joining of her thighs.

‘No.’ Her voice was a gasp as her hand fastened round his wrist, halting him, forbidding him to go any further. ‘Stop—please.’

He paused, his fingers splayed across the flat plane of her belly.

He said quietly, ‘Tell me something, Emilia mia. Why are you so afraid of pleasure?’

‘It has nothing to do with fear,’ Emily said stonily, aware that she was shaking inside. She pulled away from him, drawing a deep breath. Staring in front of her. Not at him. Not daring to look at him.

‘You take three years from my life, you destroy my hopes of future happiness, and then you take me.’ Her voice rose. ‘And I’m supposed to be grateful—and willing?’

She shook her head. ‘In your dreams, signore. Besides, being mauled by you is far from my idea of pleasure,’ she added defiantly.

For a long moment Raf did not move or speak. Then suddenly he was no longer holding her—touching her, and she was aware of him moving away across the room. Of the slight creak of the mattress as he got into bed.

For a few heartbeats she paused uncertainly, then fumbled off her briefs, putting them with the rest of her clothing.

Drawing a deep, jagged breath, she turned and walked to the bed, resisting the impulse to cover herself with her hands. But far from gloating avidly over her approach, Raf was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Emily slid hurriedly under the covers, pulling them up over her shoulders, then lay still, waiting for him to reach for her.

But he did not move and, as the long minutes passed, her tension grew and the deeper inner trembling intensified.

At last he turned his head and looked at her, the hazel eyes cool and steady.

‘I will make a bargain with you, Emilia,’ he said. ‘Kiss me and I will ask nothing else from you tonight.’

Emily stared at him, then found a voice from somewhere, almost squeaky with surprise. ‘You’ll let me—just go to sleep—for a kiss?

‘I have just said so.’

‘But I thought you wanted…’ She didn’t just think—she knew. When he’d been holding her just now the evidence of his desire for her had been frank and unequivocal.

‘Undoubtedly I did.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I find I am no longer in the mood to treat you as gently as I should, given your inexperience.’ He added coldly, ‘So perhaps I deserve a little of your gratitude, after all, if my only demand is a kiss. You are escaping lightly, believe me.’

He paused. ‘Do you accept my offer, Contessa?’

‘I—I suppose so.’

‘Bene.’ He waited for a moment, watching her, brows raised. ‘But you will need to come closer, cara mia,’ he added, his tone almost bored. ‘Sadly, it is impossible for you to reach me from such a distance.’

Biting her lip, Emily edged warily across the bed. When she was within range, she leaned over him, her lips brushing swiftly and awkwardly against his in the most fleeting of contact.

There was a tingling silence, then he said softly, ‘That may be your idea of a kiss, Emilia, but it is not mine. There is ice enough outside the house at this time. I do not require it here in my bed.’

She stiffened, needled by the faint derision in his voice. ‘I’m sorry if you’re not satisfied…’

‘Now that, as we both know, is a lie,’ he said. ‘But now is not the time to discuss my level of satisfaction, or lack of it, and what you might do to improve it.’ He allowed her a moment to assimilate that, then added, ‘At the moment, you are simply required to—try a little harder.’

He raised a hand, cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, so that she could not pull away. ‘So, kiss me again, cara mia,’ he invited quietly. ‘Kiss me as you did on that long ago night in your father’s house.’

‘But—but that was when I thought you were—someone else.’ Her voice was a breath.

‘Did you truly, bella mia?’ Raf asked cynically. ‘I have often wondered how that could be possible. But, if it is easier for you, pretend once more that I am someone else. I promise I will not even ask his name.’

His hand was impelling her down to him, bringing her ever nearer to his waiting mouth.

And this time, as her lips touched the firm warmth of his, she found herself allowing the contact to lengthen—even to linger. Because, she told herself in growing confusion, this was what he wanted. And it was such a minor demand for him to make after—after all those others.

Suddenly he moved, reversing their positions smoothly and swiftly, so that she was lying on the pillow, looking up at him, her startled eyes widening.