Her hands tightened on the balustrade as she fought the tears, harsh and bitter in her throat.
Only a couple of days, she reminded herself as she turned and trailed desolately back into the room. She could surely survive that.
But her real dread was the nights that she would spend alone in that enormous bed, without his arms around her in the darkness, or his voice drowsily murmuring her name as they woke to sunlight dappling through the window shutters.
And all those other endless nights to come, when she returned to England…
She pressed a clenched fist fiercely against her trembling mouth.
She’d known the score from the first, yet she’d allowed herself to be seduced by the atmosphere at the castello. To drift into a dream world where she and Marco stayed together always. Which was crazy.
It felt so right for her, she thought, but that did not guarantee that he necessarily shared her view. He was looking for entertainment, not commitment. Besides, he was a wealthy man. When the time came he would be sharing his life with a girl from his own social milieu.
As for herself—well, she was back in the real world now, and she was not going to allow herself to fall to pieces.
And if there was heartbreak ahead, maybe it was no more than she deserved for what she’d done to Chris.
She’d betrayed him totally, and yet, she realised guiltily, this was the first time she’d even spared him a thought. He seemed to belong to some distant, unreal part of her life. But he was flesh and blood, would be hurting because of her, and he deserved to have his pain acknowledged.
I was unfair to him from the start, she thought sadly. And particularly when I said I’d marry him. But we’d been seeing each other regularly for months and it seemed the next, logical progression. And—somehow— I persuaded myself that I loved him enough for marriage.
Because I didn’t know what love could be—not then.
I should have known it couldn’t work—after that one disastrous night. I should have stopped it there and then.
She’d been trying for weeks to parry Chris’s growing insistence on making love to her. Finally she’d simply run out of excuses.
She couldn’t even explain her own reluctance. After all, she wasn’t a child, and it had been a natural stage in her relationship with the man she planned to marry. A man, moreover, who was good-looking, undeniably virile, and eager for her.
Yet the fact that she’d still been able to resist the increasing ardour of Chris’s kisses should have been warning enough that all was not well.
She’d felt paralysed with awkwardness from the moment she’d arrived at Chris’s flat and found the scene set with candles, flowers and music playing softly. There had even been a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.
Like something from Chapter Two of The Seducer’s Handbook, she’d thought, wanting at first to laugh, and then, very badly, to run away.
And that had been the only real desire she’d experienced. She’d felt only numb as Chris had undressed her almost gloatingly. He hadn’t been selfish. She knew that now. He had done his best to arouse her, holding his own excitement and need in check.
And she’d held him, eyes closed, and whispered, ‘Yes,’ when he’d asked if she was all right.
But it hadn’t been true. Because everything about it had been wrong. And the pain of his first attempt to enter her had made her cry out as her muscles locked in shocked rejection.
She’d pushed him away almost violently, her frozen body slicked with sweat. ‘No—I can’t—please…’
He’d been kind at first, understanding. Had even comforted her. But it had soon become evident that he was determined to try again.
And each time her mind had gone into recoil as her body closed against him.
And eventually he’d become impatient, then really angry, and finally sullenly accepting.
‘You have a real problem, Flora,’ he’d flung at her over his shoulder as he reached for his clothes. ‘I suggest you get yourself sorted, and soon. Maybe you should see a doctor—or a therapist.’
And she’d buried her shamed, unhappy face in the pillow and thought that perhaps he was right.
Until Marco had looked at her—touched her hand—kissed her. Made her burn for him. Established his possession of her long before the physical joining of their bodies. Transformed her surrender into glory.
When Chris had come back from his holiday in the Bahamas, she’d expected him to exert increasing pressure on her to go to bed with him, and had steeled herself to agree, telling herself it could never be that bad again. But their time apart seemed to have engendered a more philosophical attitude in him, and he’d made no more attempts to force the issue.
Perhaps he’d thought that patience would eventually bring him his reward. Or maybe he’d simply been waiting for her to tell him that the medical treatment she hadn’t even sought had been successful.
She had been telling herself that once they were married and settled they would have all the time in the world to work out their sexual relationship. That compatibility was not necessarily instant.
That Chris would make a good husband—the best—and sex was not the whole of a marriage.
Every excuse under the sun.
And I—almost—made myself believe them, she thought. I could have gone through with it. Only Hes wasn’t fooled for a minute. And, of course, Marco, who looked into my eyes and saw that I was completely unawakened.
Well, no one would think that now, she told herself with a wry smile at the mirror as she walked to the door, on her way downstairs to her first solitary dinner.
As she’d feared, time hung heavy on her hands without him.
He telephoned, of course. Hurried calls during the day between meetings that were not going well. And longer, more personal conversations late into the evening, which sent her to bed burning and restless.
He does it deliberately, she thought, twining her arms round his pillow and pulling it close. He would have to be punished on his return, and she knew exactly how. And she drifted off to sleep at last, smiling like a cat.
He’d been gone for three days when he finally called to say he would be home the following evening.
At last, her heart sang, but aloud she said sedately, ‘Has the problem with the tests been sorted?’
He sighed. ‘Alas, no. There is a serious flaw in the product, as I have suspected for some time, and we may have to start again from the beginning. I am authorising a new research programme, with a new director,’ he added with a touch of grimness. ‘Dr Farese believed he could take advantage of my absence and push the new drug through by cutting down the testing process. He knows differently now.’
Flora was silent for a moment. Then she said with slight constraint, ‘Has all this happened because you’ve been spending too much time with me?’
‘A little, perhaps.’ His tone was rueful. ‘But I do not regret one moment of it, Flora mia. However, it means that I must devote more time to Altimazza from now on.’
Her hand tightened round the receiver. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’
‘But enough of that.’ He paused. ‘Have you missed me?’
She knew that now, of all times, she ought to play it cool—make some flip, teasing remark. Instead she heard herself say yearningly, ‘Oh, so much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to tell Marta to have everything you most like