She gasped, her body convulsing in startled pleasure, her head falling back helplessly. But he captured her face between both hands, bringing her swollen mouth back to his, the subtle thrust of his tongue mimicking the more intimate contact that his thigh was enforcing.
His hands left her face, moving slowly down her throat and over her shoulders, in hungry search of her breasts. His fingertips spread the fabric of her shirt, drawing it tight, so that the aroused nipples were clearly visible. For a long moment he stared down at her, then slowly he released the buttons on her shirt, pushing the loosened edges away from her body.
His hands moved on her gently, cupping the soft flesh with exquisite, lingering delicacy. His fingers brushed the hard peaks, sending burning shafts of sensation through her body to her loins.
Then, he bent his head, and she felt the burning moisture of his mouth moving achingly on her naked, eager body.
She was spiralling out of control fast, her hands twisting crazily in his shirt-front, trying to drag it apart so that she could feel his skin bare against hers. A wordless sob was rising in her throat. Sunlight, trees, and the baked stony earth were spinning round her in a dizzying circle.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, his face stark, his breathing hoarse.
He said, ‘Dio, I meant to be patient, I swear it. To wait for you. But I cannot—cannot. Mia bella, we must not stay here. Come with me now. Let me make you happy…’
The temptation was unbearable. All she wanted in this life was to yield—to go wherever he wished to take her—become whatever he wanted.
Only, she realised with heart-numbing suddenness, she would have to live with the consequences for the rest of her life. And that life would be spent alone.
‘No.’ The word was torn from her, hurting her throat. She dragged herself free, backing away across the path, half collapsing against the trunk of a tree as she struggled to pull her shirt across her breasts. A first step on the way to regain sanity and a modicum of self-respect.
‘Chiara.’ His voice broke on the word. ‘You can’t do this to me—to us. I cannot bear it.’
‘Us?’ she echoed. ‘There is no “us”.’ She invested the tiny word with scorn. ‘And you don’t have to bear a thing, signore. I’m the one who’s going to be left feeling used, and worthless.’
‘No.’ He took a step towards here, hand outstretched pleadingly.
She recoiled. ‘Don’t come any nearer.’
‘I will stay here,’ he said. ‘I will not move; I swear it. I shall wait for you to come to me.’
‘Then you’ll wait a long time. Because this is where I belong, Marchese. On the other side of the track. Thank God I remembered in time.’
‘Mia cara.’ Guido drew a deep breath. She saw the muscles move convulsively in his throat. ‘Listen to me, I beg of you. You don’t understand…’
‘But I do,’ she said. ‘I understand only too well, and I despise myself for getting into this situation. Because it’s happened to me before. Isn’t that incredible? Isn’t that your actual nightmare?’ She gave a small, harsh laugh.
‘But this time I can step back,’ she went on. ‘Because I decided a long time ago that I was never going to be anyone’s—piece on the side, Marchese.’
She saw him flinch, his mouth hardening in distaste, and pressed on.
‘Oh, I’m sure you could make me forget everything—at least for a while. I don’t doubt your technique is second to none. But in the end my conscience—my sense of honour—would be waiting for me. And it’s easier to run from you than from them.
‘And don’t take my rejection too much to heart,’ she added. She wanted to hurt him, as she herself was wounded. Wanted to use words against him, as if they were stones she had picked up from the ground and thrown. ‘I’m sure you have a waiting list. After all, you’re the man who has everything—looks, brains, and all that wonderful money to buy yourself wives and mistresses by the cart-load.
‘But you forgot one thing. As I’ve said before, I’m not for sale.’
‘Have you finished?’ The harshness in his voice stopped her dead, the breath catching in her throat.
‘Yes.’ She flung back her head defiantly, when in reality, she wanted to howl like a banshee. ‘I hope I’ve made myself clear.’
His face was a death mask, his eyes like winter. He was no longer the man who’d kissed her into delirium—caressed her to the edge of madness—but a formidable, forbidding stranger. ‘Clear as crystal, signorina. As a first step, I suggest we take our separate ways back to the house.’ He paused. ‘And in future I shall ensure that our paths cross as little as possible.’
He turned and walked away, back up to the plateau and out of her sight.
The moan came from deep inside her, filling her head with its animal keening. She had not believed she was capable of such a sound—or of such pain either.
Uncaring of her safety, she turned and plunged down the steps, gaining momentum with every step.
Suddenly she heard voices, and grabbed at the rope to slow herself, narrowly avoiding crashing into Violetta and the Count, who were preparing to start the ascent.
‘Carissima.’ Violetta’s voice was shocked. ‘What is the matter? Why are you dashing about like a mad-woman?’
‘You should not run on these steps, dear child,’ the Count added, his face concerned. ‘It is not safe. You could break your neck.’
Under the circumstances, Clare thought, as she muttered an incoherent apology, that would be a bonus.
And she began to run again to the villa, leaving them staring after her.
‘THERE.’ Paola tossed the glossy magazine she’d been reading from on to the tiles beside her lounger. ‘I managed every word. I am so good.’
Clare smiled at her. ‘Yes,’ she agreed gently. ‘You’re doing very well.’ But only when Paola was translating features about fashion and beauty or high-level gossip, she reminded herself wryly. Faced with anything more intellectual, her pupil went into sulky reverse. And she also insisted that lessons were combined with sunbathing by the pool— ‘So that they are not like school.’
‘The Marchese will be pleased,’ she added with a touch of constraint.
Paola tossed her head. ‘Perhaps—but what does it matter? I still shall not marry him.’ She shrugged. ‘And I do not believe he wishes it any longer, either. After all, he is never here.’
It was no more than the truth, Clare acknowledged with an inward sigh. Since that traumatic parting between them on the track below the Minerva shrine three weeks ago, Guido had been as good as his word.
Their paths had barely crossed at all, because he had spent minimal time at the villa. And she had never again found herself alone with him, even accidentally.
When she did encounter him these days, it was solely on formal occasions in the dining room, or in the salone during the evening, and Clare found herself treated with exquisite but chilling politeness.
And no matter how many times she assured herself that it was all for the best—and exactly what she wanted—nothing could dull the pain of longing that drove her early to the silence of her bedroom each night. But not to sleep. That was too much to hope for.
Instead, she lay, staring into the darkness, counting the hours, as the slatted moonlight moved slowly across the floor, her whole body aroused and alive, yearning for