‘So I did,’ Matt said softly. ‘So I did.’
‘And she’s Elizabeth Cory’s granddaughter,’ Rome added. ‘Things may not be as hopeless for me as you believe. I intend to fight you for Montedoro.’
Matt stared at him. ‘If you’re hoping that Arnold Grant will give you his blessing, and a handsome settlement, then you’re an even bigger fool than I took you for.’
‘I’m going to try and persuade him to listen to reason,’ Rome returned levelly. ‘To tell him what I’ve told you. That the feud must end. That it’s too costly, and too damaging in all kinds of ways.’
‘And you think he’ll listen?’ Matt laughed again, hoarsely. ‘I wish you luck.’ He paused. ‘Have you said all you came to say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you can go, and be damned to you. I need to think.’
Rome nodded, and rose to his feet.
At the door, Rome paused. He said, ‘I wish you’d meet Cory—to get to know her. I think it would make a difference.’
‘Yes,’ Matt said, almost absently. ‘Yes, it might. I’ll think about that, too. Yes, I’ll certainly think about that…’
As Rome reached the foot of the stairs, he heard his name called softly and saw his aunt beckoning to him from the drawing room.
‘How did it go?’ She closed the door quietly.
Rome shrugged. ‘Not well,’ he said. ‘But he’s going to think it over. Maybe it’s a first step.’
‘Yes,’ Kit Sansom said drily. ‘But in which direction? However, that’s not what I want to talk about.’ She picked up a small jeweller’s box from a side table, and handed it to him. ‘I’d like to offer you this. My mother gave it to me before she died, and I’m sure she’d wish you to have it.’
Rome opened the box and saw a ring, a large amethyst surrounded by small pearls in an antique setting.
He said slowly, ‘It’s quite beautiful, Aunt Kit, but I can’t accept it. It belongs to you.’
She smiled at him. ‘My dear, I’ve never worn it. My hands are the wrong shape. And I don’t remember my mother wearing it either,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘She always said that amethysts weren’t her favourite stone. Anyway, I’d like to know it was being put to a proper use at last. It’s far too lovely to spend its life in a box. Give it to your Cory—please.’
Rome put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
He said, gently, ‘I want you to be our first visitor at Montedoro.’
She patted his arm. ‘I’d love it. But first you have to win your battle.’ Her voice was sober suddenly, almost fearful. ‘And, Rome, I say again—do take great care. You may not know what you’re up against.’
CORY let herself into her flat, hung away her trenchcoat, filled the kettle and set it to boil, then kicked off her shoes.
All set, she thought wryly, for another quiet evening at home. But she didn’t feel tranquil. She was restless—on edge—prowling round the living room with her mug of tea, glancing through the television listings and finding nothing to interest her, picking up a magazine and tossing it down again, loading her CD player and switching it off halfway through a track.
She switched on her computer, checked the latest share prices, then abandoned that, too.
She supposed she could make a start on her evening meal, but none of the food in the fridge held any great appeal either.
She rang Shelley and left a call-back message on her machine, although it was likely that her friend, who’d had three young men circling round her at the last count, had gone straight out to dinner from work.
She was just reaching for the phone to dial a take-away service when it rang.
She grabbed the receiver, ‘Hi…’
Rome said softly, ‘Open your door.’
She uttered a shriek, dropped the phone, and leapt for the door, flinging herself into his arms. ‘You’re back—you’re here…’
‘I’m also deafened.’ Rome pulled her close, kissing her mouth hungrily. ‘Dio,’ he muttered when he raised his head at last, ‘I’ve missed you so.’
‘Not as much as I’ve missed you.’ She clung to him shamelessly, arms round his neck, legs round his waist.
Rome reached down with difficulty to retrieve a bouquet of long-stemmed crimson roses propped against the wall, and carried Cory and the flowers into the flat, kicking the door shut behind them.
He put her down on the sofa and handed her the flowers. ‘For you, mia cara.’
‘They’re wonderful.’ Cory luxuriously inhaled the rich dark scent. ‘I’d better put them in water.’
Rome took them from her hands. ‘I think they can survive for a little while without attention.’ He tossed them on to the table, then sank down beside her, pulling off his coat. ‘I, on the other hand, cannot,’ he added huskily.
Her hands were shaking as they unbuttoned his shirt. She pushed it from his shoulders, then dragged her shell-pink sweater over her head and fumbled to release herself from the folds of her matching wool skirt.
Rome, too, was hastily stripping off his clothes, his eyes fixed on her as if he was afraid she might suddenly vanish.
He threw cushions down on to the floor and drew her down to him, his hands rediscovering her feverishly, his mouth drinking her—draining her—until at last he lifted her over him, his eyes smiling up into hers, to join her body to his.
She took him slowly, her breath escaping in a low, sweet moan as she felt his hardness filling her ever more deeply.
His hands reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs lightly brushing her nipples as she began to move on him, her eyes half-closed and her head thrown back, exposing the taut, delicate line of her throat.
In a silence disturbed only by their panting breath they established a rhythm—found a harmony together as their bodies rose and fell.
Rome caressed her with words as well as his hands, his eyes darkening sensually as he watched her enraptured face.
He let his hands stray down her backbone, moulding the swell of her buttocks and trailing over her flanks.
He stroked her ribcage and shaped her slim waist, his hands trailing a delicious path over the concavity of her stomach down to the silky triangle between her thighs.
A sob broke from her as his fingers began to tease her with intimate subtlety, moving softly, fluttering on her.
She felt her control slipping as, deep inside, she sensed the first stirrings of pleasure.
And heard him whisper, ‘No, mia cara—not yet.’
Again and again he brought her to the edge of extinction, then retreated.
And she rode him wildly, her body slicked with sweat, her voice a soundless scream, begging for release.
When it came, it was explosive, and she cried out harshly as her body achieved its fierce freedom. Within seconds Rome had followed her, groaning his delight as his body shook with the force of his climax.
Then they collapsed, breathless, boneless, into each other’s arms.
Eventually he said, with a ghost of laughter in his voice, ‘Perhaps you really did miss me.’
‘I kept thinking that you might never come