doesn’t love ’em.’
Whatever happened in Marco’s personal life, it happened there, in that large unadorned bed, in front of the technology that brought the world’s stock markets to him at all hours.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he called from the kitchen.
The kitchen was also austere, but beautiful, its white relieved by copper and blue. He moved about it easily, like a man used to doing his own cooking, which figured, she thought. Even a small prosaic action, like making coffee, he performed perfectly.
‘Delicious,’ she said, sipping with relish. ‘You have a beautiful home.’
‘Thank you. Not everyone likes it.’
‘It’s peaceful, I like that a lot. And you know how to show off your art pieces to advantage. The plain background does a lot for them, and the way you’ve arranged the lighting.’
‘Thank you. Praise from you is praise indeed. Would you like to give me your opinion of my collection?’
She finished her coffee before approaching a vase on its own plinth. It was oddly flamboyant against the austere background, and she correctly assessed it as French fifteenth century. ‘And it’s genuine.’
‘Everything in my collection is real,’ he said firmly.
She smiled, replacing the vase on its plinth and moving away. ‘Let’s not argue about that.’
‘I agree,’ he said, standing before her. ‘Arguing is a waste of time.’
Very deliberately he leaned forward, placed one hand behind her head, and drew her towards him. His lips touched hers lightly, cautiously, feeling his way before taking the next step. He evidently decided that the signs were favourable for he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers.
The sensation was pleasant, and Harriet let herself go with it, enjoying the cool ease with which he took possession. He acted as though there was all the time in the world for them to explore each other, and she found this relaxing. When his arm curved about her waist she moved in easily, slipping her own arms about him, letting her hands enjoy the sensation of whipcord strength that came through his elegant evening clothes.
He felt good, not bulky and muscular, but lean and hard, with a concealed strength that pleased her. But everything about Marco was just right, most of all his embrace. He was as smooth and expert at this as at every other social skill. He would know just the moment to deepen the kiss and increase their mutual excitement. She waited, but the pressure on her lips eased and she had a sudden view of his face and it troubled her.
Harriet stirred, feeling strangely disturbed. Her body was responding but her mind was growing tense. Something about this wasn’t right. She put up her hands to push Marco away but he resisted, moving his mouth slowly over hers in a way that bid her leave everything to him. There was nothing for her to do but be acquiescent.
Like blazes!
She tightened her hands on his shoulders in a way that he couldn’t mistake. ‘That’s enough,’ she said firmly and stepped away, freeing herself. ‘You’ve got a nerve, you really have!’
‘For pity’s sake!’ he said, exasperated. ‘This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. You couldn’t have thought I was just going to hold your hand. We’ve spent a delightful evening together, we’ve danced and held each other close, and you say you didn’t expect me to kiss you?’
‘You weren’t kissing me,’ she said in a shaking voice. ‘You were damned well inspecting the property.’
‘What?’
‘You know what I mean. That wasn’t a kiss, it was a survey to see if a takeover would be in your interests.’
‘Now you’re being foolish.’
‘I could hear your mind ticking away,’ she said furiously. ‘Test the ground, so far and no further. You wouldn’t want me to get any ideas before you’ve made your own mind up in case I was a nuisance afterwards, you cold, calculating-’
‘Don’t say any more,’ he snapped. ‘I get the picture. I just wish I knew what it is you want.’
‘It’s very simple. If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly, not-’
She never got to say the last words. Her mouth was silenced by another mouth descending fiercely onto it. She didn’t recall how she came to be in his arms, but there they were about her, holding her still while his lips worked over hers with skill and determination. She tried to protest about the way he was using her, but he muttered, ‘Shut up! You said this was what you wanted, and it’s what you’re going to have.’
She didn’t try to argue further. This was a very angry man, giving a very angry kiss, and how could she complain when she’d brought it on herself? But she found she didn’t want to complain. An excitement she’d never known before was running through her like wildfire. It wasn’t the soft, sensual thrumming that had pervaded her in the club, but a heady, intoxicating thrill that caught her unaware. She couldn’t think, she could only feel, and yearn, and reach for him.
His hands were beginning to wander over her, feeling her small waist, flaring out to discover the smooth satin curve of her behind. There they lingered as though relishing the discovery, before reaching the zip at the centre and inching upwards to the hook at the top. A few more movements and the zip would come down, leaving her nearly naked in his arms. How long would it take him then to have the dress off her, and what would she do? She knew she must decide quickly but it was hard because her body was tense with delight, driving everything out of her head.
She could sense that he was drawing her to the bedroom, past the point of no return. It mustn’t happen like this, when they were half hostile, but she couldn’t think how else it might happen. The undercurrent of hostility was often there, she realised, giving spice and surprise to their relationship. Her urgency increased.
The buzz was so faint that she almost didn’t hear it. She tried to blot it out, but Marco was already disengaging himself from her. He made a sound of annoyance at the interruption, but he disengaged himself nonetheless.
Dreamily she watched as he snatched up the phone and she waited for him to put the caller off. Instead he tensed, alert.
‘Yes,’ he barked into the phone. ‘This is Marco Calvani-go on-’
Harriet stared, stunned by how quickly he’d switched his attention, as though he hadn’t really been involved at all. But she couldn’t believe that, not while she could still feel the heat from his nearness and the driving force of his mouth.
At last Marco took the phone from his ear, but he didn’t hang up.
‘I’m sorry, but this is important,’ he told her. ‘I won’t be able to drive you home, but there’s an excellent cab firm-the number’s in that book.’
‘Wh-what?’ she asked, dazed.
‘Just there on the table beside you-hello!’ He’d turned back to the phone. ‘Yes, I’m still here. Let’s talk.’
‘And you know what really made me mad,’ she told an outraged Lucia later that night.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following day a delicate bouquet was delivered to the villa, with a beautifully worded note from Marco, regretting that their delightful evening had been ‘so unfortunately cut short’. Harriet passed it to Lucia, who expressed her own opinion with a sound of disgust, but mercifully didn’t ask Harriet any questions. Her manner was that of a woman biding her time.
After two days Marco telephoned, inviting them both to lunch at the bank. The Orese Nationale had a private restaurant where the top levels of the hierarchy dined in exclusive grandeur, and where they entertained their most important guests. The two women were treated like queens, by Marco and some of his colleagues.
Lucia had been here three times before, but she was the only woman Marco had ever invited, until now. Harriet understood the implication, that none of his passing relationships had been so honoured. She’d meant to protest about his unchivalrous behaviour after the nightclub, but it was impossible in these circumstances. Lucia too was silenced, which might, she thought cynically, have been Marco’s idea.
Alfredo Orese couldn’t keep a secret, and the news was soon all over Rome that Marco had been seen at the nightclub with a new woman. But this one was different. She was staying with his mother, and she had dined at the
