in poverty.’
‘You didn’t make me. I chose it when I chose you. And I never felt poor. I felt rich because we loved each other.’
‘But I knew I ought to have been stronger. And in the end your father convinced me that the best thing I could do for you was to free you. He said that if I kept trying to “force myself on you”, you might never recover.’
‘He was a bad man,’ she said. ‘I never fully understood that before.’
Luca nodded.
‘I took his money to make myself rich and powerful enough to revenge myself on him. I promised myself we would meet again, but we never did. My business flourished, so I made it my life. Now it’s all I know. Becky-’
‘I’m Rebecca now,’ she said quickly. ‘Nobody calls me Becky any more.’
‘I’m glad. I want it to be just my name for you. It was special, that time.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It was special. But it was another life.’
‘But I don’t like my life now. Do you?’
‘Don’t,’ she begged, ‘don’t ask me that kind of question.’
‘Why not? If you’re happy, you have only to say so. Danvers Jordan is the man of your dreams, right?’
She almost laughed at that. ‘Oh, please! Poor Danvers. He’s not the man of anyone’s dreams.’
‘No, he’s a dead fish.’
This time she did laugh. ‘Your English is still shaky. You mean a cold fish.’
‘Whatever. I prefer my version. So life with him isn’t blissful. Are you going to marry him?’
‘If I decide to, yes! Leave it, Luca. I’m glad to have found out the truth. I’ve misjudged you, and perhaps we can be friends now. But it doesn’t give you the right to question me about my life.’
‘Friends? You think we can be friends?’
‘It’s the best there is.’
He sighed and she thought his shoulders sagged.
‘Then let us celebrate our friendship with a drink,’ he said.
‘All right.’ She followed him to the drinks cabinet. ‘What do you drink now?’ she asked. ‘Surely not-?’ She named a Tuscan wine, valued for its rough edge.
‘No, these days I don’t move among people who could appreciate it. You have to be Tuscan.’
‘True,’ she said. ‘Dry sherry, please.’
She watched him pour, watched the deft movements of the big hands that were so powerful, and so tender. They were a rich man’s hands now, but no amount of manicuring could hide their suggestion of force. When she looked up she found him looking at her with a softened look on his face.
‘Am I very changed?’ she asked quietly.
‘Your hair’s different. It used to be light brown, not as fair as it is now.’
‘That isn’t what I meant.’
He nodded. ‘I know what you meant.’
He stepped closer so that he could look directly into her eyes, not moving for a long moment. Rebecca tried to turn away, but his gaze held her with its fierce intensity, and its sadness. She hadn’t expected his sadness, and she couldn’t cope with it.
‘No,’ he said at last. ‘You haven’t changed.’
She gave him a melancholy smile. ‘That’s not true.’
‘I say it is. No, don’t move.’
He had laid a hand on her shoulder to keep her there. She stopped and raised her head again, unwilling to meet his eyes but unable to do anything else. At last she could see the connection that spanned the years. The old force and power streamed from him, the confident authority that had been there even when he was penniless. This was Luca as he had been, and as she recognised him now.
Slowly he moved his hand upward so that it brushed against her neck, then her cheek. He seemed almost in a trance, held there by something stronger than himself. She saw his face soften, his expression become almost bewildered, as though something had taken him by surprise.
‘Becky,’ he murmured, raising his other hand and letting the fingers drift down her face.
The effect was devastating. His touch was so light that she barely felt it, yet it sent through her sensations that she had not known for years. They threatened her, filled her with alarm, yet she could not move.
‘Do you remember?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘I remember.’
If only he would let her go. If only he would never let her go. The feather-light movement of his fingers against her cheek was filling her with a bitter-sweet turmoil, too intense to bear.
As if in a dream she found herself putting up a hand to touch his face. Then she took a sharp breath as she realised how close to danger she had allowed herself to drift.
‘Goodbye, Luca,’ she said.
His face became set. ‘You can’t say goodbye to me now.’
‘I must. There can’t be anything else. It’s too late.’
She tried to draw back her hand from his face, but he seized it and turned his head so that his lips lay against the palm.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘It’s too late-too late-’
He didn’t answer in words, only in the soft scorching of his breath against her palm. She braced herself against it, refusing to yield. He thought he could overcome her, and she would not allow it.
But it was harder than she thought because his touch affected her on two levels. She could cope with the physical excitement that scurried along her nerves, but not the memories of that other, sweeter life.
She was assailed by sensations, not only of pleasure but also of sunshine and happiness. She had forgotten about happiness, what it felt like, even what it was. But now it was there again in visions of a love that had been too intense to last.
The gentle caressing movements of his lips brought back unbearable joy, the nights when she had lain in his arms, revelling in the passion and tenderness of his love.
It had been almost frightening to feel such bliss, but his presence in the bed beside her had been reassuring, and she had fallen asleep against his shoulder, knowing that the next day would bring the same.
Now he was recalling the echoes of that time, and she wanted to avoid them and stay in the safe, chilly cocoon she had built for herself. It was painful to risk leaving that safety, but he was demanding it more insistently with every moment.
‘Do you remember?’ he murmured. ‘Do you remember-?’
‘No,’ she said urgently. ‘I don’t want to remember.’
‘Don’t shut me out, Becky.’
‘I must.’
He didn’t fight her. He simply withdrew his lips and laid her palm against his cheek again, looking so sad and despairing that she couldn’t bear it.
‘My darling-’ she used the words without knowing ‘-my darling, please-try to understand-’
‘I do,’ he said heavily. ‘It was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?’
‘No, it was a beautiful idea, but I guess I have no courage any more.’
‘My Becky had courage enough for anything.’
‘Long, long ago.’
He looked down, and suddenly she couldn’t bear for him to look at her face with the glow of youth gone from it. She pulled his head down to her, so that his lips covered hers.
She knew at once that her body had slept all this time. It wasn’t sleeping any more, because he was summoning it to vibrant new life, urgent in its need, carrying her with it despite her sensible self.
His mouth had the same power to coax and demand, but now there was an extra excitement. The boy had gone. The man had a hard edge that coloured all his actions, making her crave to know more of him. She found herself doing what she had sworn not to do, kissing him in a way that urged him on.
He needed no more encouragement to make him extend the kiss into an exploration of her jaw-line, down the length of her neck to the soft place at the base of her throat. Her heart was beating wildly with anticipation, excitement scurrying down from her throat, between her breasts-
