She stood up, her hands shaking as she jammed the phone back in her pocket and stared out at Rome.
She’d show him, wouldn’t she?
* * *
At ten minutes past six Emmeline walked into the formal dining room, intending to pour herself a stiff drink to steel her nerves. What she hadn’t expected was to see her husband already at the bar, shaking a cocktail mixer.
She froze on the threshold, taking a deep breath. She had only a second to compose her face into a mask of calm before he looked up. And when their eyes met she was thrilled to bits that she’d put her plan into action.
It had involved hours of shopping—her least favourite activity by a mile—but the effect was worth it.
The dress was exquisite. It had the advantage of looking as though it had been made for her—in a silk fabric that clung to her breasts and hips and stopped several inches shy of her knee—and it had batwing sleeves that fell to halfway down her hands, giving her a sense of comfort. The front had a deep vee—far deeper than she’d worn in her life before. She’d teamed it with a pair of espadrilles, which made the look a little more casual for an at-home dinner.
‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ she murmured, with a veneer of confidence she was far from feeling.
He began to shake the drink once more with a tight nod. ‘Nice dress.’
The compliment made heat flood through her body. ‘Thanks.’
‘It makes it almost impossible to remember that you’re a sweet and innocent little virgin bride.’
Emmeline fought her natural reaction of embarrassment, which he must have been trying to goad her towards. She saw beyond it. Her eyes narrowed and she moved closer, watching as he poured the martini into a glass and curling her fingers around its stem before he could even offer it to her.
‘That bothers you?’
‘It confuses me,’ he corrected, reaching for more bottles of alcohol and sloshing it into the mixer. ‘Particularly when you are dressed like this.’
‘So one’s choice of attire is an indicator of sexual inclination?’
‘No. But dressed like this you are...irresistible.’
She sipped her drink to hide her reaction, and then spluttered as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. ‘Ugh—that’s strong.’
‘It’s a martini,’ he pointed out seriously. ‘It’s meant to be strong.’
She nodded, taking another sip, and this time it went down more easily.
‘Why do you dress like you do?’ He returned to their previous conversation.
‘Why is it any of your business?’ she fired back, her eyes holding his even when she wanted to look away.
‘It interests me. You are an attractive woman who goes out of her way to hide her assets. It makes no sense.’
Emmeline turned away from him, surprised by how easily he’d surmised the truth of her situation. ‘Not everyone thinks their worth is derived from their appeal to the opposite sex.’
He made a sound of disagreement. ‘But to take pride in one’s appearance isn’t just about meeting someone, or attracting a lover. It’s a sign of self-love to want to look your best.’
‘I don’t agree,’ she murmured, even though she’d never really thought beyond the opinions she’d formed in her teenage years.
‘But don’t you feel better in this dress?’
He walked towards her, a glass in his hand, his eyes holding hers. She stared at him, refusing to cower even as nerves fluttered inside her.
‘Don’t you like the way you look tonight?’
‘I don’t like the way you’re looking at me as though you want to rip it off,’ she said thickly, sipping her drink.
His laugh was a slow, sensual cord, wrapping around her. And was she imagining there was something like tension in the harmless sound? The air in her lungs was burning, exploding...
‘We’ve already discussed that. I’m not interested in being the man who teaches you to feel.’
He lifted a finger and ran it across her lower lip, then dragged it lower, and lower still, to the fabric that joined at the centre of her chest. Then lower to her navel. She gasped as he ran it over her womanhood and paused, lingering there, padding his thumb across a part of her body that no man had ever touched.
‘Though I’d be lying if I said that right now it doesn’t hold at least some appeal.’ His words appeared to be almost dragged from him, as though against his will.
Confusion and doubt were back. Uncertainty. Her insides were swirling and without her knowledge her body swayed forward.
‘I wonder if you would orgasm quickly...’ he murmured distractedly, and a sharp swell of need made her groan.
She nodded—but what was she even nodding at?
His lips twisted into a hard-fought smile and he pulled his hand away. She made a small whimper of anger, and before she knew what she was doing her free hand had curled around his wrist, catching it and dragging him back.
‘Careful, cara. I don’t think you want to play with a man like me.’
‘Why are you tormenting me, then?’ she asked thickly, holding his hand still and pushing herself against him, her eyes wide, her body screaming with need. ‘Why stir me up and then walk away? Is that fun for you? Do you like seeing me like this?’
‘Fun? No. As for why I like doing this... I can’t say. I suppose I’m a little like a cat with a ball of wool. The idea of a twenty-two-year-old virgin is not something I can understand. You fascinate me and I just don’t seem able to help myself.’
‘Then don’t,’ she whispered, sipping the last of her drink. ‘Please.’ She lifted her arms around his neck, and her lips sought his. ‘Please.’
‘You’re Col’s daughter.’ The words were
