illness? Or…?’
‘No, no. He-he died in a bushfire. It was that really hot summer.’ She glanced quickly away from him, the words drying on her tongue. She couldn’t tell him so bluntly, not like this, and open it all up again. She drew in a breath, and finished curtly. ‘Their house burned down. We lost-just about everything. Afterwards, Mum wanted to start life afresh in another place.’
‘Per carita.’ He looked genuinely shocked, and stood shaking his head in dismay. ‘But that’s a terrible tragedy.’ Gazing at her with concern, he touched her cheek with his knuckle.
It was only a light touch, but tender. As always when the disaster was mentioned and someone showed sympathy her throat thickened. She lowered her swimming gaze and quickly turned away. Tempted again to spill all of it at once, make a dent in his smooth armour, she drew breath to speak. Then she remembered his coldness earlier, his mockery, and thought better of it. Enough that it had happened when it had happened.
There was no point telling the man who’d married someone else how the family tragedy had interfered with her plans to be with him. Why whip him with it just to leave herself exposed?
And she had something more precious to lose than mere pride.
As if in mockery of her inner struggle, he took her arms in his strong, gentle grip. ‘I am so sorry about your father, Larissa.’
Her senses plunged into uproar. Oh, the temptation to melt against him and soak up the comfort of his arms. With his use of the affectionate name he used to call her, his dark eyes glowing with such genuine concern, he was almost the sincere, charming man she’d fallen in love with.
He could do that so well, her brain reminded itself, make a woman believe he cared, such beautiful manners, while on another level some primitive part of her was alive to something else in those dark eyes. Some hot, fiery spark in their depths that had nothing to do with the conversation.
Her heart skipped up a gear. A kiss was in the offing. More than a kiss. If she once glanced at his mouth, it would happen, the moment would intensify, and then…
‘It was a-a tragedy,’ she acknowledged, stiff in her effort not to let her eyes stray. ‘But Mum and I got through it. We had each other. We had-good things to live for,’ she added hoarsely, disengaging herself in time.
Was he aware of the galloping vibrations, her voice, the sudden tension? He walked silently for a few metres, then gave her a long, subtle glance, brimming with sensuality, his gorgeous sexy mouth not quite edging up at the corners, and her insides did a slow flip.
He knew. Of course he knew.
They turned the street corner into the main shopping precinct. As always any time of the day or night, Newtown was humming with its own offbeat energy. Patrons thronged the bars and theatres, spilled onto the pavement from the multicultural mix of cafes, protected from the chill night air by clear plastic walls, while late shoppers still lingered at the delis and the organic green co-op. In the doorway of the Friends’ Design Gallery, a dreadlocked man with a sax sat before a brazier playing ‘Unchained Melody’, in competition with the sound of bouzoukis issuing from the Greek restaurant further along the street.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and hugged the coat to herself. She wasn’t so aware of being cold. Nerves and the excitement of being out in the night air were making her tremble on the inside of her skin. Or perhaps it was what she had to tell him.
She hoped he was in a mood for revelations.
The brasserie had awnings on the windows and a softly lit bar at one end, with tall bar stools and a couple of tables in inviting little alcoves with plush banquette seats. Logs blazed in a giant fireplace set into the middle of the floor, screening most of the bar area from the main restaurant. It was inviting, and in one of the alcoves a group lingered over their pre-dinner drinks, soaking up the warmth.
Alessandro steered her to the other table. She slipped off her coat and sat down, and he slid into the seat at right angles to hers. He picked up the wine list, and with a glance at her edged a little closer so she could examine it with him. She scanned the list, aware of feeling the heat from his body, intensely conscious of their arms touching, his ribs just a few inches away from hers.
The bartender was doubling as waiter in the restaurant, so they had plenty of time for consultation. Not that she knew anything about wine, and throughout the discussion she sensed another kind of communication between her and Alessandro that kept her heart drumming. Made her careful to avoid too much eye contact.
Eventually the waiter materialised and Alessandro ordered a merlot, then lounged back against the banquette, his eyes making occasional flickering glances to her face and hands, lingering on her throat. She’d rarely felt more conscious of her body. Was it like this for everyone who met an ex-lover? Once having been activated, were those old triggers for ever present and at risk of causing their owners to burst into flame?
When the rich crimson wine was before them, he clinked glasses with hers.
‘Salute.’
She met his eyes, and they were veiled, with golden shimmers of heat in their dark depths that she recognised with a deep pang of response. His movements were measured, his mouth relaxed, and so stirringly sensual and evocative of past pleasures, she had to lower her gaze.
This was how he’d looked before, when love was on the menu. When he’d been confident of her. He was at his most devastating, but it was important she keep command of herself. Not allow herself to be seduced.
She thought of Vivi. How warm would he be when she told him?
He watched her take a sip, the firelight reflected in his eyes, then he angled his body a little further her way. ‘So fill me in on your little life. Is there a guy?’
The question sounded lazy, but despite his sleepy eyelids and relaxed tone there was a stillness in him as he awaited her response. It was tempting to lie, tease him a little. Pretend she was as desirable to other men as she’d once been to him. But how sad would that be? It had been her choice to lead the celibate life. The search for a partner was too hard. A series of uncles while she reviewed their qualifications was not what she’d planned for her daughter.
‘Not currently.’
His black brows lifted. ‘Why not?’
She swirled the wine in her glass, then sipped, welcoming its rich mellowness on her dry lips, aware of his glance drifting to her mouth. ‘Is there ever an answer to that question?’ She lowered her lashes, then looked up again, directly at him. ‘What about you? Is there a woman?’
He shook his head. ‘No woman in particular.’
‘But-you had a woman,’ she said silkily. ‘Your wife.’
He frowned down at the table. ‘For a very short time. That was-a mistake. We married each other for-reasons we shouldn’t have.’ He looked grim all of a sudden, and she felt a little flare of anger. The thought came to her, not for the first time, that he should never have married that woman. He’d belonged to her.
‘You must have already known her when you were here before,’ she said lightly. ‘With me.’
He gave a shrug. ‘Since childhood.’
She felt a sort of helplessness, imagining their intimacy, the shared experiences of long acquaintance. How could she ever have competed with that?
‘Did you tell her about-me?’
He met her gaze steadily. ‘Everything.’
‘And she still went ahead with the wedding?’
His eyelids flicked down, and she thought suddenly she would never understand. Never be able to guess how aristocratic Venetians and their wealthy connections thought about such things as love and marriage, and little flings on the side.
It cost her some pride, but she had to ask. ‘Did you love her?’
He scanned her face, his dark eyes glinting. ‘Whatever I say to that you will hold against me, one way or another.’
‘Then you did.’ She smiled, though it scraped her heart.
‘I’m beginning to feel flattered. What do you care?’
‘I don’t care,’ she said fiercely, her voice shaking all at once. She set down her glass with a snap.
Unexpectedly, he leaned over, tilted up her face and took her lips in a hot, hungry little kiss. The contact with his sensuous mouth was electrifying. While her mind reeled in shock, her parched lips responded to the delicious friction like the desert earth drinking in the rain. As he intensified the connection, gripping her with one lean hand
