Sharon Kendrick - Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

‘A walk? Where would we walk?’

He pointed to the shadows falling over the lawn, which was now growing white with frost. ‘If you look outside there’s a great big garden at our feet.’ His eyes glanced down at the vertiginous heels which made her fragile ankles look almost impossibly slender. ‘Though speaking of feet—I don’t think those shoes were made for walking.’

She followed the direction of his gaze. ‘No. I think you could be right.’

‘Pity. You should have worn trainers.’

‘Trainers would have looked terrible with this dress.’

He laughed. ‘True. Never mind, bella —perhaps I will take you for a walk another time.’

But Cassie felt as if a wonderful opportunity was slipping away from her. Suddenly, she became aware that this evening would never happen again—hadn’t the way he’d said ‘perhaps’ driven that simple fact home? That it didn’t matter where she went in life or what she did—there would never be another frosty December evening in Kensington with this particular man.

He was the most captivating person she’d ever met and he had liked her enough to ask her to dinner. And nothing was certain. After tonight, she might never see him again. And if that were to be the case, then wouldn’t she have wasted the most wonderful opportunity to see how the other half lived? Too choked up with nerves to be able to enjoy herself properly—and too constrained by her impulsive shoe purchase to be able to appreciate the beautiful gardens of his home.

‘Oh, I’m not going to be put off by a stupid pair of high heels!’ she declared. ‘Haven’t you got an old pair of wellington boots that I could borrow?’

Impulsively, she bent and untied the ankle strap, slipping off one of the shoes in a move which left her curiously lopsided. Smiling up at him, she reached for the other strap but something stopped her. Or rather—someone.

For Giancarlo had bent before her—almost, she thought dazedly, like a man about to propose marriage. And he was undoing the other strap—only he was taking much longer than she had done. His thumb was circling at her insole as he slid the shoe off in a movement which felt unbelievably erotic…like a slow shoe-striptease. And now his hand was sliding up her ankle, and her calf.

‘Bare legs,’ he murmured approvingly. ‘That’s what I like about English and American girls—they have bare legs in winter. Even better than stockings.’

His fingertips had now reached the back of her knee—just one light touch and she had begun to tremble uncontrollably. ‘Giancarlo—’

‘What?’ If it weren’t the first time then he would have continued with his erotic journey. Brought her to orgasm with his fingers and then perhaps have followed it with the slow lick of his tongue—before carrying her off to his bedroom for a long night of pleasure. But it was the first time, and so he straightened up—finding that she looked so much smaller without her heels. And so delicate.

With the stars beginning to sprinkle the dark sky above them and the rise of the moon making a pale halo of her hair, she looked as if some flower fairy had tumbled down and taken up residence within the airy confines of his conservatory. Lightly, he placed his hands at her waist as if to anchor her down—thinking that if he let her go she might simply drift away.

‘Wh-what about the boots?’ she questioned.

‘What about them?’ he repeated unevenly as he let his fingers drift up towards the luscious swell of her breasts.

‘Aren’t we…supposed to be going outside for a walk before pudding?’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

Aware that things were proceeding with a rapidity she hadn’t anticipated, Cassie felt a sudden flurry of nerves. ‘You…you’ve let me chatter about myself all evening and yet you haven’t told me anything about yourself.’

‘Like what?’ he murmured.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Cassie swallowed as he pulled her closer—so that she could feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath. ‘Your…your life. Your work. Your dreams.’

Her words shattered his fantasy. Giancarlo’s mouth hardened with a grim kind of reality check—and not just because talking was the last thing on his mind right now. Start telling a woman about your dreams and she started seeing happy-ever-after. And what if he told her that he had no dreams left? Wouldn’t that only make her determined to prove him wrong in that way that women had—wanting to show that they and only they could change you? And they couldn’t—even if you wanted them to. ‘There’s only one thing you need to know about me, Cassandra,’ he said softly.

She turned her face upwards, part of her knowing what he was about to say. And although there were a million questions bubbling beneath the surface, it was as if she were programmed to ask the only one which mattered. ‘What’s that?’ she whispered hesitantly.

‘This.’ And his lips came down to meet hers in a crushing kiss.

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