Kate Proctor - A Passionate Deceit

The door was half-open and Sandro was lounging against its frame with the air of one who had been doing so for some time.

‘I knocked a couple of times, but you probably couldn’t hear me over the noise of your hairdrier,’ he said, closing the door behind him and strolling over to where she sat at the dressing-table. ‘You’ve missed lunch,’ he informed her, stooping to pick up the tortoiseshell-backed brush that had slipped from her hand and placing it on the dressing-table top.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘But you couldn’t have had much in the way of break-fast either.’

‘I’ll eat tonight,’ she muttered, tensing with consternation at the sudden pounding of her heart.

‘Why did you go tearing off into town instead of back to the hotel earlier?’

‘Because I—’ She broke off, furious to find herself actually embarking on answering him. ‘What business is it of yours? Anyone would think you were my father—going on about my skipping meals and not doing as I’m told!’

He leaned over and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

‘That’s probably because I’m not sure whether you’re twelve or twenty,’ he replied, both his voice and face confusingly devoid of expression.

‘Which age did you think I was last night?’ she demanded angrily as she twisted free from his hold, and could have bitten off her tongue as soon as she’d said it.

‘I didn’t expect you to take my words quite that literally,’ he informed her in drawling tones, his eyes glowering down into hers. ‘What age are you, anyway?’

‘Why should my age be of any concern to you?’ she demanded before she had time to think better of it.

‘You answer my question first—then I’ll answer yours,’ he mocked, a half-smile flickering across his lips while the scowling darkness remained unaltered in his eyes.

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Yes—I think I can accept that,’ he murmured, ‘now that you’re not sporting your usual infantile hairstyle.’ As he spoke he casually reached out and ran his fingers through the silky luxuriance of her hair.

Tessa wondered, as she drew her head sharply back from the electrifying touch of those trespassing fingers, if there was any way he could have sensed the magnitude of the effect they had had on her, and felt a shiver of horror ripple through her at the very idea.

‘I…weren’t you supposed to answer my question…now that I’ve answered yours?’ she gabbled, then realised she hadn’t the faintest idea what that question was.

‘Why should your age be any concern of mine?’ he mused, mercifully jogging her traumatised memory. ‘Perhaps women do mature much younger than men, but at thirty-one I do really feel I’m a bit old to be getting involved with teenagers.’

It was on the tip of Tessa’s tongue to ask exactly what he meant by ‘involved’; she felt slightly giddy with relief when she succeeded in biting back the words.

‘I’m glad you understand what I mean,’ he murmured.

‘I’m surprised to hear that, considering I know exactly what you mean!’ exploded Tessa, all thought of caution deserting her. ‘Which, to quote you, is that, despite my most definitely not being your type, you’ve decided to amuse yourself at my expense!’

‘As I’ve said before, I wish you wouldn’t take my remarks quite as literally as you appear to,’ he drawled.

‘What am I supposed to do—search your bald utterances for some subtly hidden flattery?’ she demanded scathingly.

‘Forget what I said yesterday,’ he murmured softly, his hands this time reaching out to the lapels of her bathrobe, prising them slowly apart before sliding his hands up to cup the shoulders he had exposed.

Tessa’s own hands rose agitatedly, not in any attempt to remove his, but to clutch her gaping robe over her breasts.

‘But you’re entitled to be flattered by how strongly attracted I am to the strange mixture I find in you of innocence and—’ He broke off, drawing her sharply to her feet.

‘Of innocence and what?’ she croaked, unable to stop herself.

‘You have to understand that English isn’t my first language,’ he whispered, his words baffling her while the glow softening his eyes held her in mesmerised thrall. ‘I express myself far better, in times like these, in Italian.’

His arms had encircled her and his mouth was coaxing open hers before she had even begun querying the sense of his words. She became vaguely aware of her hands, still clutching at her robe and now trapped between their bodies, but there was no way her stunned mind could distinguish whether the violent pounding of heartbeats against them was a product of one heart or two.

There had been men who had managed to stir an awareness in her of the powerful potential of her own latent desire, but it was only in this man’s arms that a once-shadowy awareness erupted into a violent awakening. And it wasn’t simply the sensuous sweetness of the mouth taking such burning advantage of the eager acquiescence of hers that was threatening to demolish the control she had never before had need to exercise, it seemed to be everything about him—the slight graze of his incipient beard against her skin; the aura of explosive virility emanating from that lean, hard body entrapping her own; that hint of fragrance, subtle yet unquestionably masculine, a scent that was exclusively his. For the first time in her life she knew herself to be in the arms of a man capable of stripping her bare of every defence she possessed…and her only reaction was her body’s eager participation in the wonder of its erotic awakening.

‘Hell, Tessa,’ he groaned, tearing his mouth from its passionate exploration of hers and burying his face against her hair, ‘I’m supposed to be meeting those actors this afternoon, not whiling it away making love to you.’ He lowered his head, his mouth searching hotly in the curve of her neck while his hands moved impatiently to the knotted belt of her robe.

By making love, her sluggish mind began warning her, this man meant a good deal more than a passionate exchange of kisses.

‘Shall I put them off till this evening?’ he breathed huskily. ‘Then we’ll be free to spend the afternoon making love and, in between, getting to know one another.’

He couldn’t have expressed it any plainer than that, shrieked out her now almost fully restored mind—and this, remember, was the same man who had so arrogantly informed her that, despite her many shortcomings, he might just decide to amuse himself at her expense!

‘I see you’ve made up your mind,’ she stated, her voice tight with strain.

He responded instantly to what he must have detected in her tone, his head rising as his arms released her.

‘Made up my mind?’

‘Yes—to amuse yourself at my expense.’

‘Wouldn’t it have been a mutual amusement?’ he enquired, the softness of passion in his eyes giving way to the sharpness of ice.

‘For your information, I go in for slightly more conventional ways of getting to know men than leaping into bed with them,’ she informed him icily, moving hurriedly away from him.

‘That didn’t exactly answer my question,’ he drawled. ‘And, for your information, there’s no need for you to put all that space between us; I’m not given to forcing my attentions on women…not that it would be necessary with you.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ exclaimed Tessa, trembling with rage.

‘Grow up, Tessa,’ he snapped. ‘I’m experienced enough to know when I’ve a responsive woman in my arms—no matter how much she chooses to protest once she’s safely out of them.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t let that go to your head if I were you,’ she flung at him angrily. ‘Not with the sort of louse I’m invariably attracted to!’