Free Microsoft Word - Document1 by nikka

black thing? You mean, my
    dress?”
    “What’s under it?”
    She blinked. “Under…?”
    “Give me a break, okay? You’re not deaf. Stop repeating what I say and answer the question.
    What’s under that dress?”
    Color heated her face. “My…my undergarments.”
    He grinned. She almost made the old-fashioned word sound real. “Silk? Lace? Bra? Panties?”
    His smile tilted. “Or is it a thong?”
    Chiara shot to her feet. “You’re disgusting!”
    “You know, it took me a while but I finally figured it out. This get-up. The clothes, the hair, the
    ‘Don’t touch me’ all but painted on your forehead—it was all for me, wasn’t it?”
    She swung away. His hands fell hard on her shoulders and he spun her to him. He wasn’t smiling
    anymore; his face was hard, his eyes cold.
    “The real Chiara Cordiano is the one I kissed in that car.”
    “You are pazzo! Crazy! Let go of me. Let go of—”
    Rafe bent his head and kissed her. It was a stamp of masculine power and intent, and when she
    tried to twist away from him, he caught her face between his hands and kissed her even harder,
    forcing her lips apart, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, taking, demanding, furious with her
    for the lies, furious with himself for falling for them.
    Furious, because he was stupid enough to want to reclaim that one sweet moment when he’d
    kissed her and she’d responded.
    Except, she hadn’t.
    That, too, had been a lie just like everything else, including the way she was weeping now, big,
    perfect tears streaming down her face as he drew back.
    If he hadn’t known better, he’d have bought into the act.
    “Come on, baby,” he said with vicious cruelty, “what’s the point in prolonging this? Get out of
    that ridiculous dress. Do what you undoubtedly do best.” His mouth twisted. “Do it really well
    and I might just give you that divorce you’re after.”
    “Please,” she sobbed, “please…”
    “Damn it,” Rafe growled. He’d had enough. He reached out with one hand, grabbed the collar of
    her ugly black dress, tore it open from the neckline to the hem…
    And saw white cotton.
    Sexless, all but shapeless white cotton. Bra. Panties. The kind of stuff his sisters had worn
    beneath their school uniforms when they were kids, stuff he and his brothers used to cackle over
    when they saw those innocent, girlish garments drying on the line in the backyard.
    He stood, transfixed, uncertain. Was this, too, part of the act?
    “Don’t,” Chiara whispered, “I beg you, don’t, don’t, don’t…”
    Her knees buckled. Rafe cursed, caught his wife in his arms and knew, without question, he’d
    gotten everything wrong.

CHAPTER SIX
    THE cabin spun. The floor tilted. And all Chiara could think was, No, I am not going to pass out
    again!
    Once in a lifetime was enough. What she needed to do now was fight, not faint.
    The American had scooped her into his arms.
    “Stay with me,” he was saying. “Come on, baby, stay with me!”
    He wanted her conscious when he forced himself on her. That chilling realization was enough to
    chase the gray fog from her brain. Chiara summoned up all her strength and began beating her
    fists against his shoulders. One blow connected with his chin, and he captured her flailing hands
    in one of his and held them tightly against his chest.
    “Hey,” he said, “take it easy!”
    Take it easy? Take it easy? Maybe the women in his world gave in, but she would fight to what
    might well be her last breath because this man was strong. Very strong. No matter what she did,
    she could not get free.
    “Chiara! Listen to me. I’m trying to help you.”
    “Liar! Liar, liar, li—”
    “Damn it, are you crazy?”
    No, Rafe thought, answering the question himself. Not crazy. She was blind with panic and he
    couldn’t much blame her. What in hell had he done, all but tearing off her clothes like that? For
    all she knew, what came next would be—
    Hell.
    He kept one hand clamped around her