Free The Sicilian's Passion by Sharon Kendrick Page B

know exactly what was wrong—and how could you tell your mother something like that ?
    The phone began to ring and aimlessly she reached out her hand and picked up the receiver, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Hello?’
    There was a click as the line was disconnected and she stared at it for a moment, then replaced it uninterestedly, secretly pleased that no one had spoken. The last thing she had felt like doing was having a conversation, having to pretend that everything was all right, when everything in her heart felt all wrong.
    The heat of the summer day was still intense, and so she drew herself a bath and soaked in it for ages, until the water was merely lukewarm and the tips of her fingers had shrivelled into pale little starfish. Then she put on a long satin robe and padded barefoot into the sitting room.
    She would order in some pizza. She winced. No, definitely not pizza. The Italian connection would be much too great to contemplate. A curry, then. And a glass of wine. With maybe a sad old movie afterwards, which would allow her to shed tears legitimately.
    She painted her toenails and had just let them dry, when the doorbell rang, and she hoped it might be Lucy. She didn’t want to hassle her sister with her problems, and so she hadn’t suggested getting together with her. But maybe Lucy fancied a little company as well.
    But it wasn’t Lucy who stood on the doorstep, it was Giovanni, and Kate stared at him, her mouth drying, her heart beginning to thunder as she met a hard blue gaze.
    â€˜You!’ she breathed.
    â€˜Me,’ he agreed sardonically.
    Her mouth had difficulty forming the words. ‘Wh-what are you doing here?’
    His mouth thinned. What did she think he was doing here? His gaze moved slowly from her face to her body, and the lush swell of her breasts straining against silver-grey satin drove the dull ache of suppressed desire into a heated beat against his temple. He chose his words carefully. ‘I had business to see to in England.’ His eyes mocked her. ‘And I thought I might drop by, as I was passing.’
    She knew exactly what he was implying. Oh, the arrogance! The unmistakable predatory assumption of the man! Kate leaned on the door and composed her face into a calm, unperturbed mask made false by the sustained thundering of her heart. ‘So here you are,’ she observed coolly.
    Her haughty demeanour stirred his senses more than it had any right to. Had he expected that she would simply fall into his arms? ‘Here I am,’ he agreed levelly. He paused deliberately, and his voice deepened into a silky question. ‘Are you not going to invite me in, cara ?’
    She supposed that some women might have shouted a few home truths before slamming the door in his face, but her curiosity was aroused. And not just your curiosity, taunted the remorseless voice of her conscience with chilling accuracy. Despairing of the fact that the last thing she wanted was for him to simply walk away, she shrugged nonchalantly.
    â€˜Why not?’ She opened the door wider, telling herself that it was necessary to see him. To talk to him. What did they call the kind of conversation they needed to have together? Closure, that was it. Common sense told her that she would never completely be free of his memory unless they achieved some kind of closure. That was all it was. She gestured for him to come inside.
    Silently he expelled the breath which he hadn’t even realised he had been holding, and followed her into the sittingroom, his eyes mesmerised by the swaying thrust of each buttock as it moved provocatively against the satin while she walked.
    Her heart was beating fast. His presence was like a light, filling the room with some unbearable, shimmering promise. And that was an illusion, she told herself fiercely as she turned to face him, wondering whether her face betrayed the fact that she wanted him.
    He was wearing some