A small brown circle lay just above his heart and another on his opposite shoulder. A thin white mark cut a jagged line through the smattering of fine dark hair at the bottom of his ribcage.
But before she had time to even think about what they could be or what they might mean, he’d leaned forwards and bent his head for another scorching kiss and all she could focus on was the desire hammering around inside her. The heat that was igniting her blood and making her burn.
And that wasn’t the only thing that was burning.
Through the swirling fog of desire and the intoxicating scent of him, came the trace of smoke. Acrid smoke. That unless they’d set fire to the island came from the stove.
With Herculean effort and a rush of alarm, Carla broke away, breathing hard, and put her hands on the rock-solid wall of his chest.
‘The garlic,’ she managed hoarsely. ‘It’s burning.’
‘Dio,’ he muttered after a moment in which he looked as dazed as she felt.
Raking his hands through his hair and giving himself a quick shake, Rico stepped back, taking the heat and the madness with him, and went off to investigate the damage, which gave Carla an all too clear view of herself in the mirror that hung over the fireplace. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks bright red and her lips swollen. Her heavy, tingling breasts strained against the bodice of her dress and her legs were spread wide.
Who was this woman in the mirror with the desire-soaked eyes and the heaving chest? Where had that unexpectedly fierce and wanton response come from? She didn’t recognise herself. If they hadn’t been interrupted she and Rico wouldn’t have stopped, and it was suddenly terrifying because this wasn’t who she was. She didn’t act on instinct and throw caution to the wind with no thought for the consequences. She never allowed herself to be dazzled to distraction by a handsome face and a great body. She took great care to avoid any situation in which the kind of lust that could lay waste to her judgement might arise.
So what had she been thinking? How could she risk destroying the wall around her emotions and the control she’d worked so hard to achieve? Was she insane? More pressingly, how could she and Rico possibly sit down to dinner after that? It would be excruciating.
‘You know what?’ she said, slipping off the island and pulling her dress down with still trembling hands. ‘On second thoughts, I’m not really hungry. And I should probably go and make some calls,’ she added, unable to look at him as she backed away just as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her. ‘So, ah, thanks for your help today and I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS GOOD that Carla had fled when she had, Rico thought darkly as he shoved the linguine alle vongole he’d finished off making—minus the burnt garlic—into the fridge, his appetite, for food at least, gone. Her sense of self-preservation was clearly as strong as his, even if it had kicked in late.
His, on the other hand, hadn’t kicked in at all. He’d taken one look at her, at the challenge and heat in her gaze, and he’d known exactly what she wanted. Too tightly wound and befuddled by need to recall at that precise moment why getting involved with her was a bad idea, he’d succumbed to the temptation to give it to her.
The kiss had been wild and hot, far more explosive than anything he’d imagined. The minute their mouths had met desire had erupted inside him, powering along his veins and channelling all his blood to his groin. The longer the kiss had gone on, the hotter and harder he’d become, and if she hadn’t stopped him he’d have leaned her back, pushed her dress up and taken her right there and then. The entire kitchen could have been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed.
What the hell had he been thinking? he wondered, still dazed by the intensity of the encounter, as he switched the lights off and crossed the hall to his flight of stairs with barely a glance in the direction of hers. Where had his control gone? And why on earth had he approached her in the first place? Everything had been fine until he’d stalked round to her side of the island and foolishly positioned himself within reaching distance of her in a move designed to scare her off but which had spectacularly backfired.
Well, maybe not that fine, he mentally amended, striding into his room, tossing the T-shirt she’d pulled off him into the laundry bin and shuddering at the memory of how warm and soft her hands had felt on his naked skin.
Despite his outward cool, he’d been on shaky ground ever since they’d met. On her arrival in Venice cracks had begun to appear when he’d realised how tempting she was but how dangerous she could be. And when she’d stood there in the gym and questioned him about the accident, those cracks had opened up into great, jagged fi
ssures.
He didn’t like the burgeoning possibility that his accident could have affected him emotionally as well as physically. The idea that he had somehow been fundamentally altered by what had happened was troubling. Yet, there was no denying that he’d experienced more doubt, bewilderment and wariness in the last three months than he had in the last two decades, and who was he if he wasn’t the man who was supremely confident in what he did, who’d always thrived on risk and recklessness and to hell with the consequences?
Nor did he appreciate the stirring up of his past. He hated thinking about the senseless death of his parents at the hand of a recklessly overtaking driver who’d ripped him from everything he’d ever known. Family. Home. Love. And he never allowed himself to wonder how his life might have turned out had they lived.
He didn’t wish to revisit any of those memories in any great detail, or contemplate his regret at having repeatedly run away from his foster carer in search of what he’d thought would be a better life, with a need to take control. He certainly wasn’t ready to welcome back the maelstrom of feelings he’d had at the time, which had become so overwhelming, so unbearable, that he’d shut them down. He doubted he ever would be, and that was all right with him.
What wasn’t all right was allowing Carla to have pushed that far in the first place. He should have put a stop to it sooner, when he could have done so with a cooler head. Despite having had virtually no experience of that kind of conversation, he should have pressed her for more instead of allowing her to fight back. But even though he hadn’t, he should have been one hundred per cent ready for whatever she chose to throw at him.
However, he’d failed at that too.
He didn’t know why he’d been so rocked to learn that he’d been born in Argentina and was one of three. As he’d told her, he’d always known he was adopted, so it shouldn’t make any difference where he’d been born. Nor should it matter how many siblings he potentially had. He wasn’t interested in one, let alone two.
So why did the letter that his parents had left with a law firm in Milan, which he’d been told about at the age of eighteen and ruthlessly ignored, suddenly now seem significant?
On learning of its existence he’d instructed the solicitor to do whatever he liked with it, since its contents held zero appeal. He’d already been on his way to making his first fortune. Every gamble he’d taken had paid off and everything he’d touched had turned to gold. He’d been living the hedonistic life his new-found wealth afforded him and he absolutely had not needed a reminder of his past, of the crucifying rejection and abandonment he’d felt in the aftermath of his parents’ death, the gaping hole they’d left, and how vulnerable and gullible he’d once been.
Now, as he unbuckled his belt and shucked off his shorts, he wondered what had become of it. Had the solicitor done as he’d instructed and destroyed it? What had it contained? Could it have held information about the circumstances of his birth? He couldn’t seriously be contemplating trying to track it down, could he?
The crushing pressure of now questioning everything he’d always considered a certainty was pushing him to the end of his tether and fraying his control. All day he’d been on edge, and it was largely down to Carla, who he wanted with a fierceness that blew him away. Who dazzled him and robbed him of reason and possibly now knew more about him than he’d realised he’d revealed. Who was just as tenacious and dangerous as he’d suspected and had to be kept at arm’s length by whatever means possible.
Tuesday morning, he thought grimly, stepping into the shower and turning it on to cold, couldn’t come fast enough.