Sara Craven Tribute Collection. Sara Craven
husky note roused her from her sudden stupor. She grabbed at the door, intending to slam it in his face, but he was too fast for her, and too strong. She’d forgotten the deceptive muscularity of the lean body under those elegant suits.
He simply walked past her into the entrance hall. ‘Now you may close the door,’ he said softly.
‘Get out of here. Get out—now.’ Her voice cracked in the middle. ‘Or I’ll call the police—tell them you forced your way in…’
‘With no evidence?’ he asked crushingly. ‘I think not. And then I shall tell them it is just a lovers’ quarrel, and we will see which of us they believe.’
‘You can’t stay,’ Flora said rapidly. ‘I’m expecting a visitor…’ She paused, her eyes flying to his face with sudden suspicion. ‘Or am I?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘My God, I don’t believe this. You’ve caught me again in the same trap. The flat isn’t sold at all, is it? It’s just another trick, and the Morgans probably don’t even exist.’
‘They are quite real, and they are genuinely buying your flat,’ Marco returned. ‘But not, unfortunately, the furniture. We stretched the truth about that.’
“‘We”?’ Flora echoed derisively. ‘Surely a practised liar like you, signore, doesn’t need an accomplice.’
He said slowly, ‘If you are hoping you will goad me into losing my temper and walking out, you will be disappointed. I came here to talk to you, Flora mia, and I shall not leave until I have done so.’ He paused. ‘But not in this hallway. Let us go into your sitting room.’
Flora did not budge. ‘You can talk,’ she said clearly. ‘But I don’t have to listen.’
The green eyes glinted at her. ‘Do not put me to the trouble of fetching you, mia cara.’
Her hesitation was only momentary. Fetching meant touching, and an instinct older than the world told her that, as long as she lived, she would never be ready to feel his hands on her again.
Skirting round him with minute care, she walked into the living room and went to stand by the window, her arms folded defensively across her body.
Marco propped himself in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he looked her over.
He said, ‘You are thinner.’
Flora bit her lip, staring down at the gleaming boards. ‘Please don’t concern yourself,’ she said. ‘Because the situation is purely temporary, I assure you.’ And could have wept with the terrible irony of it all.
‘Have you been ill?’
‘No, I’ve just had a check-up and I’m in excellent health.’ She lifted her chin and faced him defiantly. ‘I’m sorry if you thought I’d be wasting away—or suicidal. What a blow to your male pride to find me simply—getting on with my life.’
‘Why did you decide to sell the flat?’
She shrugged. ‘The blank canvas didn’t seem appropriate any more.’ She paused. ‘Is this all you want to ask? Why didn’t you get your private detective to submit a questionnaire, and I could have ticked the right boxes?’
‘A box would not have told me how angry you are with me.’
‘No, but it would have spared me this meeting.’ She shook her head. ‘Why have you come here? You must have known I would never want to see you again.’
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged quietly. ‘I was afraid it would be so. Which was why I delayed my journey. I hoped, if I gave you time, you might, in turn, allow me the opportunity to explain.’
‘That’s unnecessary. Your godmother supplied all the explanation I could ever need. I know everything, signore, so you may as well go back where you came from.’
‘You are determined not to listen to me,’ he said slowly. ‘Even after all we have been to each other.’
‘I know what you once were to me,’ Flora said bitingly. ‘Thanks to the Contessa, I’m now aware of all I was to you. There’s nothing more to be said.’
‘There is a great deal more,’ he snapped. ‘And I was coming back from Milan to say it to you—to tell you everything. To confess and ask your forgiveness. Only to find you had gone and all hell had broken loose.’
‘Oh, please.’ To her fury, she realised she was trembling. ‘Am I really supposed to believe that?’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t tell me any more of your lies, Marco. I won’t be made a fool of a second time.’
‘No,’ he said bitterly. ‘I am the one who has been a fool—and worse than a fool. What point is there in pretending otherwise?’
‘None at all,’ she said. ‘But pretending is what you do best, signore, and old habits die hard.’
He said slowly, ‘While we are on the subject of pretence, signorina, do you intend to maintain that you did not expect me to come after you? And that there is nothing left in your heart of that passion—the need that we shared?’
‘Your conceit, Signor Valante, is only matched by your arrogance.’ Flora’s voice sparked with anger.
‘That is no answer.’
‘It’s the only one you’re going to get,’ she flashed.
His laugh was husky, almost painful. ‘Then I will ask another question. Flora—will you be my wife?’
The world suddenly seemed to lurch sideways. There was a strange roaring in her ears and she saw the floor rising to meet her.
When awareness slowly returned, she found she was lying on the sofa and Marco was kneeling beside her, holding a glass of water.
‘Drink this,’ he directed shortly, and she complied unwillingly. He watched her, his mouth drawn into a grim, straight line.
He said, ‘And you say you are not sick.’
‘I’m not.’ Flora handed back the glass and sat up gingerly. ‘I had a shock, that’s all.’
‘Is it really so shocking to receive a proposal of marriage?’
‘From you—yes.’ She could taste the sourness of tears in her throat. ‘But then why should I really be surprised? It’s time you were married, isn’t it? And one woman is as good as any other. I’m told that’s your philosophy. Be honest, signore.’
He was silent for a long moment. ‘It may have been—once. God forgive me. But not now.’
‘So, what is it this time?’ Flora stared at him, her eyes hard. ‘A belated attempt to salve your guilty conscience? To offer some recompense for the way you treated me?’
‘I want you,’ he said quietly. ‘And I swore I would move heaven and earth to get you back.’
‘Except you don’t really believe you’ll have to go to those lengths,’ she threw at him. ‘Not when I was such a push-over the first time around.’ She gestured wildly. ‘You think you have only to smile, and take my hand—and I’ll follow you anywhere. But not this time, signore. Because I’m not playing your game any more. I’ve changed, and I tell you this—I’d rather die than have you touch me—you bastard.’
There was another tingling silence, then Marco said, ‘Ah,’ and got to his feet. The dark face was cool, composed, and the green eyes steady as they met hers.
He said, ‘Then I agree with you, Flora mia. There is no more to be said, and I will leave you in peace to enjoy your life.’
As he turned to walk to the door the telephone rang suddenly.
He checked. ‘Do you wish me to answer that for you?’
‘The machine will pick up the message.’ She hardly recognised her own voice. She felt as if she’d been left dying on some battlefield. As