Sara Craven Tribute Collection. Sara Craven
‘Is there anything—anything you don’t know about me?’
He laughed softly, ‘Mia bella—I have only just begun, believe me. Now—shall we go?’
And she found herself walking beside him, out into the damp chill—and the total uncertainty—of the night.
THEY walked in silence, not touching, but Cory was heart-stoppingly aware of the tall figure moving with lithe grace at her side. She had half expected him to take her arm or her hand, and was grateful for the respite. Which was all it was.
Because she had no idea what would happen when they reached their destination.
She couldn’t feel shock or even mild surprise that, as she’d feared, he’d discovered where she lived. Not any more. Every defence she had seemed to be crumbling in turn.
Which one would be next? she wondered, with a slight shiver.
Rome noticed instantly, but misinterpreted her reaction.
‘You’re cold.’ He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ Her fingers curled into the warm, soft cloth, gathering it round her like a barricade. Which was a mistake, because inextricably mingled with the smell of expensive wool was the now familiar scent of Rome himself, clean, totally male and almost unbearably potent. Reminding her of those few pulsating moments in his arms when her shocked senses had not just breathed him—but tasted him…
She hurried into speech. ‘But you’ll be frozen.’
‘I don’t think so.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘I spend too much out of doors in all kinds of weather.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes—of course.’
She could hear the click of her heels on the pavement, hurrying slightly to keep up with his long stride. The air was cool, and there was a sharp dankness in the air which made her nose tingle.
She told herself, with an inward sigh, ‘It’s going to rain.’
‘Is that a problem for you?’ His answer, laced with faint amusement, alerted her to the fact she’d spoken aloud.
‘Not really.’ A faint flush warmed her face. She didn’t want him to think she was making conversation for the sake of it. ‘If you live in England, you can’t let rain bother you too much. And when we lived in the country everything—the grass, the leaves—was so washed and—fragrant afterwards, I even began to like it. But here in the city the rain just smells dirty.’
‘You liked the country best?’ His tone was reflective. ‘Then what made you leave?’
‘The house wasn’t the same after my grandmother died,’ Cory said, after a pause. ‘Too many memories. So my grandfather decided to sell it and base himself entirely in London. I don’t blame him at all for that, but I miss the old place just the same.’
‘Where was the house?’
‘In Suffolk.’ Her voice was soft with sudden longing. ‘There was an orchard, and a stream running through the garden, and when I was a child I thought it was Eden.’
‘It was the other way round for me,’ Rome said, after a pause. ‘I was brought up in cities, and I have had to wait a long time to find my own particular paradise.’
‘But you have it now?’
‘Yes,’ he said, with an odd harshness. ‘I have it, and I mean to keep it.’
Cory turned her head to look at him in faint bewilderment, and stumbled on an uneven paving flag.
Instantly Rome’s hand shot out and grasped her arm, steadying her.
She felt the clasp of his fingers echo through every bone, sinew and nerve-ending. Was aware of her body clenching involuntarily in the swift, painful excitement of response. Bit back the small gasp that tightened her throat.
Turned it into a breathless laugh instead. ‘Oh, God—I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry. Perhaps it was the wine. I’m not accustomed to it…’
‘You don’t usually drink wine?’ He looked down at her, brows lifting.
‘Rarely more than one glass.’ Her smile was rueful. ‘So I’ll never make your fortune for you. Isn’t that a shocking admission?’
‘It confirms what I suspected,’ Rome said, after a pause. ‘That you work hard, and take your pleasures in strict moderation.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That makes me sound very dull.’
He smiled back at her. ‘Not dull, mia cara.’ His voice was suddenly gentle. ‘Merely—unawakened.’
She stared at him, her lips parting in surprise and uncertainty. When he halted, it took her a moment to realise that they’d actually reached the front door of her flat.
And some kind of moment of truth, she thought, her heart lurching half in panic, half in unwilling excitement.
As she fumbled in her bag for her key, she heard herself say in a voice she barely recognised, ‘Would you like to come in—for some more coffee?’
His hesitation was infinitesimal but fatal, cutting her to the core.
‘I cannot mia bella.’ He sounded genuinely regretful, but it was rejection just the same. ‘I have to go back to the restaurant and close the deal with Alessandro.’
She said, ‘Oh.’ Then, ‘Yes—I see.’
She rallied, fighting down the disappointment that was threatening to choke her. Fighting to conceal from him that he had the power to hurt her.
She said brightly, ‘Well—thank you for a lovely meal.’
‘The gratitude is all mine, Cory mia.’ He took the hand she did not offer and raised it to his lips, turning it at the last moment so that his mouth brushed her inner wrist, where the telltale pulse leapt and fluttered uncontrollably at the brief contact.
‘And perhaps I had better have my jacket,’ he went on conversationally as he released her. ‘Unless, of course, you wish to keep it.’
‘No—no—here.’ Almost frantically she rid herself of its sheltering folds and pushed it at him. ‘Goodbye.’ She turned away, stabbing her key into the lock.
He said softly, ‘I prefer—goodnight.’
As the door opened at last, she allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder, but he was already yards away, his long stride carrying him back to his own life—his own preoccupations.
Cory thought, So that’s that, and went in, closing the door behind her.
Rome cursed savagely under his breath as he walked away. What in hell was the matter with him? he demanded silently. His grandfather had been right. She was ready to fall into his outstretched hands.
All he’d had to do was walk through that door with her and she’d have been his. Total victory with minimum difficulty, he thought cynically.
A victory that he’d wanted, starkly and unequivocally, as the unquenched heat in his body was reminding him. The whole evening had been building to that moment.
And yet—unbelievably—inconceivably—he’d held back. Made a paltry excuse about an appointment that was actually scheduled for the next day.
And she’d known. The street lighting had taken all the colour from her face and turned her eyes into stricken pools.
And suddenly he’d found himself wanting to pick her up in his arms. To hold her close and bury his face in the fragrance of her hair, and keep her safe for ever.
Perhaps