The Italian's Summer Seduction. Karen Van Der Zee
Cesare responded lightly and with the apparent sincerity that hid the initial much darker intent. ‘As I said to Nonna—in your hearing, as I remember—after your recent loss you need a break. I am not a complete monster.’
As her lovely eyes darkened with pain at the reminder of her mother’s death Cesare fisted his hands and cursed himself, bitterly regretting the glib distortion of his motives.
A devious little liar she might be, but she was capable of having deep feelings.
Unlike her twin.
The hedonistic Jilly would have shed a few facile tears at the loss of a parent, he assessed. But, knowing her as he did, he couldn’t imagine her having a single unselfish emotion. When pressed about her family she’d dismissed them with that irritating tinkling laugh, claiming her mother to be small-town, small-minded and her kid sister as being practical and deadly dull, too boring—Not our kind of people, not worth talking about, dahling.
But this one—Ebony brows clenched, he narrowed his eyes on her expressive features. Silky lashes were lowered to veil her dark green eyes, her soft pink mouth trembled just slightly and her glorious breasts were heaving with suppressed emotion. Yes, this twin had deep feelings, despite her manifest faults—
‘Come.’ His voice soft with sympathy and regret for his own insensitivity, he slotted an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into the sunlight. ‘We will walk, relax.’ Unbidden, his long fingers caressed the firm warm flesh of her upper arm before he realised what he was doing.
When he did he suffered the sharp reminder of her duplicity and his arm dropped back to his side in double quick time. His voice was flat with cynicism as he made himself focus on her deception and the punishment he was meting out. ‘As for the sleeping arrangements, there is a ground floor bedroom beyond the kitchen. If that is a disappointment to you, you only have to say so. On the other hand—’ his voice purred now, surprising him by its husky quality ‘—you might find yourself sleepless, wondering when I will give in to my baser instincts and seek the pleasures of your bed.’
‘More pasta?’ His voice was slow, deep and nerve-quiveringly sexy.
Milly shook her head, trying to cope with the sudden, highly unwelcome way her tummy muscles went into hot spasm. Nothing to do with the spicy tomato sauce and spaghetti they’d cooked together, working companionably enough with just the odd tingling frisson when they’d touched, hands brushing or bare arm gliding against bare arm, and everything to do with the way he made her feel.
As if she were walking a tightrope in a high wind without a safety net.
He’d been lying when he’d said he’d brought her here to give her a break; did he think she was stupid enough to believe that? He thought she was Jilly, his ex-lover, the woman he was blisteringly angry with. This so-called break was a punishment. And the worst thing was she had no idea what form that punishment would take.
And on another level entirely, she felt utterly disorientated. Nothing made sense.
Why had she warmed to him during the long afternoon as he’d shown her around his island, forgetting why she was here, the depth of her own deceit?
Why had she relaxed enough to enjoy every single moment of it?
Why couldn’t she blank out that refusing-to-budge memory of exactly how she’d felt when those long tanned fingers had caressed her arm, or the way he’d slipped a protective arm around her waist as they’d stood on top of the cliffs above the cove nearest the cottage, looking down to the white sands far below. ‘Tomorrow we will bathe,’ he’d told her, ‘take a picnic, spend the day.’
She’d felt dizzy. Not because the narrow zigzagging track down to the secluded beach looked hair-raising but because the warmth of his strong hand clamped to her waist had sent a quiver of heat across her breasts, rippling and stinging there until it had arrowed down to the pit of her stomach with devastating accuracy, making her go weak at the knees and catch her breath.
Now he said, ‘You are tired? You would like to go to bed?’
His low, husky drawl made it sound like an invitation. A slow burn ignited her skin. If it had really been an invitation would she have had the strength of will to turn it down? Or would she, like her poor betrayed sister, have accepted it with open arms, giving him her love only to have it tossed aside?
But it had been nothing of the sort, she decided shortly. What had he said earlier? That she would spend a sleepless night wondering if he would give in to his baser instincts and seek her bed.
Meaning he would have to overcome his fastidious distaste for having sex with a woman he believed to be a thief! But he’d been her sister’s lover before. Was he still in lust with her?
Lying sleepless—nerves screaming—and wondering!
No, thank you!
‘I’m fine,’ she said, glossing over her raging internal turmoil. ‘I’ll sit awhile. It’s so peaceful.’
And it was. Despite his presence.
Darkness was closing in. They’d eaten supper outside. There was a candle in a glass bowl on the table and she could hear the mesmeric whisper of the incoming tide. If it weren’t for worrying about his intentions, agonising over the way she was drawn to him, she could have believed she was in Paradise.
‘Fine!’ Cesare scoffed silently. She was nothing of the sort. Tension came off her in almost tangible waves. Worrying about the prospect of his probable sexual demands? As he’d intended her to, he conceded toughly. A small, easily justified revenge for the way she had set out to deceive him.
A contrary impulse to rise, go to her, massage the taut muscles of her neck and shoulders until she relaxed, leant back into him while he gave in to temptation and slid his hands down to slip beneath the top that left little to the imagination to caress her inviting breasts was slapped down hard before the erotic wanderings of his imagination could do any real damage.
Initially he’d fully intended to hit her with what he knew this evening, demand she tell him the whereabouts of the twin she was impersonating so badly. But during the day something had changed. He didn’t know how or why or even what, but changed it had.
He needed more time to find out what she was really like. He grimaced. More time to analyse his own ambivalent reactions to her was probably nearer the truth.
As he settled back into the shadows his long mouth curved with hastily manufactured cynicism as he watched her reach for the wineglass he’d refilled. Her hand shook. She set the glass down again. Fearful of spilling the contents, betraying herself?
He’d have to be brain dead to have missed the signs. The way her soft flesh had quivered whenever he’d touched her, the tell-tale huff of indrawn breath, the unmistakable peaking of her tight nipples against her silky top.
So would she welcome him if he went to her bed? The unbidden thought had shattering appeal, set his skin tingling with the slow burn of desire.
Dio mio! His tough jaw-line hard, Cesare shot to his feet. Male lust was taking him places he didn’t want to be. The object of this exercise had been to punish her, not himself!
‘Finish your wine.’ His voice emerged coldly. He didn’t look at her, didn’t trust himself to see the look of soft vulnerability she seemed incapable of hiding and not do something about it. Something he’d bitterly regret. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
As Cesare swept back into the cottage Milly expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She heard an inner door slam. The door to the ground floor sleeping quarters he’d talked about?
Whatever. He was suddenly riven with anger, that much she did know. But didn’t know why.
She passed a hand over her forehead in an attempt to rub away the tense frown lines. He was angry with Jilly, not with her, she had to remind herself. Keeping up with her dual identity was really getting to her.
She was finding