‘Last night we had a good time.’

Lara struggled to fight her way out of the images that flickered relentlessly through her head.

‘I made you forget.’

Where she began and he ended.

‘And you returned the favour.’

The glitter in Raoul’s eyes was mesmerising as with his elbows on the table he leaned in, his dark stare mesmerising. The butterfly kicks had been a struggle to handle, but now her stomach dissolved.

‘So what do you think?’

She blinked like someone waking up and choked out, ‘It was sex and it was one night.’ She shook her head and loosed a shocked, incredulous laugh. ‘What you’re suggesting … beyond being certifiably insane—’

‘Could work. I’m not asking for you to sign over your life.’

‘Isn’t that what marriage usually entails?’

Wedlocked!

Conveniently wedded, passionately bedded!

Whether there’s a debt to be paid, a will to be obeyed or a business to be saved …

She’s got no choice but to say, ‘I do’!

But these billionaire bridegrooms have got another think coming if they think marriage will be easy …

Soon their convenient brides become the object of an inconvenient desire!

Find out what happens after the vows in

Untouched Until Marriage by Chantelle Shaw

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition by Sharon Kendrick

One Night to Wedding Vows by Kim Lawrence

Look for more stories coming soon!

One Night to Wedding Vows

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in Anglesey with her university lecturer husband, assorted pets who arrived as strays and never left, and sometimes one or both of her boomerang sons. When she’s not writing she loves to be outdoors gardening, or walking on one of the beaches for which the island is famous—along with being the place where Prince William and Catherine made their first home!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Wedlocked

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE PLACE DIDN’T fall silent as Sergio Di Vittorio walked through the casino but there was a discernible hush in the room, an air of expectancy as the elderly aristocrat walked in ahead of two tall, dark, suited figures. The heavier set of the two stayed by the entrance while the other followed his employer, remaining a respectful pace behind the older man as he continued his regal progress.

From where he was standing, one shoulder propped against a marble pillar, Raoul’s sensually designed lips curved in a cynical smile from which affection was not totally absent as he watched his grandfather’s stately arrival. In the periphery of his vision he remained aware of the middle-aged guy, eyes glazed with febrile excitement, who continued to throw good money after bad on the roulette wheel. It had been like watching a car crash, now only a matter of how many innocent victims he’d take with him...a wife, a kid...?

The reckless gleam in Raoul’s own deep-set dark eyes owed more to the brandy in his hand than the spin of a wheel. Each to his own drug of choice, Raoul thought, with a lazy tolerance. He turned, a faint ironic smile of self-mockery curving his lips as he found himself automatically straightening his spine as his grandfather got closer. Old habits die hard, he thought to himself, and his grandfather had strong views on good posture.

The autocratic head of the diverse family businesses and guardian of the family name had strong views on most things. Gambling, for one. Not really surprising considering his only son, Raoul and Jamie’s father, had blown his brains out when the full extent of his gambling debts became public.

Sergio could have hushed up the scandal and covered his son’s debts—the amount involved was small change to him—but instead he had chosen to tell his son to stand on his own two feet and be a man.

Did he regret it?

Did he blame himself?

Raoul doubted it. Sergio’s self-belief did not allow for doubts. Raoul’s youthful anger had been reserved for the father who had taken the easy way out and left them. It was hard for a kid to comprehend that level of self-destructive desperation, or to get his head around the fact that addicts were inherently selfish. Even the years of adult understanding did not take away the bitterness or the memories of a lonely child, but Jamie had always been there for him, the older brother who had fought his battles until Raoul had got big and tough enough to hold his own.

The long fingers of the hand Raoul dug into the pocket of his tailored dark trousers flexed as his mind drifted back. He could almost feel his brother’s warm fingers tightening around his own as their grandfather broke the news. The moment was etched in his memory: the single tear rolling, in what had seemed like slow motion, down his older brother’s face; the metronomic tick of a clock on the wall; his grandfather’s deep voice explaining that they would be living with him now.

Confusion and fear had clutched at his stomach, the heavy ache of a sob in his throat held there by the desperate need to please his grandfather. He’d saved his tears for the privacy of his pillow.

Raoul pulled his drifting thoughts back to the present, his mouth a hard line as his heavy-lidded, cynical stare drifted to the glass he lifted in a silent salute: absent friends! As the years went on, the pillow had given way to brandy. Or maybe he had simply lost the ability to cry altogether. Maybe he’d lost the ability to feel as normal people did.

Tears would not bring his brother back. Jamie was gone.

He lowered his gaze, his chest lifting as the dark mesh of his lashes shut out the grief. He refused to acknowledge the buffeting of a fresh wave of despair that no amount of brandy could numb.

‘You were missed at the wake.’ Sergio tilted his head to the spinning roulette wheel. ‘So, you have decided to follow in your father’s footsteps?’

With a jerk Raoul’s head came up. ‘It is always an option, I suppose,’ he drawled. ‘And you know what they say...an addictive personality is hereditary.’

Sergio responded to the remark with one of his inimitable shrugs. ‘I considered the possibility.’

The frank admission wrenched a hard, cracked laugh from Raoul’s throat. ‘Of course you did.’

‘No, you both escaped the taint but you are an adrenaline junkie, just like Ja—’ The old man stopped and swallowed hard several times before continuing. ‘Your brother always said that— He... Jam...’

Unable to watch his grandfather struggle for control, Raoul cut across him, throwing out harshly, ‘That if I didn’t kill myself climbing it would be behind the wheel of one of my cars.’

For a moment his brother’s voice sounded so real that he almost turned expecting to see the familiar smiling face—you’re an adrenaline junkie, little brother, and one of these days you’ll kill yourself... The irony was like a punch to the gut.

But Jamie had been the one to die young, not because he had taken a corner too fast but because life was just not fair.

Raoul took a deep swallow of the brandy swirling in his glass as anger circled in his head. It took a few jaw-clenching seconds before he trusted his voice to continue.

‘I never expected to see you slumming it in a place like this, but I have to admit you do know how to make an entrance.’ It was true. Even in his eighties Sergio Di Vittorio made an imposing figure, dressed as always in black, the abundant silver-streaked, collar-length hair catching the light cast by the glittering chandeliers overhead.

If his emotions hadn’t flatlined he might be curious about why his grandfather was here but Raoul continued to feel nothing. He took a swallow of brandy and checked—yes, nothing.

This lying to himself was actually something he might be quite good at.

‘People were asking after you.’

Raoul tipped his head down. Sergio was a tall man, six feet, deep chested and broad of shoulder, but Raoul had been four inches taller than his grandfather since he was fifteen. It still felt somehow not quite right, almost disrespectful, to look down on him.

‘Good party, was it?’ He slumped back against the column, the lazy posture giving him less height advantage. He raised his glass to his lips, the gesture going some way to hiding his expression as he thought, When did you get so damned old?

There was nothing like a funeral to make a person aware of their own mortality and that of those they loved...precious few of whom were left.

He pushed away the dark thought and took another slug of the brandy. It slid down his throat, settling in his stomach with a warmth that did nothing to alleviate the coldness that permeated his entire body, a coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

Sergio impatiently waved away a suited figure who started to approach, and his bodyguard made sure no more attempts were made.

‘We need to talk.’

Raoul had never reacted well to orders. But this was his grandfather so he ignored how the command chafed, allowing his attention to be drawn by the cry of the middle-aged guy at the roulette wheel. It was hard to tell if it was jubilance or misery, but the distraction had served its purpose.

‘Raoul...!’

Raoul gave himself a mental shake and turned back to his grandfather. ‘We are talking.’

Sergio’s lips thinned in predictable annoyance. ‘In private.’ He made a sharp stabbing gesture with his leonine head indicating that Raoul should follow and walked off.

After a pause Raoul levered himself off the cold surface, flexed his shoulder blades, and did so.

Once the door of the panelled, private room was closed Sergio wasted no time.

‘Your brother is dead.’

Any number of bitter, sarcastic responses occurred to Raoul but he clamped his lips tight on them. He had been the one who had discovered his brother’s lifeless body on the floor of his kitchen and the image still wouldn’t let go. An aneurysm the post mortem said. It seemed his brother had been walking around with a ticking time bomb in his chest for years and he hadn’t even known it was there.

‘You here to tell me life goes on?’ He’d read up on it and discovered that what had killed Jamie wasn’t that uncommon. Now he found himself walking down the street looking into faces of strangers and wondering who would be next.

‘Not for everyone. I’m dying.’

Raoul, who had walked over to the velvet-draped window, spun back, fighting off the childish desire to cover his ears. After a moment’s silence he shrugged and dropped his long, lean length into one of the leather sofas.

‘We are all dying.’

Or was it only the people he loved?

He closed his eyes and did a silent body count...the mother he barely remembered, his father, his brother, his wife... No! She didn’t count. He hadn’t loved Lucy by the end. In fact, he had loathed her, but she was gone and they all had one thing in common: him.

Perhaps I should come with a government health warning?

The black humour of the thought drew a harsh laugh from his stiff lips while in his head the scornful voice retorted, Perhaps you should stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself?

‘It’s cancer,’ his grandfather said, at Raoul’s response. ‘Inoperable. Their best bet is that I have six months.’ The older man delivered the information without emotion. ‘Though I’ve never trusted quacks.’

Raoul surged to his feet, denial in every muscle of his taut, powerful body. ‘That isn’t possible.’ Their eyes, both pairs dark and shot with silver flecks, connected and after a moment of contact Raoul swallowed.

‘Sorry.’ His teeth clenched at the laughable inadequacy of the word.

But Sergio simply brushed away the comment with a gesture of his hand. ‘Continuity is important to me—you know what I’m talking about.’

Raoul exhaled a long, slow, measured breath and thought, Hell, not this, not now!

‘Your brother was never going to provide an heir.’

Raoul said nothing. This was the closest the older man had ever come to acknowledging his brother’s sexuality. He’d never called Jamie’s long-term partner, Roberto, anything other than his friend. Raoul felt a stab of guilt. He should have stayed for Rob at least—the man had been utterly devastated at the funeral service.

‘Jamie is barely cold...’ But his skin had been like marble when... Raoul cleared his throat. ‘Can’t this wait?’

‘Time is not a luxury I have.’ Sergio saw his grandson wince and took a step forward, adopting the stare that made powerful men sweat, and laid his hands on his grandson’s shoulders. ‘I made allowances for you after... Lucy died.’ Raoul’s hooded gaze dropped, a nerve along his jaw clenched. ‘But you have to move on.’

‘I have moved on.’

A sound of distaste escaped the old man’s lips before he turned away. ‘I’m not talking about screwing around.’

The uncharacteristic crudeness from his grandfather’s lips wiped the last shreds of alcohol-induced haze from Raoul’s brain. ‘There is no doubt about the diagnosis?’

‘None.’

‘Sorry,’ he said again, knowing that any more tactile or emotional gestures would not be appreciated. His grandfather had a volcanic temperament but he had never encouraged physical displays of emotion in either of his grandsons. It hadn’t stopped Jamie, but he... It hadn’t come naturally to Raoul. He had learned the advantages of not showing his feelings—his robot face, Lucy had called it. Half her twisted pleasure had been seeing her victims suffer.

The older man tipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘It will all come to you now. Whether,’ he added before the flare of anger in his grandson’s dark eyes could spark into flame, ‘you want it or not. You will be a powerful man.’

The last man standing.

Whether I want it or not...and I don’t!

‘That power brings responsibility,’ Sergio warned.

It wasn’t the time to point out that many considered Raoul a powerful man already. While Jamie had chosen to work for his grandfather, after Harvard Raoul had joined a New York law firm, refused the opportunity to become the youngest partner in the history of that prestigious firm and had instead struck out on his own, ignoring all the voices that said he’d regret it.

No voices now, when just a few years later he had offices in several global capitals with a client list of some of the richest companies and private individuals in the world.

The perfect life, but without the rush of the courtroom he was bored out of his mind! At some point he had stopped being a litigator and become a glorified manager. But his brother was the only person Raoul had confided his frustration to. Damn you! Why did you have to go?

‘And wealth, of course, but more importantly you will carry on the name. And don’t launch into one of your egalitarian rants—’

Raoul cut across him. ‘Is this where you say something that begins with, if you want to make a dying old man happy...?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, moral blackmail.’ He spoke without resentment; he could see the logic in his grandfather’s approach.

‘I may never see my grandchildren.’

He lowered his gaze, though not before Raoul had seen a sheen form in the old man’s eyes. But when he looked up again the only thing in those deep-set eyes was a familiar ruthless determination. Raoul dropped the hand he had stretched out and rubbed it along his thigh, his square fingertips white as he pressed into muscle. He sighed.

‘But I have time enough to see you married to a woman who will give you children. You can’t recapture what you had with Lucy and it’s about time you accepted it.’

An image floated into Raoul’s head, a laughing face, perfect and beautiful, the way the world had seen his wife... Recapture...? Only an insane person would want to recapture the life of undiluted hell he had lived with his blackmailing, toxic wife.

Raoul was not insane!

His marriage had not left him a woman hater. He liked women; women were gorgeous! The problem was him. It was a fact painfully proven that when he allowed himself to be emotionally involved with a woman, he simply couldn’t trust his own judgement. It was fatally flawed.

So when his grandfather had accused him of screwing around he had not been wrong, nor had it been an accident. Casual sex satisfied a basic need, and if occasionally he was conscious—regardless of how great the sex—of a nebulous something missing, it was something that he was willing to live without.

‘Anyone in mind?’

His grandfather ignored the sarcastic tone. ‘Obviously the choice is yours.’

‘Generous of you.’

‘This is not a joke. Our family name is not a joke. I do not want to die with a playboy grandson as my sole legacy in life. It’s time you faced up to your responsibilities.’

Raoul bit back a retort that hovered over his tongue, hands digging deep in his pockets as he walked towards the ornate marble fireplace. ‘So what do you suggest—should I draw up a job spec and work my way through a shortlist of applicants? Or are you, God forbid, suggesting I follow my heart?’ The sarcasm spilled over, but Raoul didn’t care. The day couldn’t get any worse now.

Again his tone fell on infertile ground; instead his grandfather looked thoughtful.

‘That is actually not such a bad idea.’

‘What, following my heart?’ His experience with Lucy had cured Raoul of any trust in following his heart. The fact that there had been clues with Lucy only rubbed salt in the wound, clues that in any other situation he would not have ignored, but he had been in love and seen only what he had wanted. ‘Or advertising?’

The older man flashed him a look. ‘Sometimes putting things down in writing focuses the mind. After all, your wife will require certain q...qualities...’ Without warning Sergio reached out for support, a sound close to a groan escaping his clamped teeth.

It was all so unexpected that for a moment Raoul froze. Then as the old man staggered the paralysis broke. The resentment of moments earlier evaporated as he sprinted to his grandfather’s side, reaching him before he crumpled.

A supportive arm across Sergio’s back helped lift him into the nearest chair. Raoul was shocked to feel through the tailored suit, not the solidity and strength that had always been there, but sharp ribs.

This was real. It was happening.

For the first time the reality hit him. His grandfather had been the one constant in his life and now he was dying and nothing Raoul could do would stop it.

The same way he hadn’t been able to stop his mother being just another statistic in a flu epidemic, his father shooting out his brains or his brother’s big heart bursting. It seemed like a lot of death and loss for one person to take. A curling wave of anger and helplessness washed over him.

He really was the last man standing. He could get drunk and feel sorry for himself or he could... He looked at his grandfather and felt an overwhelming wave of love for the tough, proud old man.

He could do something. His grandfather had just told him what he could do, not to stop him dying but to make him die content. He wouldn’t have thought twice if it were bone marrow or a kidney he was being asked for, so why hesitate now?

Because losing his right hand would be easy compared to what his grandfather was asking. Marriage had taught him that he could not trust his own judgement when his heart was engaged. And that you could never really know another person, never trust them. So gambling your future and giving up your freedom was insane.

There had to be an alternative and when he sobered up it would be obvious...

‘I’ll get an ambulance.’

‘No...’ The hand that covered his was shaking but the voice was stronger now and emphatic as he repeated the prohibition. ‘No, no hospitals. It’s passed.’ The hand that still grasped his grandson’s tightened. ‘I can’t make you do this...today of all days... Jamie would have called me a selfish old—’

‘Jamie loved you,’ Raoul cut in roughly.

‘Your brother loved life.’

Raoul nodded and pretended not to see the tears on the old man’s cheeks. ‘And you’re not saying anything I haven’t considered myself.’ The expression on his grandfather’s grey-tinged face made Raoul glad of the lie.

‘You have?’

‘I’m not getting any younger.’

‘And you want a family?’

Raoul tipped his head, recalling a time when that had been true.

‘It is a natural instinct.’

Any instincts he might have possessed had not survived his short marriage to Lucy. Lucy, who’d had a talent and a no-holds-barred policy when it came to inflicting pain in retribution for perceived slights and insults. A year must have passed before, in one of her rages, she had revealed the abortion she had had during the early months of their marriage.

‘You think I’d get fat and ugly just to give you a brat!’ she’d screamed.

He pushed away the echo in his mind and the image of the lovely face twisted in spite and malice. It was an image he could escape temporarily in the beds of warm, willing women. But it was a good thing that it would never really leave his mind—that way he knew he was never going to risk losing his heart. He visualised that organ safely enclosed in steel; there wasn’t a woman alive who could put a dent in his armour.

‘Are you sure I can’t...?’

‘Carlo...’ dabbing a hand to the sweat beading his upper lip, Sergio nodded towards the closed door ‘...knows what to do. You...’ Dark eyes sought those of his grandson. ‘You know,’ he continued huskily, ‘what you can do for me. No matter what, you and your brother have given my life a meaning, a richness that it would otherwise have lacked.’ The dark eyes clouded as he shook his head. ‘I was a bad father.’

Raoul looked into the face of the man who had struggled to show affection, but had always been there for his grandsons. A surge of emotion left an aching occlusion in his throat. A lie was a little thing to pay back the debt he owed this man. He was never going to marry, to fall in love, but what was the harm letting him think...?

‘Then I must learn by your mistakes?’

‘I’m sure you’ll make your own.’ A thoughtful expression crossed his heavily lined face. ‘Is there anyone?’

Raoul forced a laugh, his dark brows lifting as he responded. ‘You will be the first to know and that is a promise.’

‘You probably don’t want my advice, but I’ll give it anyway. Don’t make your final selection on looks alone. Obviously no one would expect you to marry someone you didn’t find attractive...’

‘That’s a relief.’

‘It may seem cold-blooded but—’

‘Shall I take notes?’ This conversation would have been one to share with his brother. Jamie would have appreciated it; he and his brother shared the same sense of humour—had shared. The flicker of ironic amusement faded from his eyes.

‘Practicality is not a dirty word. You shouldn’t leave the important things in life to blind luck. Oh, I know you struck lucky once but you can’t rely on that happening again.’

Not on my watch, Raoul thought grimly.

‘Marriage should be approached like any other contract.’

Sergio’s voice was stronger but his skin was still cast with a worrying greyish tinge. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Raoul conceded, then, seeing the suspicious light in his grandparent’s eyes, realised he’d agreed too easily. ‘Shall I call Carlo now?’

Without waiting for a reply he opened the door and spoke to the man stationed outside.

Before his grandfather had time to relaunch his campaign for a grandchild, a maid who had obviously been waiting in the wings for a nod from the bodyguard appeared carrying a tea tray. Carlo followed her in.

The maid vanished and the big protective figure poured tea, slipping something from a blister pack into his employer’s hand before he nodded and left.

‘Man of few words.’

The tea seemed to have restored his grandfather, who snorted. ‘Coming from you that is amusing, but then your brother was always the talker, I remember—’

Raoul had heard the stories many times before. Some he’d experienced firsthand, but he let his grandfather talk. He seemed to find relating Jamie’s exploits cathartic, the boy he had been and the man he had become, a man Sergio had been proud of. Well, in a professional capacity, at least. By the time he got up from his chair—under his own steam—he looked more himself.

On the point of leaving the room Raoul paused and turned back, his expression intense. Bracing himself to lie through his teeth about his readiness to marry and procreate, Raoul was surprised and relieved when his grandfather asked his opinion on a very different subject.

‘I would value your input on something. I was thinking of donating a new wing in your brother’s name to the university hospital. Do you think he would have liked that?’

‘I think he would have liked that very much, but surely Roberto would be a better person to speak to about it?’ His brother’s partner was a consultant neurologist at the hospital.

His grandfather looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. ‘He spoke well at the funeral.’

Raoul agreed.

‘I might do that. Come walk with me to the car.’

Glad to hear the familiar note of imperious command back in the old man’s voice, Raoul followed his grandfather out of the room and through the brightly lit casino.

Out of the air-conditioned cool Raoul barely registered the warmth of the evening but within seconds his grandfather’s skin was filmed with moisture. Nevertheless, he rejected the arm Raoul offered with a grunt, moving towards the limo that drew up.

‘I’ll call tomorrow?’

His grandfather shook his head. ‘Next week, as planned. I’m not dying yet.’

Watching the car pull away, Raoul found himself wondering if lying to a dying man could ever be considered the right thing to do.

The question was academic—it was done and he doubted it would be the first lie he told. But how many more would he have to tell, and how far down this road would he need to go to allow his grandfather to die happy?

With an impatient click of his long fingers he started to walk. There was no harm in humouring his grandfather, and Raoul was sure he could string it out until... He didn’t want to think about another death today, another loss.

‘Dio!’ he murmured under his breath as he locked away the memories. To think about the children he might have had, the life he might have led was pointless, that future was lost to him.

He had a new future. Thinking of it stretching out ahead of him, he was conscious of an empty feeling in his chest. He might not have auditioned for the role, but it was his. He was the last man standing, or at least the last Di Vittorio standing, which to his grandfather meant the same thing.

CHAPTER TWO

‘FINE. I’LL SLEEP with the first man I see!’

It was really hard to maintain any dignity, having just issued a threat worthy of a teenager having a tantrum, thought Lara. Mark’s laugh in response only made her madder, so she slammed the door as hard as she could. Lara was slim but she was tall and athletic so the door rattled in its frame.

The first man she saw was the balding middle-aged proprietor of the hotel they had booked into for their romantic weekend.

He looked at Lara with concern as she rushed past him into the street, tears coursing down her cheeks.

The blurb had claimed the small hotel was within walking distance of all the main tourist sites, clearly a gross exaggeration. But it hadn’t mattered to Lara, who had never had any intention of doing a lot of sightseeing!

How could she have been such a fool?

She had thought Mark was different. Maybe I’m meant to be alone, she thought. The prospect wrenched a sob from her throat.

Self-pity, said the voice in her head, is very unattractive. She ignored it and sniffed loudly and angrily.

This would never have happened to Lily, but then no man who took her twin away for a romantic weekend would have acted as though he’d been lured there under false pretences if he discovered she was a virgin.

Was her twin a virgin...?

A thoughtful expression flickered across her face as Lara considered the question. Her twin didn’t talk to her much about that sort of thing, but then they hadn’t talked about that sort of thing since the boy she’d known Lily had fancied had taken Lara to the Christmas party the year they were sixteen. It was years ago now, and a joke, but Lil hadn’t see it that way at the time... What had his name been?

How ironic if Lily was not a virgin, while she, who people assumed had had more lovers than handbags, most definitely was. But then that was people for you—they always assumed the worst. So Lara had decided a long time ago that life was simpler if you just let them.

People did so love their boxes—Lily was the sensible twin while Lara was the wild child. She liked to party ergo she slept around. Right now she wished she had!

She bit her lip, feeling a fresh rush of tears.

‘I hate men, all men and especially Mark Randall!’

For about thirty seconds the outburst made her feel empowered, then like all pointless gestures it left a sense of anticlimax and the knowledge this was her own fault.

It could have been worse—she could have slept with him and then discovered he was a pathetic loser. What was it about him that she’d been attracted to in the first place?

Smooth brow pleated, she pondered the question. True, he’d seemed like a considerate boss and he’d noticed her. Everyone noticed her, but Mark had noticed her for her work. He’d said she had potential, and she hadn’t minded doing extra work, work way beyond her pay grade, because he appreciated it and he was one of the few men in the building who hadn’t tried it on... Hmm, big clue there, Lara.

She had decided that there was sensitivity gleaming behind his horn-rimmed spectacles and kindness in his eyes. She’d felt safe around him and love, or the sort she wanted, was about feeling safe and secure.

Lara did not want the sort of love that would leave her feeling utterly bereft if she found out her lover or husband was cheating. Had Dad been a cheat? Lara didn’t know for certain if the charming, charismatic father she had adored had been unfaithful. The clues had all been there, but she had never asked her mum for confirmation. She didn’t think she could bear to hear the answer.

Lara never intended to feel that way about any man, so while her friends looked for men who made them lose control Lara looked for quite different qualities.

Qualities her new boss had seemed to epitomise. For the first time she was being treated as an equal by someone who saw her as a person and not a sex object, and she had found the combination irresistible.

He was too nice and too professional, she reasoned, to make the first move, which was sweet but a bit frustrating. Not being someone who thought patience or unrequited love were good things, Lara had set about making him notice that she could do more than file.

It hadn’t been easy and she had even started to wonder if he was gay, but then right out of the blue he had asked her: a weekend in Rome. She’d been waiting for the right man and the right time and it had finally arrived—or so she’d thought.

True love. It existed, she was sure of it. You could get sent home from school for wearing your skirt too short and still be a romantic. You could party and still want a family and a home.

She was prepared to wait for the right man, but she saw no reason why the wait had to be boring! Lara was gregarious and she had always enjoyed an active social life; men liked her and she enjoyed their company.

She was aware that her lifestyle made many assume that she enjoyed casual sex, but she never strung men along and if some chose to boast of a non-existent conquest she lost no sleep over it or over those who couldn’t handle the fact she wasn’t into one-night stands.

The only question had been whether to tell Mark or not. In the end she’d decided she would—no relationship should start with secrets. The perfect opportunity had arisen earlier that night when he’d been scrolling through his phone and discovered a recent interview with his uncle, the CEO of the firm where they both worked.

‘This is what I have to deal with, but no point offending the guy. Look, listen to this...no, this is the part where he rambles on about family values,’ he sneered. ‘And this is the bit when he says one-night stands are—’

‘Mark?’ He looked up, seeming to notice for the first time that she was standing there wearing the matching silk bra and pants she had spent so long choosing.

I’m competing with a smartphone.

‘Actually, Mark.’ Her self-esteem was pretty robust and the fact that he wasn’t jumping on her was what made Mark different, special, someone who liked her for more than her looks, she reminded herself as she resisted the urge to throw his phone out of the window. ‘I’m not really into one-night stands.’

‘Sweet, but I wouldn’t judge you, darling, and this isn’t one night—we’re here for the whole weekend.’

‘I mean I’ve never had a one-night stand.’

He put down his phone. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend?’

‘Would I be here with you if I had a boyfriend?’

He pushed his glasses back on his nose, a habit that she’d always found endearing but that left her cold at that moment. ‘I don’t know, you know, I don’t like the idea of stepping on some guy’s toes... What does he do?’

‘There is no guy. I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re my first.’

‘One weekend doesn’t mean we’re engaged, sweetheart.’

‘You’re my first lover!’

He laughed at the joke, then, when she didn’t join in, stopped. ‘Not seriously.’

‘Totally seriously.’

‘But you can’t be...you’re a...you’ve always been...’

‘Easy?’ She read the expression in his eyes before he looked away and the cold ache in her chest intensified.

At her sides her fingers flexed as she fought the urge to bring her arms up in a protective gesture across her chest. It was pride that kept her chin at a challenging angle while inside she had shrivelled up in shame and embarrassment.

‘No. It’s just, you have to admit, you came on to me like—and Ben in Marketing...he says...’

‘What does Ben in Marketing say?’

It finally dawned on him that she was serious and he looked sick. ‘Oh, God, Lara, I don’t do virgins, hell, no! It’s such a responsibility. This is just a bit of fun, and when Carol had to cancel I couldn’t get a refund.’

‘Carol?’

‘You wouldn’t know her. She doesn’t have to work, she’s my, my...well, we’re not actually engaged yet but—’

‘So when your fiancée couldn’t make it you looked around for someone who everyone knows is an easy lay...’

His sulky pout vanished as he cut across her. ‘Well, you weren’t supposed to be a bloody virgin!’

‘So sorry, my mistake, but that’s the problem with small print, isn’t it?’ she commiserated. ‘How about if I go away, get some scalps under my belt, and come back? Will that change things?’

‘We-e-ell...’

Unbelievable! He was actually considering it! She edged her voice with ice as she ground out, ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you if you came with a seat on the board.’

If they were handing out awards for sheer blind stupidity, I, Lara reflected grimly, would have had a clean sweep.

‘Oh, and I doubt that rich, doesn’t-have-to-work Carol would have been impressed by the room.’ A cheater and a cheapskate, Lara, you know how to pick them!

* * *

As she went over the scene yet again, wincing at her exit line, her tears dried and she realised that, not only did she have no idea where she was, but when she had made her dramatic exit she had taken nothing with her, not her purse, her phone...nothing.

She paused and looked around her, debating her options. She could continue to wander aimlessly feeling sorry for herself, try to retrace her steps or find someone and ask for directions back to the hotel. Option three made the most sense, but the street was deserted.

A moment later, she wished the street had stayed deserted as out of a side alley a group of young men appeared, five or six of them making enough noise for twenty. There was some good-natured banter and a bit of pushing and shoving. It was hard to tell the mood and quite honestly she didn’t fancy staying around to find out.

Alcohol, testosterone, peer pressure—not a good combination.

Hampered by her high spiky heels, she only got a few steps before one of the group spotted her.

Lara didn’t react to him or to the cacophony of calls and whistles, and instead just carried on walking. Do not show fear! Do not show fear!

Any minute now someone would walk round that corner, a figure of authority, someone who would say... ‘Ouch!’

By some miracle she managed not to fall when one of her heels came clear off, but her recovery was not elegant and the pain that shot through her ankle was agonising. She registered the laughter behind and this time it was her temper, not her heel, that snapped.

In the grip of a red-mist moment, she slipped off the broken shoe and, with it in her hand, turned to face the group. Her chest lifted in tune with her angry inhalations, her green eyes flashing contempt and fury, her mind clear of the fear she had felt just moments ago. The group of young men became the focus of all her accumulated anger and the humiliation seething inside her.

She was so focused on them that the fact that someone had come around the corner didn’t register on Lara’s radar.

Her red hair swirled around her like a silken curtain as she allowed her eyes to travel disdainfully over their collective heads.

Wrath swelled inside her, mingled with self-disgust. She had been running from them, and they were just kids... Well, teenagers really. Although this did not entirely remove the potential threat they represented, Lara was too mad to care. This was the real Lara, the one who stood her ground, not the one who’d run off crying because her dream lover had turned out to be a totally useless louse.

She took several limping steps towards them. Nobody was laughing now, the victim having taken them all by surprise, or perhaps they were just stunned by her beauty.

The scene’s new onlooker could identify with that!

Dio, but she was utterly stunning! She managed by some miracle to be graceful, even minus one heel. The red dress she wore clung lovingly to every inch of her sinuous curves and clashed with the glorious cloud of hair she tossed back. She brandished the shoe in one hand while delivering a killer glare at her persecutors like some glorious Valkyrie descended from the heavens. And then Raoul got his first full look at her face.

The purity of her features had been visible in profile—she had a little chin, high forehead, smooth sculpted cheeks, and straight little nose. But what he hadn’t been able to appreciate fully was the liquid flash of incredible long-lashed eyes set beneath curved, feathery, dark brows or the miracle of her mouth, the firm bottom lip softened by the lush fullness of the upper.

If the first stroke of heat had nailed him to the spot, this subsequent one shut down his brain, though the absence of his higher functions did not prevent other parts of his body continuing to act and react with painful independence.

‘Your idea of a good night out, is it?’

English, her voice pitched low even in anger; it had a sexy huskiness as she rounded on the gang who probably didn’t understand a word she was saying.

One laughed and she pounced on him with the verbal punch of a spitting cat. ‘Big man, aren’t you, with your friends around you?’ she jeered, swinging her stabbing finger around the group. ‘Alone would you or any of your friends here be so brave? You’re a bunch of pathetic losers who should be ashamed of themselves...’ She focused on the ringleader and pointed the finger at him. ‘If I was your mother I’d be ashamed!’

Under the battering tirade, several of the boys started to back away and one even lifted his hand and said, ‘Sorry, beautiful lady.’

Raoul agreed with the description but would have added gutsy to the description. He couldn’t think of another woman he knew who would have handled the situation in the same way. It had been a risky move, but you couldn’t help admire her bloody-minded bravery.

Who was she, this brave, slightly crazy redhead? She bent to rub her ankle, causing the red dress to pull tight across her hips and behind.

He thought that must be the trigger, her lovely bottom, and raging teenage hormones. Whatever the cause, the effect was an immediate and complete change of atmosphere. One second it looked as though the situation had been defused, but then one boy—that was all it ever took—who clearly wanted to show off in front of his friends, took a swaggering step forward. He yelled out a mocking taunt at his retreating comrades and advanced towards the redhead with leering intent.

As he watched, Raoul’s jaw tightened, though he could tell the girl didn’t understand a word of the filth the kid flung at her, but his attitude needed no translation. She stood poised in a flight-or-fight mode, watching him like a lamb watching a fox.

The situation, he decided, had gone on long enough. Raoul stepped out of the shadows, fists clenched. He found there was a smile on his face, now he finally had a legitimate target for the anger that still swirled around inside him.

* * *

Lara’s energising burst of angry adrenaline had exploded like a courageous firework, but now that it had smouldered and faded away she felt scared and terrifyingly vulnerable as the boy moved towards her.

She wanted to run but her feet seemed nailed to the ground. In the periphery of her vision she was aware that the others had stopped walking away, a couple had turned back and they were all watching...waiting...?

Weirdly her brain carried on functioning regardless of the paralysing dread. Then as the paralysis lifted instinct took over and she moved towards one of the street lights. An illusion of safety was better than nothing.

She lifted her hand to her ear and began to speak, her clear voice floating across to the young men, confusing them for a moment. But then one noticed that she had no phone in her hand and the yells began again.

Do not show fear.

A bit late for that, Lara thought. The group had slowly moved until she was surrounded. You should have run when you had the chance, said the voice in her head. Too late now! One tormentor might not have been so bad. She could have dealt with one, talked her way out perhaps, but with several, all egging each other on...?

Aware that her options had been reduced to calling for help and hoping someone would come to her aid, Lara opened her mouth to shout. Only a strangled squeak emerged, but it was drowned out by a new voice, a voice that held an edge of bored irritation.

‘Where have you been? I said outside the casino!’

The youths stopped and swivelled towards him. Raoul raised a sardonic brow and allowed his disdainful glance to drift over them, satisfied they were not going to present a problem. He ignored the flicker of something close to regret—now was not the time to get his knuckles bloody—and instead turned his scrutiny to the luscious redhead. As their glances connected he saw comprehension supplant the shock in her wide-spaced eyes—could that colour possibly be real?—and she didn’t miss a beat before replying, ‘Casino...?’ She shook her head. ‘No, you said we’d go on there afterwards.’

And that smile...!

He’d never understood dedicated enthusiasts who waited for hours in often uncomfortable positions to catch a glimpse of a rare bird. But he would wait for ever to see that smile again, especially as it deepened, revealing a dimple in her smooth cheek. Raoul couldn’t think of a reason in the world not to respond to the challenge in her emerald eyes.

‘And I’m not late, you’re early.’

He watched as she pulled off her other shoe, giving another excellent view of her delicious bottom, and strolled with a sexy sway of her hips towards him. ‘Luckily for you,’ she breathed, ‘I’m very understanding.’ What are you doing, Lara?

God knows! came the answer, but it felt...what? Actually it was hard to put a label on the fizz in her blood. The nearest she could liken it to was champagne bubbles bursting, vastly preferable to feeling like some silly little girl who had run away.

No, you’re just a silly girl who is jumping from the frying pan into the fire! It seems you’re not content with laughing at the face of danger—you have to set a collision course with it!

The racing thoughts slid through her head in the time it took her to fully absorb the man who had decided to be her guardian angel. Not that there was anything angelic about him, unless you were talking the dark, fallen and supremely sexy variety! Her first glance had told her that and even with several feet separating them she had felt the impact on her senses of the sensuality he projected, raw and primal.

A little shudder traced a path down her spine as she realised this wasn’t a case of someone trying to be something—he was something. There was nothing contrived about the maleness, it was simply an integral part of him.

The powerful sexual charge he oozed made it almost irrelevant that he was the best-looking man she had ever seen. Well, not quite irrelevant, she admitted as her eyes travelled the long, lean length of him.

He was tall, very tall with the broad-of-shoulder, lean-of-hip sort of muscular frame usually associated with athletes. He was dressed expensively in a black suit, and a tie of the same colour was looped around his open-necked shirt; the vee of skin it revealed showed the same glowing golden tone as his face, minus the stubble that dusted his jaw and lean cheeks.

The stubble was the same black as his brows, which were straight and thick, one angled in at a sardonic slant above the narrow, heavy-lidded, thickly lashed eyes they framed. His strong-boned face was a miraculous arrangement of planes and angles, razor-edged high cheekbones, high forehead, aquiline nose and a strong jaw.

The only thing that alleviated the overwhelming masculinity was his mouth and the sensual fullness of his lower lip, though any suggestion of softness was counterbalanced by his firm upper lip, which had a hint of cruelty about it.

Her rescuer was doing some looking himself, his expression shielded by his heavy eyelids, but when he reached her bare feet one dark brow hitched higher.

Lara felt a giggle well up in her throat.

Up to that point he’d been making an effort to retain what grip on reality he had left, but the seductive sound she made precluded any return of common sense. He felt as hot as the glorious waves of her hair looked, and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch the flames.

‘Long story.’ She lowered her voice and leaned in closer, placing her hands on his forearms to steady herself. As her fingers pressed through the fabric she could feel the hard, sinewy strength beneath, and her stomach muscles quivered. ‘Would thank you be premature? Are they still there?’ she whispered.

‘A couple.’

Lara wanted to ask how he knew when he’d not taken his eyes off her face, but she couldn’t. Her throat was full, not with tears, but with something else, the same something that was sending intermittent tremors through her body.

They were standing close enough to be taken for lovers, close enough for his nostrils to quiver in response to the scent of her hair. He fought the primitive compulsion to pull her into him, let her feel what she was doing to him.

‘You saved me.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ he said, breathing in that scent.

The corners of her mouth lifted in a rueful grimace. ‘I didn’t handle it very well.’

He watched her smooth brow furrow. There was something quite fascinating about the expressions that flickered across her vivid little face.

‘I lost my temper.’ She bit her lip and tilted her head downwards, looking up at him through the mesh of her lashes. ‘It’s been a...not good day.’

‘I’ve had one of those too.’

It was a connection. The silence could have been companionable, but it wasn’t. The air was charged with a sexual tension so thick that Lara struggled to breathe. She’d never experienced anything like this before.

‘Have I said thank you?’

His dark eyes smiled, the crinkles at the corners deepening. ‘My money was on you.’

‘I was scared stiff.’ She gave a tiny shudder. ‘Well, thank you anyway...?’

‘Raoul. Raoul Di Vittorio.’

‘Thank you, Raoul. I’m Lara—Lara Gray.’ Ignoring the voice in her head that warned she was playing with fire, she tipped her head back; hooking one hand behind his head and stretching up, she brushed his mouth with her soft, pouting lips.

She was about to pull back when his mouth began to move slowly and sensuously over her lips. She kissed him back, not teasingly now, but with a hungry longing she hadn’t felt before. A moan drifted up from her throat as his tongue slid deeper. Afraid she would fall, even more afraid that this would stop, she clutched at his jacket and hung on.

When they broke apart the street was empty.

Lara stood there, gasping for air like someone who’d just run a marathon.

There were so many alarm bells ringing in his head that Raoul could barely hear himself think. What the hell was he doing?

He was forgetting.

He took hold of her hands, releasing the lapels of his jacket from her death grip. As she let go and stepped away from him her face lifted. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, quivered as she ran the tip of her tongue over them and blinked like a sleepwalker on waking somewhere unexpected.

‘Oh, my!’ she whispered.

The visceral stab of lust that lanced through him took Raoul’s breath away. Dio, but she was beautiful, and he wanted to taste her again, he wanted to do a lot more than taste her.

Lara stared up at him wanting him to kiss her again, willing him to kiss her again. It was hard to escape the bold, sensual glittering in his deep-set eyes, but Lara didn’t even try.

The warm, heavy, dreamy sensation that held her rooted to the spot was now being supplanted by a heart-racing excitement that left her dizzy. Her stomach muscles quivered as her eyes lingered on his mouth. She couldn’t tear her eyes clear of the sensually sculpted outline, nor forget the taste of brandy in his kiss.

‘Are you drunk?’ she asked, struggling to think through the sexual fog in her brain as she tilted her head to one side. She’d have liked to think it would matter if he was, but she’d never run full tilt into a solid wall of lust before, so the whole experience was new for her.

His mouth quirked, one corner lifting in a way she found utterly fascinating. Actually, everything about him fascinated her. She had no idea what it was she was feeling. It was visceral in a way that went beyond anything she had ever felt before.

‘Not strictly sober, but not drunk.’ It was, he realised, true. ‘How about you?’

She shook her head, the excitement fizzing through her blood more intoxicating than champagne. ‘Are you married?’

His expression didn’t change but she saw something unidentifiable move in his eyes before he responded, ‘Not any more.’

She reacted to his comment with a small grunt of satisfaction as the tiny furrow between her brows smoothed out. ‘That’s good.’

He smiled again and Lara’s knees started to shake. None of this made any sense. She had planned on being seduced tonight but at no stage had she planned on not being in charge of the process. Or of being seduced by a total stranger!

‘You’re very beautiful.’

The faint rasp in the smooth, dark-chocolate purr of his voice made her shiver; the touch of his finger on her cheek made her insides dissolve.

‘So they tell me.’ His stare was hypnotic; the sensory overload was making her light-headed. She turned her head, not enough to break the connection. ‘This is quite mad.’

‘Mad can be good.’

‘Can it?’

His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, yes.’ The furrow between his dark brows deepened. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked, continuing to stroke her cheek.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You just dropped from heaven.’ No angel had a mouth like hers. He focused on her lips and the pain in his groin, not the deeper pain that cut up his insides. She was an oasis to escape that pain, to lose it and himself inside.

His thumb touched the pouting curve of her lower lip and his hand stilled. ‘Boyfriend?’

Her chin lifted a notch, her nostrils flaring as her green eyes sparked. ‘Not any more,’ she rebutted firmly.

‘Where are you going?’

She closed a door in her head, blotting out Mark’s rejection and her stupidity.

‘With you, I hope.’ She heard the words, the supremely confident tone, even though inside she was anything but. Inside, she was holding her breath. She’d only just picked herself up and now she’d set herself up for another fall.

Head thrown back, she fixed him with an emerald stare that sent a fresh flash of heat through his already primed body. He could feel the hairs on the nape of his neck tingle as his body hardened in anticipation. Another time he might have blocked out his primitive response to this woman, might have heard the alarm bells, but tonight he didn’t think beyond it, instead he embraced the mindlessness of it.

For the first time since he’d discovered Jamie’s body he wasn’t hearing Rob’s broken voice in his head sobbing, ‘What am I going to do without him? He’s gone for ever. He’s gone...gone...gone...for ever...for ever, Raoul.’

That was what he had kept repeating over and over until Raoul could feel nothing but pain, his, Rob’s, just a universe of pain that went on and on.

Now he was feeling something that wasn’t pain and regret, and it didn’t matter that it was shallow or transient. He needed breathing space—not that he could breathe when he looked at this woman.

Did the ability to think of sex while in the depths of grief make him shallow? If Jamie had been burying him, would his brother have been able to escape so easily? Would he have wanted to?

He pushed away the speculation, the grief, the anger, the loss and lost himself to the moment of this intoxicatingly beautiful woman in his arms. He looked down into her sensual face and released a slow sigh. If he’d believed in fate, if he’d believed there was actually some grand plan, he’d have thought fate had sent her there at that moment.

He didn’t believe in fate but he did believe in embracing opportunities when they appeared, and the thought of shutting out the blackness in this woman’s arms just for an hour or two was irresistible.

‘That works for me, cara.’

She felt a rush of relief—for a moment she’d thought he’d been going to say thanks but no, thanks. Her confidence had already taken a battering today.

‘Good.’

He laughed, the sound sending a fresh tingle of excitement through her.

‘I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’

‘I have an identical twin sister.’

He slung a teasing look over his shoulder. ‘Is she around?’

If she were she wouldn’t be doing this with you. The thought came with an unbidden image of their headmistress berating her for some minor infringement ‘People will not respect you, Lara, unless you respect yourself. Your sister would never—’

‘No, she isn’t.’

Her flat response drew a sardonic look. ‘I was joking.’

For a split second as their eyes locked, Raoul thought he glimpsed a vulnerability that did not belong to the self-possessed, sensual creature who stood in front of him. But a moment later it was gone.

It had probably never been there.

Hell, he was not going to talk himself out of this. From the corner of his eye he saw a taxi and lifted his hand. His place was within walking distance but prolonging this agony was not on his agenda.

It was happening so quickly, she had no time to think; was this a good thing or a bad thing? She didn’t know and didn’t want to—the answer might make her walk away.

And she didn’t want to...she really didn’t want to.

Her senses were strangely heightened and yet she felt distanced from what was happening as a taxi stopped and then with the snap of the door she was inside, the jarring noise introducing a sense of reality to her dreamlike state.

But this was no dream.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IS SOMETHING WRONG?’

Lara shook her head and her spurt of panic subsided. Instead, desire, warm and fluid, spread through her body as his iron-hard thigh nudged hers, then a second later drew away.

‘Is it your ankle?’

‘My ankle?’ It took her a moment to recall turning it earlier. The pain had been sharp but it had subsided now. ‘No, it’s fine, see?’ Proving her point, she hitched the long skirt of her dress slightly to expose her calf and foot, stretching them out as far as the confined space allowed. ‘I just turned it, but it’s fine now.’

She turned her head and found his eyes on her leg. She could see a nerve relaxing and tensing like a ticking bomb in his lean cheek as he stared.

He turned his head, his eyes only brushing hers for a moment before he leaned forward to give the driver directions in Italian. But one glimpse of the devouring heat in them was enough to pull her back in her seat shaking, frightened not by the intent she had seen written in his face but the response it had awoken in her.

She sat there, thinking of the taste of his cool, firm mouth, her hand pressed tight to her quivering stomach.

Raoul didn’t move any closer or attempt to put his arm around her. As the car drew away from the kerb they could have been strangers forced to share a space on crowded public transport...except for the air thick with possibility between them.

Lara’s head was spinning as she sat there, and her thoughts began racing to keep pace with the turbulent thud of her heart.

What are you doing, Lara? You have no idea where you are, let alone where you are going. You just got into a car with a total stranger, and the plan is to have sex with him?

Mark thought you were easy—how is this different?

What does it matter? Lara asked herself. She was just using him. It would be liberating; she wouldn’t have to pretend. So far her wild-child reputation had been window dressing. This was real.

A conversation with her recently engaged friend, Jane, surfaced in her head. A crowd of them had been sitting in a bar drinking shots, except for Lara, the designated driver with a zero tolerance to alcohol, while Jane showed off her ring.

‘It was magic, guys, the moment I saw him I was dizzy with longing—you know what I mean?’

Because it was expected Lara had smiled and nodded her agreement along with everyone else, but she hadn’t known what Jane meant. Not really. And she had actually been happy in her ignorance. Losing your balance, not to mention your grip on reality—Jane’s dream man was not exactly what you’d call irresistible—was not something she envied anyone.

Had she lost her grip on reality now? It wasn’t too late to change her mind.

She halted the inner dialogue and turned her head. Raoul was sitting back, both hands rested on his thighs, as he looked straight ahead. She sensed a darkness in him, and in profile the austere beauty of his face brought a lump of emotion to her throat.

He’s not a sunset, or an ocean view, she reminded herself. He’s a man, a stranger. And you’re in the back of a taxi with him.

‘I can take you to your hotel, if you prefer.’

The offer made her relax. The option was there, although she knew it was one she had no intention of taking. ‘No, I don’t want that. I want you.’

She heard a sharp intake of breath but his only response was a jerky movement of his dark head.

Raoul didn’t trust himself to touch her, because he knew that when he did he wouldn’t be able to let her go. The scent of her, the warmth where their thighs were almost touching, were driving him insane. A woman had not made him feel this way in a long time.

He had never been so relieved for a journey to end.

‘We’re here.’

Standing beside him on the pavement, watching him pay off the cab, Lara wondered where here was. There were no names, numbers or signs on any of the anonymous buildings this side of the street, though she could just make out a plaque on a building opposite. Squinting, she read Embassy, then before she could read the rest of the inscription a big set of gates slid silently open.

He gestured for her to go through, which after a tiny pause she did.

Nothing in the street suggested that this place existed.

‘It’s beautiful.’

Her apprehension gave way to appreciation as the tall gates closed, cutting them off from the street again. The softly lit courtyard they stood in was stone cobbled, uneven and old. The plants that spilled from the massed stone troughs in the central section filled the air with the heady scents of jasmine and lavender, and water spilled from a stone lion’s head set in the wall out into an ornamental pool.

She tilted her head back. The building that enclosed the space on three sides was tall, the first-floor windows arranged symmetrically with wrought-iron Juliet balconies.

‘Is it a hotel?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I live here.’

‘Alone?’ The possibility seemed extraordinary to Lara. It was a massive place for one person...had he got the marital home after the divorce? Assuming there had been a divorce—really she knew nothing about him. She exhaled a measured sigh, starting slightly when he placed a hand between her shoulder blades. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin made her gasp.

‘This way.’

Quivering inside with anticipation that she struggled to hide beneath an air of cheerful insouciance, she let him guide her up a small flight of shallow stone steps, as though she were in the habit of doing this sort of thing every day of the week.

He leaned across her to put a key in the lock of the heavy metal-banded door that was dark with age. Given the traditional, almost historical, external appearance of the building, the inside caused her to gasp in surprise.

Internally it had been opened up—presumably walls had been knocked down to create this one massive ground-floor space, bisected by a staircase that seemed to float in mid-air. The end wall had been taken out and was now glass; several sections of internal wall were exposed stone while others were pale limewashed.

The furniture was eclectic. Big, comfortable-looking sofas, a long, highly polished antique trestle table, and one entire wall lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

They had entered the kitchen area, which boasted every modern appliance set in pale ash units with polished stone work surfaces.

‘This is not what I expected.’ But then, nothing about their encounter had been.

Raoul gave the space a dismissive glance. He felt no emotional connection to it; he’d simply given the architect free rein. The place said nothing about him or his taste in books, except that he liked big spaces. It wasn’t the soundest of financial investments he’d ever made—he’d bought it for its location and size, only to discover it was falling down.

‘The place was riddled with wet rot, dry rot, deathwatch beetle, I could go on... A lesson in the danger of buying without a structural survey. Once the building was made safe I had to decide whether to reinstate the original period features or not.’ His shoulders lifted.

‘And you chose not.’

He nodded.

‘It’s spectacular.’ She clamped her lips together to prevent a gushing response.

He took a step closer and the room got smaller, her heartbeat got faster, and there seemed a strong possibility her shaking knees were going to fold.

‘I always talk a lot when I’m nervous.’ Should she tell him before...?

Oh, yeah, because that worked so well last time.

‘You’re nervous?’

‘Well, this might surprise you,’ she said, forcing a laugh, ‘but this isn’t something I do every day.’

His dark brows lifted. ‘No, it doesn’t surprise me. Why should it?’

‘It’s just—’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

She felt hot as embarrassed colour flew to her cheeks. ‘No...no, of course not.’ The man doesn’t want your life history, Lara, he wants sex.

He watched the blush and recognised the vulnerability it exposed. His jaw clenched. He didn’t want vulnerable, he wanted hot, mind-numbing sex with a beautiful, bold, confident woman who could fearlessly face down a gang of thugs.

Where had she gone?

He heaved a resigned sigh and swallowed his growing frustration. The hot-cold thing was killing him and the prospect of a night of cold showers did not appeal, but in such a matter acceptance was the only recourse.

‘Would you like a coffee...?’

Lara swallowed but didn’t dodge his stare. There was probably something playful she should say but the emotions in her throat made even the basic truth hard to utter.

‘We both know I don’t want a coffee.’

‘I thought I did. What do you want?’ He lifted a strand of her shining hair with one finger and let it fall. ‘Is that real?’

‘Everything about me is real.’ Good line, Lara. Means nothing, but good line! ‘And I want you.’

She didn’t attempt to escape his gleaming stare. She quivered as he cupped her face with one hand, her eyelashes lowered and falling in a dark filigree against her cheek. They lifted a moment later when his free hand curved possessively around her bottom.

A soft moan left her parted lips as with barely leashed violence he pulled her in hard against him.

‘That is real,’ he ground out, his breath warm on her face as he caught the soft flesh of her lower lip between his teeth. ‘What you do to me is real. Everything about you,’ he slurred, bending his head to move his lips over the pulse spot at the base of her throat, ‘is real.’

When was the last time that he had experienced anything close to the primitive need to possess that was pounding through him at that moment? It was madness!

But madness had never felt so sweet and as the passion between them escalated definitions became irrelevant.

The kiss seemed to go on for ever. Lara gave herself up to it and the dormant passion deep inside her that he had awoken. Her head was spinning and instinctively she wound her slim arms tight around his neck, and met the repeated probing thrust of his tongue with an eagerness that masked her inexperience.

She gave a little gasp of shock as his hand moved up to cover one breast, his thumb brushing the swollen peak through the red silky fabric, causing the gasp to slide seamlessly into a low guttural moan of pleasure.

He lifted his head to look into her passion-glazed eyes, then he moved his hips against her. He watched her eyes darken in instant response, then slid his hand up and down the long smooth lines of her thigh. He heard her breath quicken before, with a muffled cry, she jumped into him, wrapping her long legs around his waist.

Raoul caught her, and brushed the hair from her face to expose one side of her neck before spreading his hands supportively under her bottom and kissing the smooth swanlike curve he had revealed. He began to carry her towards the staircase.

‘I never knew that anything could feel this good, this right.’

She didn’t know that she had voiced her thoughts out loud until his fingers slid around her jaw, forcing her face up to him.

‘Don’t stop!’

The fierce intentness of his dark stare did not soften as he gave a short, hard laugh. It was all he could do not to back her against the wall and take her there and then, but this was too good to hurry, much too good. ‘I have no intention of stopping, cara,’ he admitted thickly.

The need to define or analyse what was happening had passed. She tasted sweet as again he drove his tongue with sensual precision between her plump, parted lips.

Like a drowning man he kissed her as he walked with her in his arms towards the bedroom door.

Lara had a hazy impression of cool as he carried her across the room to the low platform bed set centre stage. But the pulse of need inside her left little room for anything else. It was a need she couldn’t explain even if she’d wanted to—all she wanted was him.

‘I want you so much it hurts.’

He growled a response in Italian, the urgency of that language making more sense to Lara than his words as he laid her down on the bed, sweeping the pillows out of the way as he did so.

He was above her, his face a dark blur as he lowered himself. The hard press of his arousal, as it ground into her belly for a moment before he rolled them both to one side, drew a low, feral-sounding groan from Lara’s lips. The erotic contact offered deep pleasure, but no release for the ache of her own arousal, the throbbing need between her legs.

As they lay thigh to thigh there was a tremor in the big hand he lifted to curve around her face, turning it up to him until their eyes caught. Hungrily he took in the details of her passion-flushed skin.

He felt something tighten in his chest as he stared into her luminous green eyes, which were glazed with passion; her plump lips were soft, trembling, almost vulnerable. His gaze remained locked on to hers as he kissed her cheeks, his warm breath moving over the downy softness until he found her mouth and possessed it before he levered himself away and began to rip off his clothes.

Watching him through half-closed eyes, Lara wondered if she ought to be undressing too. The question was academic, as her body was infiltrated by a heavy languor that seemed to pin her to the bed. She watched him, her breathing getting ragged, until finally he stood there naked, like a tall, aroused god.

Her breath caught, hot excitement flooded her body and a scalding wave of heat tinged her skin with a delicate pink. He was beautiful, and aroused—very aroused—a fact that was hard to escape!

Looking at his arousal made her very aware of her own. The idea of her hands framing him, her body holding him, made her ache in a way she had never experienced. He strode back to the bed and dropped down on his knees beside it.

‘I love your mouth.’ An expression of rapt fascination on her face, she reached up and trailed her fingers down his stubbled cheek.

Raoul caught her wrist; turning her hand palm up towards his mouth, he felt her shiver as he pressed a fierce, damp kiss to her wrist. He ran his fingers down the smooth skin of her shoulder, hooking the shoestring strap of her dress down as he did so. Then, sliding his finger under the folds of red silk that were cut to form a soft cowl neckline, he exposed one perfect breast. Raoul reached out, his touch almost reverent as he cupped the quivering mound, weighing it for a moment, then with a groan he bent his head.

The sensation of his mouth on her skin was a sharp, searing pleasure; her body arched in response. She barely registered him peeling the second strap from her shoulders as she held his dark head, her fingers deep in his thick hair.

When he lifted his head he looked at her with eyes that seemed to burn from within. The rigid control he exerted drew the skin taut across the bones of his face, emphasising the dramatic bone structure.

His kiss, when it came, was deep and plundering, the seething emotions inside her burning hotter as she kissed him back, making tiny mewling noises of pleasure in her throat as he came to lie beside her.

The first skin-to-skin contact as he pulled her against him made her gasp, her nerve endings quivering as her breasts were crushed against his chest.

She ran her hands over the hard muscles of his shoulders, pulling back a little as she moved down his chest. His skin was warm, slightly damp, and, when she bent her head to taste, it was salty. She pulled herself half over him, running her hands over his body, getting bolder as she drew moans and gasps from him.

She bent her face to his belly and followed the line her finger had just traced with her tongue. ‘Mmm...’ Her murmur turned into a soft squeal as he tugged her dress down over her hips.

A couple of wriggles and a moment later she was lying there in just a pair of silky, French-cut pants. No longer lying on top of him, she was on her back, one leg anchored to the bed by his muscular, hair-roughened thigh.

Her nerve endings reacted to the brush of his eyes as they would his touch.

But then, the unexpected gentleness as he kissed her lips softly made her chest tighten with emotion.

She touched his face and whispered his name. Raoul’s nostrils flared as he bent his head, but this time the kiss was not soft. It was hard and demanding, bruising in its intensity. He kissed her as if he’d drain her, and everything he wanted to take, Lara wanted to give, and more.

Her fingertips dug into the golden skin of his back as they kissed, her body felt fluid and on fire, but when she felt his fingers slide under the lacy edge of her panties she tensed. Feeling his eyes on her face through her closed lids, she blinked them open.

‘Relax.’

She smiled faintly, then breathed a tremulous sigh that was lost in the moisture of his mouth.

She moved against his hand as he touched her through the silk, and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation. Then as his fingers moved under the silk across the damp folds of sensitised skin Lara forgot to breathe, forgot her name; the pleasure was mindless and all-consuming. She dug her teeth into her lower lip as he slid her panties down her legs with what felt like tantalising slowness.

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