Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian by Kim Lawrence Page A

own tangled fair hair spread against the black silk, but rich raven lustrous coils spread on the pillow. The two figures, their bodies, one slim, pale and perfect, one golden and hard as coiled steel, were sinuously entwined. It was so real that she could almost hear the gasps of their shared passion.
    She pressed a hand to her mouth as the taste of acid rose in her throat.
    Did he still love his beautiful wife despite what she had done? Would he have taken her back had his pride allowed it?
    It would take a woman like one of the stunning Balfour girls to make him forget that amazing siren, and in the meantime he clearly intended working his way through every beautiful woman that appeared on his radar.
    But being a Balfour girl in name only she was safe. She was minus the charm and confidence and drop-dead gorgeous looks; she just had the name, which impressed him not at all.
    In some ways this was a plus point; he didn’t have a preconceived expectation of what she ought to be had the gene pool not decided to have a little joke at her expense. It was liberating not to be crushingly conscious of her Balfour legacy all the time. And as she didn’t want to impress, except in the professional sense…
    Of course, not wanting to impress him did not stop her wistfully wondering what it would be like to have the ability tobedazzle him and make him laugh. Her chest hurt; feelings she did not want to own up to were locked like a tight fist at the base of her throat.
    Jolted from her miserable reflections by the sudden movement of the bed, Sophie’s hand fell away and her eyelashes lifted from her cheeks.
    The picture in the mirror now reflected the one in her head with a couple of significant differences—the woman wasn’t beautiful and Marco was wearing clothes.
    Clothes or not, the real man was a lot harder for her out-of-control hormones to cope with than the imaginary naked image.
    Sophie realised she was staring and had been for God knows how long. She tore her eyes away at once. Anything would be preferable to him guessing his plain-Jane decorator was lusting after him. She struggled inelegantly to rise.
    â€˜I’m sorry I just…’
    A finger against her breastbone sent her back into the gently undulating mattress.
    The finger stayed there and Marco, who had rolled onto his side, showed no immediate sign of removing it as he levelled an emerald-eyed stare at her face.
    He seemed comfortable with the silence and the physical contact. Sophie was not.
    â€˜Now this is extremely…not normal. I wasn’t sleeping in your bed. It was research… I’ve never tried out a waterbed…I’ve not tried out a lot of things…’ She compressed her lips to forestall further unnecessary confessions on this subject and added huskily. ‘It’s weird.’
    â€˜The bed?’
    She shook her head. ‘No, though that,’ she admitted, patting it and giving a nervous laugh, ‘is weird too. You’re going to ask me weird good or weird bad.’ He’s going to ask you to shut up, Sophie, so why don’t you? ‘The jury is still out,’ she admitted, drawing breath before returning to her originaltheme. ‘Haven’t you ever noticed people are divided into talkers and listeners? I’m a listener—I talk very little. I’m renowned for my reserve, did you know that? Of course you didn’t, but since I got here I can’t seem to stop talking.’
    Her eyes widened as a finger was placed on her lips. ‘Take a deep breath and relax.’
    â€˜I am relaxed.’
    â€˜You’re hyperventilating. You were curious, I understand that! Sexual curiosity is what makes the world go around.’
    â€˜If you say so… I mean, mirrors and waterbeds may be your thing but for me they’re pretty much…’
    Her eyes connected with his, and a whoosh of heat crackled through her body.
    â€˜This isn’t my bed, cara