The Proud Wife by Kate Walker

close to real warmth at all.
    â€˜I know you too well for that. But you are the one who changed all the terms on which we were negotiating. You did not want the lawyers involved, so you left me no choice. And I did not bully you.’
    â€˜Oh, so does “bully” mean something else entirely in Sicilian?’ Marina asked sarcastically. ‘Something like “gently persuasive” or perhaps “carefully considerate”? Because, in English, being locked in a car with a man you never want to see again, and driven who knows where without your consent amounts to bullying in my book. You know that I expected to be in my hotel.’
    â€˜And I knew that you would probably use that as an excuse to dodge the discussion that we need to have. Hotels have doors and keys. I have always had a strong aversion to having one slammed and locked right in my face.’
    He definitely knew her too well, Marina acknowledged inwardly. Either that or she had somehow given away the fact that that had been her plan all along—to escape to her room in the hotel and lock the door firmly against him. Only then would she have felt safe from his dangerously seductive presence, free from the sexual strings he seemed to be able to coil round her simply by existing.
    Sitting here like this, so close to him in the confines of the car, was like being in the dry heat of a sauna in spite of the rain still coming down outside. The clean masculine scent of Pietro’s body made her nostrils flare in sensual response and every movement he made, whether steeringthe powerful vehicle or changing gear, made the muscles in his strong back shift and slide under his clothes in a way that tugged on every nerve she possessed. Etched against the window, his strong profile with its olive skin and the straight slash of his nose looked as if it should have been the face of an emperor found on some Roman coin, unchanged over all the centuries.
    But there had been an extra emphasis on that comment about doors that made it tug uncomfortably on her conscience, knowing how she had used that as a defence mechanism in the past.
    â€˜So is there any point in asking where we’re going?’
    â€˜Somewhere where we can be a lot more comfortable—and a lot more private.’
    That sent a shiver running down Marina’s spine, making her feel as if one of the raindrops that was sliding down the windows had dropped down between her collar and her neck and was slowly, icily slithering down her back.
    â€˜Which tells me precisely nothing.’
    â€˜You’ll find out when we get there. In the meantime, why don’t you relax and enjoy the drive?’
    â€˜Relaxed is the exact opposite of the way I’m feeling.’
    Again Pietro laughed, and this time there was a warmth in the sound that tugged at her heart and made the same tears that had stung her when she had thought of his kiss push at the backs of her eyes.
    â€˜No more questions,’ he said. ‘You will find out soon enough.’
    â€˜In other words, shut up and do as you are told. Well, that’s fine by me. I’m not saying another word until I find out exactly where it is we’re headed.’
    Pietro’s smile of wry acknowledgement almost had her breaking her word right at the start, particularly when she registered the direction they were taking. He washeading for the coast, she realised, and a sudden, shaken thud of her heart had her fearing that he might be heading home—driving towards the Castello D’Inzeo—the huge seventeenth-century house surrounded by vineyards and olive groves that had been home to his family for generations.
    And the place where he had brought her as his bride less than three short years before.
    She couldn’t bear it, she told herself. He couldn’t be so cruel. How could he take her to the place where she had once been so happy? The home that they had shared for the brief months of their