weaknesses anyway? That was the second time he‘d let slip something private. He‘d be spilling everything before he knew it—all the shameful details of his past.
That at least would bring this thing to a quick and painless end, he thought bitterly, noticing the jump of her pulse beneath the rose-gold skin of her throat.
Suki was right. She wasn‘t his type at all. There was no future in this, and it wasn‘t fair to let her believe for a second that there was. Later he would mention something about getting her back to Monaco. After he‘d found out what he needed to know.
‗So, what happened next?‘ he asked roughly.
She pulled her hand away, curling her fingers and burying them in the folds of his white shirt. She took a quick breath. ‗I was feeling for a pulse…and you woke up…and…‘
‗Let me guess. I took full advantage of the situation?‘
She gave a breathy laugh, but there was an edge to it. ‗No. You tried. But I…I stormed out.‘
‘Buon per te.’
‗You came after me. It was getting pretty late by then, so you offered to take me back to your house to do the interview.‘
‗Which is how I managed to scare the living daylights out of you on the way, and then take full advantage of that situation,‘ Cristiano said cuttingly.
It was surprisingly uncomfortable being given an insight into his past mode of operation. Sitting up abruptly he punched a goosedown pillow into shape and leaned back against it, putting a bit more distance between himself and the bit of her bare thigh that wasn‘t covered up by the shirt.
‗It wasn‘t like that,‘ she said carefully. ‗You cooked dinner for me.‘
‗Pasta?‘
She gave a little indrawn breath and lifted her head. ‗You remember?‘
Cristiano gave a twisted smile.
‗No. It was a race weekend. I eat nothing but pasta.‘
‗Oh. Of course.‘
She got up then, unfurling her legs and wrapping her arms across her body as if she was cold. ‗We sat outside, by the pool, and…we talked. I asked you the questions I‘d been given.‘ She walked over to the window and stood there with her back to him, so he had a perfect view of her long legs beneath the shirt. He thought fleetingly of all the enticing, erotic creations of silk and lace and even on occasion leather that women had worn to please him in bed over the years, and wondered why none of them had ever had quite the same effect as this. This girl with skin like cream and her soft voice and her gentle hands.
‗Did I answer them?‘ he asked blandly, making a desperate effort to keep his mind on what she was saying.
She turned round, leaning back against the glass. With the sunlit snow-covered mountains behind her, and the morning sun making her hair gleam, she looked like an advert for some kind of wholesome milk-and-honey-type product. She smiled.
‗Not really. Somehow you managed to focus the conversation on me more than you, and I ended up telling you all about my brother and my father. You listened.‘
Maledizione.
Of course he‘d listened, he thought disgustedly. Diverting the subject away from himself and listening instead of talking was just one of the techniques he‘d honed to perfection over the years, and one of the ways he avoided giving anything away about himself. It meant nothing. To him, anyway. To her it had obviously been significant enough for her to think he was worthy of her virginity.
He rubbed a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his temple as if he could somehow erase the realisation of what he‘d been. Often in the hospital he‘d thought that the accident was a punishment for the suffering he‘d put his mother through, but now it seemed just as likely to be some kind of divine retribution for the way he‘d used people.
Women. So many of them that their beautiful faces, their willing bodies, blurred into one. Too many to remember.
Caro Dio, the irony.
Reaching for one of the towels that was folded on the chair
That at least would bring this thing to a quick and painless end, he thought bitterly, noticing the jump of her pulse beneath the rose-gold skin of her throat.
Suki was right. She wasn‘t his type at all. There was no future in this, and it wasn‘t fair to let her believe for a second that there was. Later he would mention something about getting her back to Monaco. After he‘d found out what he needed to know.
‗So, what happened next?‘ he asked roughly.
She pulled her hand away, curling her fingers and burying them in the folds of his white shirt. She took a quick breath. ‗I was feeling for a pulse…and you woke up…and…‘
‗Let me guess. I took full advantage of the situation?‘
She gave a breathy laugh, but there was an edge to it. ‗No. You tried. But I…I stormed out.‘
‘Buon per te.’
‗You came after me. It was getting pretty late by then, so you offered to take me back to your house to do the interview.‘
‗Which is how I managed to scare the living daylights out of you on the way, and then take full advantage of that situation,‘ Cristiano said cuttingly.
It was surprisingly uncomfortable being given an insight into his past mode of operation. Sitting up abruptly he punched a goosedown pillow into shape and leaned back against it, putting a bit more distance between himself and the bit of her bare thigh that wasn‘t covered up by the shirt.
‗It wasn‘t like that,‘ she said carefully. ‗You cooked dinner for me.‘
‗Pasta?‘
She gave a little indrawn breath and lifted her head. ‗You remember?‘
Cristiano gave a twisted smile.
‗No. It was a race weekend. I eat nothing but pasta.‘
‗Oh. Of course.‘
She got up then, unfurling her legs and wrapping her arms across her body as if she was cold. ‗We sat outside, by the pool, and…we talked. I asked you the questions I‘d been given.‘ She walked over to the window and stood there with her back to him, so he had a perfect view of her long legs beneath the shirt. He thought fleetingly of all the enticing, erotic creations of silk and lace and even on occasion leather that women had worn to please him in bed over the years, and wondered why none of them had ever had quite the same effect as this. This girl with skin like cream and her soft voice and her gentle hands.
‗Did I answer them?‘ he asked blandly, making a desperate effort to keep his mind on what she was saying.
She turned round, leaning back against the glass. With the sunlit snow-covered mountains behind her, and the morning sun making her hair gleam, she looked like an advert for some kind of wholesome milk-and-honey-type product. She smiled.
‗Not really. Somehow you managed to focus the conversation on me more than you, and I ended up telling you all about my brother and my father. You listened.‘
Maledizione.
Of course he‘d listened, he thought disgustedly. Diverting the subject away from himself and listening instead of talking was just one of the techniques he‘d honed to perfection over the years, and one of the ways he avoided giving anything away about himself. It meant nothing. To him, anyway. To her it had obviously been significant enough for her to think he was worthy of her virginity.
He rubbed a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his temple as if he could somehow erase the realisation of what he‘d been. Often in the hospital he‘d thought that the accident was a punishment for the suffering he‘d put his mother through, but now it seemed just as likely to be some kind of divine retribution for the way he‘d used people.
Women. So many of them that their beautiful faces, their willing bodies, blurred into one. Too many to remember.
Caro Dio, the irony.
Reaching for one of the towels that was folded on the chair
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