Interview with a Playboy (14 page)

‘Just about,’ he agreed lazily.

He’d never lost control like that before in his life—was always so careful about using contraception. It was as if a mist had come down over him and he’d only just managed to draw back at the very last moment after sating her.

He hoped it was enough.

It
had
to be enough he told himself, angry with himself.

‘Marco, are you OK?’ she murmured suddenly as the hazy mists of pleasure started to lift and she realised he was looking at her with a different blaze in his eyes now.

‘We were playing with fire,
cara
…’

Isobel knew what he was talking about straight away—and that was amazing, because up until that minute she hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

He saw the realisation dawning in her eyes, saw the sudden fear there. ‘Marco, what on earth was I thinking?’

The panic-stricken question almost made him smile.

‘Probably the same as me—only about pleasure.’

Her skin flared with heat. It seemed there was no limit to her stupidity around him. Horrified, she drew away from him and started to pull up her dress, cover herself up.

‘Hey!’ He put a hand under her chin before she could pull away from him. ‘What just happened between us was incredible…and neither of us were thinking particularly clearly. Don’t beat yourself up about this,
cara
…we are in it together.’

The gentle words and the touch of his hand made her want to melt back into his arms.

‘Besides, I did manage to exercise restraint, so it’s probably fine.’ He pulled her closer and kissed her.

And when he released her her heart was beating in a different mode. There was something about the way he touched her that could turn her on so quickly…

She looked away from him hurriedly, not wanting him to know how he was affecting her—again!

‘Maybe I should go and have a shower, or a bath or something.’

He smiled. ‘Make yourself at home. The bathroom is down the hall to the right,’ he told her easily, and watched as she smoothed down her dress before she slid from the table.

He should have taken more care of her, he told himself angrily as he watched her walk away from him. The door closed behind her and he moved to the window to look out.

What the hell had he been thinking? He’d been so careful since his divorce to keep an emotional distance from the women he dated. He didn’t want to get involved with
anyone
on a deep level.

Which made the risk he had just taken with Isobel totally unacceptable!

It was still raining outside—hard, unforgiving rain that bounced and hissed against the tiles on the patio.

For a second he found himself remembering a day in California when the weather had been exactly like this. The day Lucinda had lost their baby.

He swept a hand through his hair as he tried to block the memory out. They had wanted their child so much, and he had never felt so helpless…so wretched.

But it was done…it was over. Lucy was getting on with her life putting it behind her, and he was doing the same. For him life now revolved around work, with the occasional casual interlude with a woman—and that was all he wanted.

He turned away from the window and noticed the letters he had swept onto the floor earlier. He found himself remembering how much he had wanted Isobel…how fiercely he had needed her.

He frowned and went to pick the envelopes up.

She was a journalist, he reminded himself tersely, so it was never going to be more than a casual fling.

OK, there was something different about her and even thinking about her now made him want her again. But some women just took a little longer to get out of the system, he told himself swiftly. That was all it was.

I
SOBEL
tore the dress from over her head and stepped under the pounding jet of the shower. Was it only this morning that she had sworn to herself that this wasn’t going to happen again? What was wrong with her? Why was she being so weak?

She raised her head to the jet of water and allowed it to pummel down over her face as she tried to clear her mind. But nothing made sense—certainly not the fact that she hadn’t even thought about something as vital as contraception. The very thought made her temperature rise with panic.

How had she gone from being so sensible and so determined not to make a mistake to the other side of the scale so quickly?

Marco was completely wrong for her…the antithesis, in fact, of everything she’d told herself she wanted in a man. She knew the relationship wasn’t going anywhere—knew that when she flew home to London she wouldn’t see him again.

And yet when he touched her, when he looked at her in that certain way, none of that seemed to matter. She still wanted him.

She got out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the large fluffy towels. There was a hairdryer next to the dressing table unit and she gave her hair a quick blast with it, teasing her fingers through the long dark strands until it dried into glossy curls.

It was a few moments before she realised she wasn’t alone.
Marco was standing behind her, leaning indolently against the open doorway, watching her.

She flicked the hairdryer off and their eyes met in the mirror.

‘I made you a coffee.’ He came in and put the china mug down on the countertop.

‘Thanks.’ Her heart started to pound as, instead of leaving, he leaned against the wall beside her. She noticed he’d changed out of his suit and was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She’d never seen him dressed so casually, and the look suited him.

‘My clothes were a bit rain-washed,’ he said as he saw her looking at him.

‘Yes, my dress is the same.’

‘You look good in the towel,’ he said huskily.

She tried not to feel self-conscious as his gaze drifted down over her—after all, he’d seen her without any clothes, so being wrapped in a towel was an improvement in the modesty stakes. However, she still felt shy, and the situation felt far too intimate.

‘Is it still raining out there?’ she asked—more for something to say than anything else.

‘Yes, it is… What is it you English say…? Throwing it down in cats?’

‘Raining cats and dogs,’ she corrected him, and smiled. Most of the time his English was absolutely perfect, but he sounded so…so
sexy
when he got it slightly wrong.

She put her coffee down again and tried not to think too deeply about that.

‘So I gave the chauffeur the night off,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought we might as well stay here.’

Her heart seemed to do a crazy skip, and she tried very hard to ignore it and be sensible. ‘Marco, do you think that’s a good idea…? I mean, maybe we should be getting back to reality.’

‘Maybe we should,’ he agreed lazily.

‘I should be focusing on my article and—’

‘And you keep getting distracted,’ he finished for her with a smile.

‘Yes.’

‘If it makes you feel any better I have a pile of paperwork I should be doing, and I feel equally distracted.’ His glance moved to her curves, so provocatively concealed under the white fluffy towel.

‘It doesn’t make me feel that much better,’ she whispered hoarsely.

‘Well, let’s see if I
can
make you feel better.’ Marco reached and traced a playful finger over the edge of the towel. ‘We will just have to make time count now…’

He didn’t even wait for her to answer—just tugged at the material so that it loosened and fell to the floor.

One more night wouldn’t hurt, he told himself as he reached to pull her into his arms.

When Isobel woke she was lying in Marco’s large double bed, cradled in his arms. She loved being here with him like this, she thought drowsily, loved the feeling of her body held close against his powerful physique.

Somewhere outside church bells were ringing, and daylight was slanting in through a chink in the curtains.

She turned her head slightly and glanced up at him. His eyes were closed and his handsome features were relaxed, but she wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not. For a little while she allowed herself to drink him in, her gaze resting on the sensual line of his lips, the square jaw, the dark thickness of his hair. No man had a right to be so good-looking or so good in bed, she thought hazily.

Last night had been incredible.

She wanted to reach up and trace her fingers over the smooth olive tones of his skin. But if she did she would
probably wake him up—and if she woke him up he would discover that the sky outside the bedroom window had turned an oyster-pink and the sun was slowly starting to rise over the city.

And once he discovered that, their time together in this apartment would be over. He’d probably want to get back to work. She remembered last night he’d said he had a pile of paperwork waiting for him. Maybe he would even throw a few facts at her for her article and have her packed off back to London by nightfall.

She frowned, cross with herself for feeling down about it. She should be keen to get her interview and leave, and she shouldn’t for one moment expect anything more. Because, according to the newspapers, since his divorce his relationships had lasted no more than two days max. And this was no relationship… She wasn’t even his type… She didn’t know what this was. She supposed her old sensible self would say it was some kind of madness…and she’d probably be right. But right now Isobel didn’t want to acknowledge that.

Marco opened his eyes suddenly and caught her watching him. She blushed.

‘Morning, sleepyhead.’

‘Actually, I think you are the sleepy one. I’ve been awake for ages,’ she retorted, trying to sound as if she was totally indifferent about waking up with him. ‘I just didn’t want to disturb you by disentangling myself.’

‘Is that right?’ He didn’t sound in the slightest bit fooled. ‘So how come you were snoring ten minutes ago?’

‘I was not!’ She looked at him in consternation. ‘For one thing, I don’t snore!’

‘How do you know if you haven’t slept with anyone before?’ He laughed as he rolled her over so that he was pinning her to the bed.

His hands were linked through hers, holding them back
against the pillows behind her head. She wriggled a little to get free, but he didn’t release her.

For a moment he just looked at her, hardly able to believe how beautiful she was with her hair spread out around her on the pillows, her skin all flushed from his teasing, her lips slightly pouted. She really didn’t look like the same woman who had stormed into his office in her starchy buttoned-up blouse, that was for sure.

He frowned. ‘And how come you
haven’t
slept with anyone before?’ he asked softly. ‘When you are so…deliciously good at it?’

The husky question made her deeply uncomfortable. She really didn’t want to discuss her sex-life—or lack of it—with him. ‘Let’s not waste time on my past, Marco.’

‘Why not?’ One dark eyebrow rose.

‘Because I told you I’m not that interesting.’ She tried to look away from him, but he nibbled on the side of her neck, making her laugh breathlessly, making her look back at him.

‘Now, come on… As I introduced you to the sport in question, why don’t you humour me with the truth?’

‘A sport…? Is that how you see it?’ She looked into his eyes and saw a flicker of emotion there that she couldn’t quite work out.

‘Well, maybe since my divorce I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should…’ His dark eyes moved over her solemnly for a moment.

The husky admission made her still. ‘Because you’ve been so cut up?’

He hesitated. ‘
Sì
… Cut up, as you put it…’ He added something else in Italian, and she would have given anything to be able to understand him.

‘Marco, I don’t know what you are saying.’

For a second he hesitated, and she wondered if he was
going to explain further, but then the expression in his eyes became veiled.

‘Good, because what I said was not important,’ he told her lightly.

She didn’t believe him—because she had understood the bleak look she had glimpsed for just a moment. She wondered if he would have opened up more to her if she wasn’t a journalist.

The thought made her frown. ‘Marco, I—’

‘Hey, what is important right at this moment is you…’ He cut across her gently and released her hands to trail one finger slowly over the little frown marks between her eyes, smoothing them away and sending little shivers of desire through her. ‘I don’t think it is any secret that I enjoy making love—that I think it is one of life’s great pleasures.’

The words made the shivers of need inside her escalate.

‘But I was asking about you…and how you see things,’ he finished firmly.

She wanted to be so much closer to him… She felt a dart of anger at herself for wanting it so much…for wanting to get inside his skin and know exactly what he was feeling.

If she did she might not like what she saw, she reminded herself fiercely. He was a master of evasiveness and a heart-breaker. And yet… There was something about him that made her just want to trust him. And she was starting to think that he wasn’t as cavalier about his marriage break-up as she had first believed.

‘Izzy, we are talking about
you
,’ he reminded her firmly.

‘Believe me, Marco, there is nothing mystical about my lack of experience. I just never got around to that…particular sport.’ She hoped he would leave it like that.

But he was continuing to look at her, as if fascinated by her reply.

‘It was just circumstances,’ she whispered helplessly. ‘My
mother was ill for a long time after her marriage broke up, and she went through a series of disastrous relationships…’

For a moment she was quiet as she remembered all the times she had hurried home from school, worried about what she would find.

‘And someone had to be the sensible one…hmm?’

She shrugged. ‘As soon as I was old enough I got a job in the evenings to try and support my studies—as I said, it was just circumstances.’

‘But then you met someone and got engaged?’

‘Yes…big mistake.’ As he released his hold on her she managed to slide away from under him. ‘Rob just caught me at a point in my life when I was feeling lonely. It was never a passionate relationship. In fact I think I thought of him more as a friend than anything else, and I was busy building my career.’