Authors: Sara Craven
choice of scent from light floral fragrances to the spicier, musky
perfumes. Luxuriously smoothing toilet water over her shoulders
and arms, Juliet thought idly what an incredible variety there was,
and then paused, the colour rising in her face as she realised the
perfumes and powders had been placed there to. appeal to a variety
of women.
She replaced the cap on the spray she had been using with indecent
haste and replaced it on the shelf. She had little doubt that Santino
had selected the perfumes himself, for his own delectation as well
as that of his lady friends. She only hoped that he would not
imagine she had been perfuming herself for him.
'I wish I'd used carbolic!' she muttered to herself, as she dragged the
denim up over her slim hips and fastened the zip.
Once dressed, she felt rather at a loss. She stripped the covers back
from the bed and left it to air, then emptied the suitcase and
repacked it more neatly. Santino on his rampage through Jan's
wardrobe had simply tossed things in on top of each other. Many of
the things needed hanging up to rid them of creases, but ever
present in her mind was Santino's parting shot that this was his
room. There was no way in which she was going to lay even the
slightest claim to it after that, even to the extent of hanging a few
dresses in that huge wardrobe.
She wandered restlessly over to the window and stood looking out.
Below her the sea shone like glass and the distant horizon
shimmered in the heat. What was she supposed to do? she
wondered. Stay here cooped up until Santino discovered the truth?
She bit her lip. Not if she knew it, she told herself resolutely. After
all, there was the sea, and where the sea was, there ought to be a
beach of sorts. She would simply carry on with her holiday and to
hell with Santino. After all, a lot of people paid hundreds of pounds
to come and spend a few days on the Italian coast, and yet here she
was being entertained at his expense in surroundings she could
never have afforded in the ordinary way, so the least she could do
was try and enjoy it.
She swung away from the window and went across to the door and
out on to the gallery beyond. She trod across it and stood looking
over the exquisitely carved balustrade that bordered it down into
what was presumably the main living area below. It appeared
deserted, and after a moment or two she ventured down the spiral
staircase that led down from her side of the gallery, and stood
looking about her. It was a large, lofty room, the floor smoothly
tiled in a deep terra-cotta shade, the rough stone wails washed in
pale cream. On one side a large alcove, with a slightly raised floor,
had been let into the thickness of the wall and Juliet saw that this
accommodated a large, heavily carved refectory table, and
high-backed chairs padded in deep crimson. There appeared to be
no fireplace as such, but the three long low oatmeal-coloured sofas
which formed the seating were grouped round a low antique table,
on which books and magazines were arranged. The original
window recesses had been extended and glazed to make full use of
the view, and a door behind her, under the gallery she had just left,
indicated that this was where the kitchen quarters were to be found.
There was a spartan simplicity about her surroundings that appealed
to Juliet far more than the more obvious luxury of Jan's Roman
apartment. She wondered how old the building was, and admired
the way it had been adapted to modern living needs without the
destruction of its essential character. For it must have been some
kind of fortress, she thought, her eyes straying once again to the
thickness of the walls.
She wandered across the room, her heelless sandals making little
noise on the tiles, and picked up one of the magazines, but apart
from the language problem they all appeared to be of a purely
technical nature, so she soon abandoned that as a pastime.
Presumably Santino's plans for the entertainment of his women
guests did not include the provision of reading matter, she thought
ironically.
Her stomach rumbled suddenly and disconcertingly, reminding her
that it was a long time since she had eaten. She had enjoyed the
coffee Annunziata had brought, but now she needed solid food
inside her. Presumably as she was no longer a prisoner in her room,
Santino did not plan to starve her either. Moodily, she flung herself
down on one of the sofas and stared into space, wondering among
other things where Mario and Jan were at that moment. She hoped
they were happy, because that was the only thing that would make
this entire business in any way tolerable. For a moment she felt
tears prick at her eyes, then angrily dammed them back. It was
useless indulging in self-pity. She had got herself into this mess, and
she would simply have to get herself out of it in due course, and
pray that she remained unscathed in the process.
As she lay back against the cushions, her eyes closed, struggling to
regain her composure, she was suddenly aware that she was not
alone. Her eyes flew open and she saw Santino standing over her.
She sat up instantly, pushing her hair back with one defensive hand,
hoping she had not exhibited any visible sign of weakness to him.
'I'm surprised to find you still indoors,' he observed after a moment
or two of rather taut silence had stretched between them. 'Or are
you afraid that our warm Calabrian sun will burn and blister that
lovely skin?'
She shrugged a shoulder, thankful that he had mistaken the normal
pallor engendered by a rather damp English summer for the care a
model girl would lavish on her complexion.
It is my livelihood after all,
signore,'
she replied in a small, cold
voice.
He sat down beside her on the sofa, stretching his long legs in front
of him, his lips twisting cynically as he looked at her. 'And in more
than one way,
cara
,' he said softly, and laughed at her small,
indignant gasp.
Her hand swung up to. strike him, to smash the sneer from his face,
but he was too quick for her. Cruel fingers seized her wrist and held
it until she gasped again, this time in pain.
'I think not,
bella mia,'
he said between his teeth. 'Or I should be
forged to exact retribution in a way that I promise you you would
not like.'
'Simply being in the same room with you, s
ignore,
is quite
punishment enough, believe me,' she said bitterly, nursing her wrist
where the marks of his fingers showed red against the whiteness of
her skin.
'Veramente?'
His brows rose mockingly. 'Then I shall have to think
of something to make your enforced sojourn in my home slightly
less of a penance to you, Janina.'
'And to yourself, no doubt,' she said tartly.
He smiled. 'Oh, I don't regard you as a penance, Janina,' he said.
'For a man, there must always be compensations in the presence of
a beautiful woman.' He reached out a lazy hand and took her wrist
which she was still rubbing, raising it in one sensuous movement to
his lips. 'You bruise easily,
cara,'
he murmured. 'That is something I
shall have to remember.'
For a moment she was speechless, stunned by the obvious
implication in his smiling words, then with a little choked cry she
snatched her wrist away, trying to ignore the long tremor that had
invaded her body at the pressure of his mouth against her flesh. For
a second she was tempted to put the length of the sofa between
them—he was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his
body, his thigh brushing hers as he lounged very much at his
ease—but she knew that any such action would merely result in her
looking foolish and undignified. But at the same time she would
have to make it more than clear that she was not his plaything, no
matter what role the other women who accompanied him here might
fulfil.
'I'd prefer you not to touch me,' she said at last with what she
gauged to be the right amount of ice in her voice.
'Why not?' he said, sounding faintly amused. 'There are no cameras
or gaping crowds of avid clothes buyers here for you to pamper and
perfume your body for, and yet your skin feels like silk and smells
of sun-warmed roses. As your sole audience, I'd thought it might
have been for my benefit.'
'Well, it isn't,' she replied stonily, hating herself for the faint
involuntary blush that was creeping up. under her skin at his words.
Jan, she thought rather bitterly, would never have blushed no matter
how personal the compliment might have been.
He laughed softly, but there was a faintly curious expression in his
eyes, as if her reaction had bewildered him, and she tensed slightly.
She certainly didn't want to arouse any suspicions about her identity
now at this stage in the game. Even now it might not be too late for
him to track down Mario and Jan and prevent their marriage.
She made herself relax back against the cushions, smile a little
even.
'I'm a creature of habit,' she said, forcing herself to speak lightly. 'I
assumed the perfumes and lotions were there to be used. Was I
wrong?'
'On the contrary,
cara.'
He laced his fingers behind his head and
leaned back, very much at his ease, the tawny eyes almost
slumbrous as they studied her. 'I hope my choice of wardrobe for
you was—adequate?' His gaze came to rest on the deeply slashed
neckline of the skimpy waistcoat.
Juliet lifted a casual shoulder as if oblivious of his regard. 'I'll
manage. After all, it won't be for very long, will it?'
'Who knows?' he murmured. 'Perhaps the charms of Roccaforte will
appeal to you so much that you will decide to extend your stay.'
The charms of Roccaforte or its owner? she asked herself silently,
her temper flaring under the sting
of
his arrogant presumption.
'I doubt it,' she said coolly. 'You can't imagine that I would willingly
spend any more time in your company than necessary,
signore?'
He laughed, apparently unmoved by the hostility in her tone. 'You
would be surprised at the lengths to which my imagination can take
me,
bella.
Although at times it does require a little practical
assistance.'
Before she could anticipate his intention, he leaned forward and
unfastened the top button of her waistcoat. 'I'm sure that was what
the designer intended,' he added, his voice wickedly amused.
Her immediate impulse was to refasten the errant button and hide
once again that provocative view of the shadowy cleft between her
breasts that it afforded, but again she was forced to hesitate. Such
an action would once more be uncharacteristic of Jan, she was
forced to admit to herself. That kind of teasing byplay would be
second nature to her. She wouldn't be sitting, her back ramrod-stiff,
her cheeks flaming, every unsteady pulse beat in her body
reminding her of the way his fingers had rested momentarily against
the softness of her skin.
This is madness, she told herself flatly. She'd been kissed
before;—held, touched, so why had this man the power to inculcate
such a response from such a fleeting' contact? It didn't make sense.
All she knew was this desperate, almost searing consciousness of
his close proximity and the havoc it was playing with her logic, her
reason, even her sense of decency. She even found herself
wondering what it would be like if he kissed her—if that firm mouth
would lose the slight sneer it wore so often and soften into
tenderness just before it descended on hers...
With a desperate effort she tore herself away from the danger of
that particular reverie.
'Don't fight so hard against your instincts,
cara,'
the mocking voice
at her side advised her coolly. 'Mario is lost to you anyway, so there
is nothing to be gained in withholding your body from me.' He
reached out a hand and took her stiffly averted chin, forcing her
head round so that she was facing him. 'Shall I tell Annunziata to
spare herself the trouble of preparing another room, Janina
mia?'
His hand slid tantalisingly down the line of her throat, stroking the