LITMIR.BIZ

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stately home deep in the Devonshire countryside.

      It had been a very English, almost mediaeval arrangement.

      After the death of her parents when she’d been seven, she’d been taken in by her childless uncle and aunt, and although they’d distantly been kind to her she’d never managed to get rid of the feeling that she was only there on sufferance. That they’d been forced to take her.

      So she’d tried to make herself useful. Tried to be no bother. Her uncle didn’t like fusses or distractions, so she’d kept herself quiet and tried to behave herself, not put a foot out of line. She hadn’t wanted them to get rid of her or regret giving her a home.

      And it had all worked very well.

      So well that, when her aunt and uncle had been refused more money by the bank for the upkeep of their house and their family friend Henry St George had stepped in, offering money in return for marriage to Matilda, they’d naturally assumed she’d agree.

      And she had. Because they’d taken her in, had given her a home and sacrificed the later years of their lives bringing her up. Marrying Henry St George so they could keep their house had seemed a small sacrifice to make in return.

      That she actually hadn’t wanted to marry Henry, she’d kept quiet about. He was her aunt and uncle’s age and, even though he was a nice enough man, she hadn’t been in love with him. She hadn’t been even attracted to him. He’d told her that he didn’t require sex in the marriage, that all he wanted was companionship in his later years, yet Matilda had still been apprehensive about it.

      So when Henry had offered her a holiday by herself at a Caribbean resort before the engagement—a kind of last hurrah as a single woman—she’d decided to take it as a treat for herself.

      And that was when she’d met him.

      Enzo.

      He’d been talking to the resort manager as she’d been on her way to the pool, dressed—rather improbably, given the fact that they were on a tropical island—in a three-piece suit.

      He should have looked ridiculous, standing there in the hot sun dressed in layers of fine Italian wool. But he hadn’t. He’d looked dark, commanding and fierce. And utterly, devastatingly, gorgeous.

      She’d never bothered much with men, preferring to stick to her studies at school, and then her English degree at university, but Enzo Cardinali had been a man completely outside her experience.

      She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him.

      And then he’d looked at her, that intense, amber gaze slamming into hers, stealing her breath, stealing her thought.

      She’d led a fairly sheltered life since she’d gone to live with her aunt and uncle, keeping to the straight and narrow, never having put a foot wrong. But there was something about this man that had reached right down inside her and woken a part of herself that she’d put on ice the day her parents had died.

      An angry, hot, rebellious part.

      He’d looked furious, standing there in the sun, and in the heated gold of his eyes she’d seen a challenge. So she’d answered it.

      She’d smiled and arched an eyebrow, met him stare for stare as she’d walked past, every cell of her being suddenly alive and aware, thrilled at her own daring.

      It had been like poking a tiger in a cage, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t get eaten because of the bars, yet still having the wild adrenaline rush of baiting such a dangerous creature.

      But she hadn’t thought he’d bother following her until he’d suddenly appeared in the pool area. Every eye in the place had been drawn to his electric presence as he’d strode towards her lounger. But he’d ignored them all.

      His focus had been entirely on her.

      And the good girl she’d been since her parents’ death had burned to ash right there and then.

      Back at the villa, he’d kissed her as soon as the door had closed, his mouth hot, demanding and desperate. She’d been overwhelmed. The only kisses she’d ever had had been from one shy boy back in school at a dance and they’d been nothing—nothing—compared to the hard mastery of Enzo’s mouth.

      He’d pushed her against the wall and she’d let him, her heartbeat like a drum in her head, hoping like hell he wouldn’t notice her inexperience and leave, because more than anything she didn’t want him to go.

      But he’d given no sign of noticing anything but the chemistry burning out of control between them.

      He’d ripped the bikini from her body, leaving her no time for shyness or nerves. No time for second guessing. And then his large, warm hands had been on her, cupping her bare breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs...

      Matilda gave another soft groan, pressing her hands harder against her closed lids, the memory in her head replaying no matter how much she didn’t want it to.

      All she’d been able to hear was her own frantic breathing and the soft gasp that had escaped her as his hand had slid lower, down between her thighs to where she’d been aching and wet. His fingers had glided over her slick flesh, sending sharp, electric bolts of pleasure through her, making her shudder and arch against the wall.

      No one had ever touched her there before, not in her entire life, and she hadn’t been able to believe she was letting a man she’d only just met do it then. But she had. And it had felt illicit, thrilling and so unbelievably good...

      She let out a sharp breath, forcing the memories away and ignoring the subtle throb between her thighs.

      No, she couldn’t think of that. The woman she’d been on that island wasn’t her any more, and she didn’t want to be that woman anyway. Not these days. Not now she was a mother with responsibilities.

      When she’d returned to England, she’d worked hard to fit herself back into the good-girl box. She’d married Henry like she’d promised she would and put her studies on hold so she could care for Simon. It hadn’t been so bad.

      She hadn’t found out she’d was pregnant until four months into her marriage, but luckily by then she’d realised that Henry truly had meant it when he’d said that he only wanted friendship. He’d been good to her, drying her tears when she’d confessed about her pregnancy, and deciding to save them both a scandal by claiming Simon as his own. He’d never asked for the name of Simon’s father and she’d never volunteered it.

      He’d been a good man and a kind husband.

      But she really, really wished that he hadn’t invited Enzo Cardinali to his stupid house party.

      She swallowed and let some of the tension bleed out of her. God, what a mess. Still, it wasn’t all bad. The party ended tonight and tomorrow everyone would be gone, including Enzo, with any luck.

      She’d never have to see or think about him again.

       You really think he’s going to let Simon go now he knows?

      Dread rose inside her because she knew the answer to that.

      Of course he wouldn’t.

      The quality of the silence changed abruptly in the hallway, and all the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

      Slowly, carefully, her heartbeat going double-time, Matilda lowered her hands from her face.

      And found Enzo Cardinali standing right in front of her.

      ‘Buono notte, Mrs St George,’ he said in that deep voice she knew so well, the one that had once been full of heat and yet now was so cold. ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      SHOCK FLASHED THROUGH

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