LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Grant was the last girl he would normally have pursued, but he could not deny she intrigued him. Or perhaps he just wasn’t used to having his advances treated with such uncompromising hostility, he thought, his mouth twisting in self-derision.

      Whatever, he’d enjoyed crossing swords with her in this preliminary skirmish.

      The invisible circle still surrounded her, but within it she wasn’t as prim and conventional as he’d thought. Under that ancient tee shirt she’d been bra-less, and at one moment he’d found himself, incredibly, fantasising about peeling the ugly thing off her, and discovering with his hands and mouth if her rounded breasts were as warm, and soft, and rose-tipped and scented as his imagination suggested.

      But that wasn’t in the equation either, he reminded himself grimly. Because he intended to keep all physical contact between them to an absolute minimum. He’d have quite enough to reproach himself for without adding a full-scale seduction to the total.

      So, he was planning an old-fashioned wooing, with flowers, romantic dates, candlelit dinners, and a few—a very few—kisses.

      Not as instantly effective as tricking her into bed, he thought cynically, but infinitely safer.

      Because sex was the great deceiver. And great sex could enslave you—render you blind, deaf and ultimately stupid. Make you believe all kinds of impossible things.

      Just as it had with Graziella.

      He sighed harshly. Why hadn’t he seen, before he’d got involved with her, that behind the beautiful face and sexy body she was pure bitch?

      Because a man in lust thought with his groin, not his brain, was the obvious answer.

      And at least he wasn’t still fooling himself that he’d been in love with her.

      In bed, she’d been amazing—inventive and insatiable—and he’d been her match, satisfying the demands she’d made with her teeth, her nails, and little purring, feral cries.

      But when he’d asked her to marry him—laid his future and Montedoro at her feet—she’d burst out laughing.

      ‘Caro—are you mad? You have no money, and the d’Angelo vineyard was finished years ago. Besides, I’m going to marry Paolo Cresti. I thought everyone knew that.’

      ‘A man over twice your age?’ He looked down at the lush nakedness she’d just yielded to him, inch by tantalising inch. ‘You can’t do it.’

      ‘Now you’re talking like a fool. Paolo is a successful banker, and wealthy in his own right.’ She paused, avid hands seeking him, stroking him back to arousal. ‘And my marriage to him makes no difference to us. I shall need you all the more, caro, to stop me from dying of boredom.’

      For a long moment he looked at her—at the glittering eyes, and the hot, greedy mouth.

      He said gently, ‘I’m no one’s piece on the side, Graziella.’ And got up from the bed.

      Even while he was dressing—when he was actually walking to the door—she still didn’t believe that he was really leaving her. Couldn’t comprehend his revulsion at the role she’d created for him.

      ‘You cannot do this,’ she screamed hysterically. ‘I want you. I will not let you go.’

      Up to her marriage, and for weeks afterwards, she’d bombarded him with phone calls and notes, demanding his return.

      Then had come the threats. The final hissed vow that she would make him sorry.

      Something she’d achieved beyond her wildest dreams, he acknowledged bitterly.

      At first, he’d thrown himself into life at Montedoro with a kind of grim determination, driven by bitterness and anger.

      But gradually, working amongst the vines had brought a kind of peace, and a sense of total involvement.

      And that was something he wasn’t prepared to lose through the machinations of a lying wife and a jealous husband.

      Since Graziella he’d made sure that any sexual encounters he enjoyed were civilised, and strictly transient, conducted without recrimination on either side.

      But Cory Grant did not come into that category at all, so it was far better not to speculate whether her skin would feel like cool silk against his, or what it would take to make her face warm with sensual pleasure rather than embarrassment or anger. In fact, he should banish all such thoughts from his mind immediately.

      Even though, as he was disturbingly aware, he might not want to.

      For a moment he seemed to breathe her—the appealing aroma of clean hair and her own personal woman’s scent that the perfume she’d been wearing had merely enhanced.

      He felt his whole body stir gently but potently at the memory.

      Ice Maiden? he thought. No, I don’t think so. And laughed softly.

      ‘You’re very quiet today.’ Arnold Grant sent Cory a narrow-eyed look. ‘In fact, you’ve been quiet the whole weekend. Not in love, are we?’

      Cory’s smile was composed. ‘I can’t speak for you, Gramps, but I’m certainly not.’

      Arnold sighed. ‘I thought it was too good to be true. I wish you’d hurry up, child. Help me fulfil my two remaining ambitions.’

      Cory’s brows lifted. ‘And which two are those today?’

      ‘Firstly, I want to give you away in church to a man who’ll look after you when I’m no longer here.’

      ‘Planning another world cruise?’ Cory asked with interest.

      Arnold frowned repressively. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

      Cory sighed. ‘All right—what’s your second ambition?’

      Arnold looked saintly. ‘To see Sonia’s face when she learns she’s going to be a grandmother.’

      Cory tutted reprovingly at him. ‘How unkind. But she’ll rise above it. She’ll simply tell everyone she was a child bride.’

      ‘Probably,’ her grandfather agreed drily. He paused. ‘So is there really no one on the horizon, my dear? I had great hopes you’d hit it off with Philip, you know.’ He gave her a hopeful look. ‘Are you seeing him again?’

      Cory picked up the cheques she’d been writing for the monthly household bills and brought them over to him for signature. ‘No, darling.’

      ‘Ah, well,’ he said, ‘it wasn’t obligatory.’ A pause. ‘What was wrong with him?’

      This time she sighed inwardly. ‘There was—no chemistry.’

      ‘I see.’ He was silent while he signed the cheques. As he handed them back, he said, ‘Are you sure you know what you want—in a man?’

      ‘I thought so, once.’ She began to tuck the cheques into envelopes. ‘These days, I’m more focused on what I don’t want.’

      ‘Which is?’

      Eyes like a Mediterranean pirate, she thought, and a mouth that looks as if it knows far too much about women and the way they taste.

      She shrugged. ‘Oh, I’ve a list a mile long. And I need to catch the post with these—and call at the supermarket before I go home. I haven’t a scrap of food at home.’

      ‘Then stay the night again.’

      ‘Gramps—I’ve been here since Saturday.’

      ‘Yes,’ Arnold said. ‘And I’m wondering why.’

      ‘Does there have to be a reason?’ Cory got up from the desk, the graceful flare of her simple navy wool dress swinging around her.

      ‘Usually when you descend like this you have something you want to tell me.’ His eyes were shrewd. ‘Something

Скачать книгу