LITMIR.BIZ

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her over to the sink.

      ‘I don’t make a habit of this,’ she declared, rinsing her mouth several times over while hanging onto the vanity unit.

      ‘I should hope not, bellezza mia.’

      ‘What does that mean? The Italian bit?’

      And he told her that it meant ‘my beauty’.

      ‘But that’s a downright lie,’ she protested, studying her bleary-eyed reflection in dismay. The make-up girl’s artistry and the hairdresser’s skill were no longer apparent in the flushed face, smudged eyeliner and tousled hair she now saw in the mirror.

      ‘You need to lie down,’ Cesare asserted, lifting her again so that the bathroom spun and then the bedroom that followed.

      Lizzie lay flat and dead still on the bed, afraid to move lest her surroundings began revolving again. ‘Where’s Archie? I want Archie.’

      ‘Archie stays downstairs.’ Cesare reminded her of the household rule, announced by Primo, his imperturbable manservant, on the day she moved in.

      ‘But that’s just mean... He always sleeps with me,’ she mumbled.

      Cesare almost groaned out loud. She lay splayed across his bed, clearly trusting him when he didn’t trust himself because she was displaying a wanton amount of bare slender thigh.

      ‘If I can’t have Archie for company, I’ll have you,’ Lizzie muttered. ‘Lie down.’

      Cesare snatched up the phone and issued a terse instruction. Within the space of a minute, Primo arrived at the door with Archie. Cesare clasped Archie and carried him over to the bed, whereupon the dog curled up obediently at Lizzie’s feet with his head resting across her ankles.

      ‘You should get into bed...you can’t sleep in your clothes,’ Cesare told her.

      ‘Why not?’

      Cesare released his breath in an exasperated hiss and came down on the bed beside her to run her zip down.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered curiously as he smoothed the straps of the dress down off her slim shoulders.

      ‘Making you more comfortable.’ Business arrangement, business arrangement, bloody business arrangement, Cesare was dutifully repeating inside his head as he eased her out of the dress to expose a filmy and provocative bra and panties set in turquoise lace. He wasn’t looking, he wasn’t reacting, he told himself doggedly while his dark golden gaze clung of its own volition to the surprisingly full, plump curves swelling the lace cups, revealing pale pink nipples that made his mouth water and the shadowy vee at her crotch. He yanked the sheet over Lizzie’s prone length so fast that she rolled and, having been disturbed and crammed in below the sheet without warning, Archie also loosed a whimper of complaint.

      Lizzie stretched out a searching hand, her eyes closed. The room was going round and round and round behind her lowered eyelids and she felt lost and nauseous. ‘Where you going?’

      Weary after a day spent travelling and his last-minute sprint to deal with Lizzie, Cesare surrendered to the obvious. If he left her alone, might she wander off? Sleep on the floor? Have an accident? Stumble into the wrong bedroom? And what if she was sick again? ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He stripped down to his boxers and lay down on the other side of the bed. A small, callused hand closed over the thumb of his right hand and held on tight. He wasn’t used to sharing a bed and he liked his own space.

      Lizzie settled up against a warm solid shape while Archie tunnelled below the sheet to settle down by a less restive set of feet.

      Lizzie wakened with a desperate thirst at some timeless hour of the night while it was still dark. She slid her feet off the side of the bed, her soles finding the floor, and slowly straightened. A wave of dizziness immediately engulfed her and she compressed her lips hard, sober enough now to be furious with herself. Despite having hardly eaten all day she had foolishly downed all that alcohol and got carried away by the party atmosphere. Suppressing a groan of frustration, she fumbled for the switch on the bedside light and then stared in bewilderment round the unfamiliar room before focusing on the male sharing the wide bed with her.

      Cesare was half naked and lying on top of the sheet she had been lying beneath. He was beautifully built with a broad bronzed torso and corded abdomen that rippled with lean muscle. One long, powerful, hair-roughened thigh was partially raised, the other flat. Unshaven, he exuded a rough, edgy masculinity that made her breath hitch in her throat as she peered down at him in the lamplight. His lashes were like black silk fans and almost long enough to touch his amazing cheekbones.

      She remembered asking him if he wanted to kiss her, absolutely angling for his attention, and she almost screamed out loud at that demeaning memory. She headed for the bathroom with hot cheeks and a frustrated sense of self-loathing and shame that she could have been so silly. Had she asked him to stay with her as well? For goodness’ sake, it was obviously his bedroom and he had only brought her there the night before because it was the nearest option when she felt sick. Now he had seen her in her underwear and she was mortified, although not as mortified as she would have been had he removed that as well. Her head throbbing, she drank about a gallon of cold water and freshened up as best she could without her own toiletries. She crept out of the bathroom in search of something to wear so that she could return to her own room.

      Tiptoeing like a cat burglar, she opened the door into a massive wardrobe and eased back a sliding door to yank a man’s white shirt off a hanger. The bra was digging into her midriff and she released the catch and removed it and the panties, wondering if she dared go for a shower. Donning the shirt, she rolled up the sleeves and buttoned it.

      Being around Cesare made her feel out of control but was that so surprising? She hadn’t dated since Andrew, hadn’t seen the point, and before him there had only been a handful of unremarkable men. In recent times, she had had no social outlets and had only occasionally left the farm. It cost money to socialise and there had been none to spare. Being with Cesare’s light-hearted sisters had been so much fun that she had forgotten to monitor how much she was drinking. One glimpse of Cesare when she was in that weakened condition had had the same effect on her as a hit man shooting her directly between the eyes. He was a very good-looking male, that was all. Noticing the fact simply meant she was female and alive and not that she wanted to pursue anything with him.

      Hovering by the bed, Lizzie tried to work out how to get Archie out from below the sheet without either hurting him or waking Cesare.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Cesare husked as she yanked at the sheet to try and reach her dog. Blinking up at her with frowning dark eyes, he lifted a muscular arm to check the gold watch he still wore. ‘Inferno! It’s three in the morning.’

      ‘I should go back to my own room.’

      ‘Don’t wake up the whole household. Stay and go back to sleep,’ Cesare advised her drily, flipping onto his side in a display of indifference that made her grit her teeth.

      Would she wake anyone up? Stifling a sound of frustration, Lizzie doused the light and snaked back below the sheet.

      Early morning was sending pale light through the blinds when she next surfaced, feeling considerably healthier than she had earlier but decidedly overheated. An arm was draped round her ribcage and she was locked intimately close to a very male body, a very aroused male body. A surge of heat that had nothing to do with his higher temperature pooled in Lizzie’s pelvis. She eased over onto her back and looked up unwarily into heavily fringed eyes the colour of melted bronze. Her throat ran dry, her breathing ruptured.

      ‘You’re a very restless sleeper, cara mia,’ Cesare censured softly, his breath fanning her cheek. ‘I had to clamp you in one place to get peace.’

      ‘Oh...’ Lizzie framed dry-mouthed, entranced by her view of his lean, darkly handsome features in the golden dawn light, even her hearing beguiled by his melodic accent.

      ‘Archie, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead and doesn’t move at all,’

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