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and shook his head, then, before she knew what he was doing, lifted her into his arms, taking great care not to touch her thighs.

      ‘This is unnecessary,’ she complained. She might be in pain but she didn’t need this. Besides, she was vain enough to know she must look ridiculous with her dress bunched around the tops of her thighs, her modesty barely preserved. Her stupid black hold-ups had fallen down to her knees like the socks of a scatty schoolgirl.

      ‘Probably,’ he agreed, heading through the living area and into a narrow corridor, carrying her as if she weighed little more than a child. ‘But it’s quicker and safer than you trying to walk.’

      The position he held her in meant her face was right in the crook of his strong, bronzed neck. A compulsion to press her face into it almost overcame her. Almost. Luckily she still retained some control. But she’d forgotten how delicious he smelt, like sun-ripened fruit. Her position meant her senses were filled with it and she had to use even more restraint not to lick him.

      Pepe’s bathroom was twice the size of her bedroom and resembled a miniature black, white and gold palace. She had no time to appreciate its splendour.

      ‘You’re going to have to take your dress off,’ he said as he carried her down some marble steps and carefully sat her on the edge of the sunken bath.

      ‘I jolly well am not.’

      ‘It will get wet.’

      ‘It’s already wet.’

      ‘Suit yourself.’ He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee.

      She tried not to yelp. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Taking your stockings off.’ He tugged the first one down to the ankle. While she hated herself for her vanity, Cara could not help feel relief that she’d remembered to wax her legs a few days ago.

      ‘They’re hold-ups,’ she corrected, breathing deeply. The trail of his fingers on her skin burned almost as much as the scald.

      ‘They’re sexy.’

      ‘That’s inappropriate.’

      His lips twitched. ‘Sorry.’

      ‘Liar.’

      Hold-ups removed and thrown onto the floor, Pepe helped manoeuvre her into the empty bath before reaching for the shower head that rested on the gold taps.

      He held it over his hand then turned it on. Water gushed out, spraying over them both.

      Adjusting the pressure, he smiled with a hint of smugness. ‘Still happy to keep your dress on?’

      ‘Yes.’ She would rather suffer third-degree burns than strip off to her underwear in front of him.

      ‘I’ve seen you naked before,’ he reminded her wickedly, turning the shower onto her thighs.

      ‘Not under bright light, you haven’t.’

      The cold water felt like the greatest relief in the world. Cara closed her eyes, rested her head back and savoured the feeling, uncaring that the cold water spraying off her thighs was pooling in the base of the bath, sloshing all around her bottom. It was worth it. Slowly, wonderfully, her tender skin numbed.

      It was only when she opened her eyes a few minutes later that she realised her dress had risen higher and that her black knickers were fully exposed.

      One look at the gleam in Pepe’s eyes and she knew he’d noticed.

      ‘I think that’s enough now,’ she said, leaning up and yanking her sodden dress down to cover herself.

      Pepe screwed his eyes shut to rid himself of the image.

      It didn’t work.

      The image of Cara’s soaking knickers and the memories of what they hid burned brightly, almost as brightly as her flushing cheeks.

      His trousers felt so tight and uncomfortable it was hard to breathe.

      He gritted his teeth and willed his erection to abate.

      He turned the tap off, replaced the shower head and crouched back next to her, making sure to look at her face and only her face. ‘Your thighs should be okay—it doesn’t look as if they’re going to blister—but to play safe I’ve got some salve in the medicine cabinet you can put on them. I’ll get it for you and then you can get changed—where’s your change of clothes?’

      ‘I didn’t bring any.’

      ‘Why not?’ Whenever Cara came to Sicily she always came for at least a week.

      ‘I only came for the day.’

      ‘Really?’ He’d arrived from Paris with barely twenty minutes to spare before the christening started, avoiding the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. He hadn’t imagined Cara had done the same.

      ‘I didn’t want to risk spilling the beans to Grace before I’d had a chance to speak to you.’

      ‘That was good of you,’ he acknowledged.

      ‘Not really.’ Her face tightened. ‘I was worried she’d be unable to keep it from Luca and that Luca in turn would tell you.’

      Upon reflection, Pepe was certain that if his sister-in-law had known she would have tracked him down at the earliest opportunity and given him hell. ‘I’ll ask Grace if she has any clothes you can borrow...’

      ‘You jolly well won’t.’ Cara glared at him.

      ‘You’re right. Bad idea.’ If he sought Grace out he’d have to explain why her best friend was sitting with scalded thighs in his bath, and then everything about the baby would become common knowledge... ‘Have you told anyone about the baby?’

      ‘Only my mother, but she doesn’t count.’

      ‘Good,’ he said, ignoring the tightening of her lips as she mentioned her mother. He had enough to think about as it was.

      ‘Why’s that, then? Worried all those doting Mastrangelo aunts and uncles will try and marry us off?’

      ‘They can try all they like,’ he answered with a shrug. Given a chance, they’d have him and Cara up the aisle quicker than it had taken to impregnate her.

      That was if he had impregnated her.

      He didn’t care that she’d been a virgin, he didn’t care that the dates tallied—until he saw cast-iron proof of his paternity he would not allow himself to believe anything. ‘I bow to no one.’

      ‘Well, neither do I. Your suggestion that I move in with you is ridiculous. How the heck would I be able to get to and from work if I have to travel all over the place with you? You work all over Europe.’

      ‘And South America,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ll have to give up your job.’

      He noticed her shiver and remembered she’d just had a cold shower pressed against her for the best part of ten minutes.

      ‘Let’s get you out of the bath. We can finish this argument when you’re dry and warm.’

      ‘I’m not giving up my job and I’m not moving in with you.’

      ‘I said we can argue the toss when you’re dry.’

      He could see how much she hated having to use him for support. Not looking at him, she allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arms and kept her steady while she climbed out of the bath.

      She looked like a drowned rat. Even her face was soaked.

      Too late, he realised it was tears rolling down her cheeks.

      ‘You’re crying?’

      ‘I’m crying because I’m angry,’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve ruined my life and now you want to ruin my future too. I hate you.’

      He took a large, warm

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