The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge. Kate Walker

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      She wouldn’t let herself think of the disappointment his reaction had created. Wouldn’t let any hint of the pain that slashed at her register as she admitted that she had brought this on herself. She had been so stupid in reacting the way she had. In kissing him the way she had. Shock did weird things to the mind—and the body—and as a result she’d given this Vito quite the wrong impression. An impression it seemed he was determined to act on, while she was equally determined not to let him.

      That all sounded fine and rational inside her head, so why didn’t it quite ring true? Why couldn’t she convince herself that this was truly what she meant?

      Why was there still a tiny bit of her, a weak, emotional bit of her, that fought against the sensible, rational approach? That yearned for this to be more than that—to mean more than that? A yearning that made her fight to control her voice as she continued.

      ‘I’m grateful to you for your help, obviously, but that’s it. There’s nothing else that need concern you.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      Would the wretched man never listen? Why didn’t he just give in and walk away? She was really beginning to feel the after-effects of the fright and the icy soaking she’d endured and it was a struggle to stay on her feet, never mind argue. All she wanted was to run to her car, get in and lock the door against the world. There, she could rest her aching head on the back of the seat, close her eyes and let the world go away. That was what she had wanted when she had first arrived. To switch off and let the world go away.

      It was a cruel irony that she had only come here today to be on her own—get away from the problems at home—to escape from all the fights and the arguments that had been her life for as long as she could remember. She had wanted some peace and quiet which was why she had headed towards the sea. And she had thought she’d found it.

      Until Vito Corsentino had appeared on the scene.

      Until he had taken her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

      Exactly—senseless! He had kissed her until she had lost what little remained of her mind. Until she had reacted in the most stupid, irresponsible way possible. So Vito Corsentino had affected her as no man had done for years. So he’d woken the secret, sensual part of her that had been buried, hidden away for so long. So his kisses and his touch had left her wanting more—she wasn’t going to give in to that need. The results would be far too complicated—dangerous—destructive. She didn’t want to get tangled up with anyone—least of all a man like Vito Corsentino.

      ‘I want you to think so!’

      She aimed to make her tone emphatic but the effort she was putting into stopping it from shaking at the same time only succeeded in making it sound harsh and brittle, colder than the waves that still broke against the shore near their feet.

      ‘I appreciate what you did for me, and I thank you for that, but I don’t need anything more. And I definitely don’t want to go to your flat—or anywhere with you! What I need—what I want—is for you to leave me right now. Just turn—walk away…’

      For an uncomfortable, worrying second or two she thought he was going to argue further. She saw the flash of rejection in his eyes, watched that beautiful mouth harden and thin, his face losing all warmth, becoming as hard and fierce as the face of some wild hunter just as it scented its prey. But then, just as her heart quailed inside her and she struggled to find the strength to face another argument, to fight him further—to fight herself further and deny the weak, disappointed clamour of her own senses that were trying to tell her it didn’t have to be this way—he suddenly, and totally unexpectedly, gave in.

      ‘Fine.’

      He threw up his hands in a gesture that in another man might have been meant to express defeat but even on such short acquaintance she knew that defeat was something this man would never acknowledge. Instead, he was revealing total exasperation, and dismissing the argument as not worth bothering to take any further. He’d had enough of this, his body language and the dark, glowering scowl he turned in her direction said. Enough of this and enough of her.

      So he did as she’d asked, or, rather, demanded. He turned on his heel in the sand, sending the fine grains spraying up around his legs with the determination of the movement. And he walked away.

      So now she’d got what she wanted. She’d got what she’d said she needed. So why didn’t she feel as if that was what had happened? Why weren’t her shoulders relaxing, her heartbeat easing as she watched him move away from her? Why didn’t she feel glad—or at least a sense of release—at the way that every line in that tall, powerful body, the way that the long, straight back was held, the set of the broad shoulders, spoke of rejection and dismissal so that it was obvious that he wasn’t going to reconsider or even hesitate? It couldn’t be clearer that he had no intention of changing his mind, of turning back. And that was what she’d wanted; wasn’t it?

      So why did she feel a thickness in her throat, a knot around her heart, as if she was in danger of losing something valuable? Something she would regret discarding so carelessly in the future?

      She watched him stride further up the beach to where his shoes had been kicked off in that wild, frantic run towards the sea. To rescue her. As he stooped to snatch them up, still not giving the slightest glance backwards in her direction, her conscience twisted sharply inside her, giving a nasty little stab of reproach that made her wince inwardly. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to another on the soft sand, huddling closer into the jacket as a cold wind coiled round her, the black clouds now scudding across the sky, darkening the atmosphere threateningly.

      The jacket! Her conscience stabbed at her again, more cruelly this time. Vito Corsentino had come to her rescue without hesitation. He’d dragged her from the waves and brought her safely to dry land. He’d even given her his jacket to keep her warm and to cover her sodden, bedraggled clothing and all she’d done was to tell him to go and leave her alone.

      Had she even thanked him properly? What sort of an ungrateful idiot was she?

      ‘Wait!’

      He hadn’t heard her. Or he’d heard her but he wasn’t prepared to stop.

      She watched his long, determined stride cover the sand, taking him further away from her with each movement…He would soon be out of earshot.

      ‘Wait—please!’

      One more stride further away. And another. But then, with this last one, he slowed, stopped, swung round. He didn’t say a word but those dark eyes flashed the question Well? in her direction with a fierce impatience that made her heart quail inside her.

      ‘Your jacket…’

      She was shrugging herself out of his coat, coming forward, holding it out to him.

      ‘You need it back.’

      For a moment he stayed where he was, looking deep into her eyes, and then, briefly, that black-eyed gaze flicked down to focus on the garment she held towards him.

      The hand he used to gesture expressed such total contempt that it was a dismissal of her as well as the apparently unwanted jacket.

      ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘You need it more than I do.’

      ‘But…’

      But СКАЧАТЬ