His Virgin Bride: The Fiorenza Forced Marriage / Bought: For His Convenience or Pleasure? / A Night With Consequences. Margaret Mayo

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Did my father know you were a virgin?’ he asked.

      She blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘No, of course not! Why would I tell him something like that?’

      He gave her a wry look. ‘Why indeed?’

      Her mouth flattened crossly. ‘I had no idea when I came downstairs this morning that we would…you know…’

      ‘Come on, Emma,’ he said with a touch of impatience fuelled by his lingering guilt. ‘You came down here this morning with every intention of handing me pity on a plate with you served as a garnish.’

      ‘That’s not true!’ she said. ‘I wanted to clear the air between us, that’s all.’

      He hooked one brow up sceptically. ‘That was some flag of friendship you were waving,’ he said. ‘Do you kiss all of your friends like that?’

      She gave him a brittle glare. ‘You started it. You kissed me first.’

      ‘Ah, yes, but then you stuck your hand down my shorts,’ he said with a twisted, humourless smile. ‘That is going a little further than friendship, I would have thought.’

      Her cheeks were fiery red, her eyes flashing with sparks of irritation. ‘Do you have to rub it in?’ she asked. ‘I told you I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself. I can’t believe I acted like that. I lost control completely, but I can assure you it won’t happen again.’

      ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I was just starting to enjoy myself.’

      Emma drew in a prickly breath. ‘Don’t make me feel any worse than I already do,’ she said. ‘I realise it must have been…uncomfortable for you…to be left like…like that…’

      ‘You mean unsatisfied?’ he asked.

      Her throat went up and down. ‘Yes…I suppose that’s what I do mean…’

      ‘Put it out of your mind,’ he reassured her. ‘I am not going to die because I didn’t get my rocks off. I can handle a bit of frustration now and again.’

      ‘Yes, well, I’m sure it doesn’t happen very often,’ Emma said with a little pang of errant jealousy.

      ‘No, not if I can help it,’ he said. ‘But then boys will be boys, eh, Emma?’

      Emma wondered if he was mocking her again. The differences between them had never been more apparent. He was a cynical, experienced playboy who took pleasure how and where he wanted, while she was a romantic fool in search of a home-and-hearth-happy-ever-after. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ she asked.

      He stroked a finger down the length of her cheek. ‘Why would I do that, Emma?’ he asked, looking at her with those darker-than-night, unreadable eyes.

      Emma felt her spine start to unhinge. ‘You probably think I’m an old-fashioned prig,’ she said. ‘Someone who hasn’t lived life at all.’

      ‘I do not think that at all,’ he said with a little frown beetling his brows.

      ‘I know I’m far too old to be without experience, but I haven’t found anyone I liked enough to take that step,’ she said. ‘I wanted to be in love with the person first. I didn’t want it to be just a physical thing.’

      His frown deepened. ‘So why did you let me make love to you just then?’ he asked.

      Emma felt her colour rise again as his probing gaze held hers. ‘I-I’m not sure…’

      The line of his mouth tightened. ‘So it was just a pity lay,’ he said crudely. ‘I guessed as much.’

      ‘That’s not true,’ she said, biting her lip again.

      He moved away from her, his expression locking her out once more. ‘It will not happen again,’ he said, unwittingly driving a stake through her heart. ‘It must not happen again.’

      Her throat closed over until she could barely speak. ‘If that’s what you want…’

      His eyes clashed with hers, pain glittering in their ink-black depths. ‘Do you know what I want, Emma? Do you?’

      She shook her head, fresh tears suddenly blurring her vision.

      ‘I want my life back,’ he bit out as he raked a hand through his already tussled hair. ‘I want to start over. I want to pick up that cricket ball and throw it into the pond instead of towards my brother’s raised bat.’ He took in a breath and added hollowly, ‘And I want to rewind the clock to the day before my mother died so I could have told her how much I loved her while I still had the chance.’

      Emma choked back a sob as he continued in the same bitter, heart-wrenching tone, ‘I do not even know if I ever told her that I loved her. Everyone throws those three little words around so casually these days, but I do not remember if I did or not. I was only six years old at the time. If I did I have never said those words since, not to anyone.’

      ‘You can’t shut off your feelings for ever,’ she said. ‘I am sure you are more than capable of loving someone. I am sure of it.’

      He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I am sorry for what happened here this morning, truly sorry,’ he said. ‘I must have some sort of curse on me; all I seem to do is wreck people’s lives.’

      ‘You haven’t wrecked my life,’ Emma said softly.

      ‘I hurt you.’ He gave her an agonised look. ‘I made you bleed, for God’s sake.’

      ‘I’m fine…really I am,’ she said.

      ‘Maybe you should see a doctor to make sure…’

      ‘That would be embarrassing and totally unnecessary,’ Emma insisted. ‘Really, Rafaele, please don’t cut yourself up about it. It was bound to happen some time or other, if not with you then someone else.’

      He came back to where she was standing and, reaching out with one of his hands, gently brushed her hair back off her forehead with a touch so tender Emma felt as if someone had placed an industrial-sized clamp on her heart. He didn’t say anything; he just stood there with his eyes holding hers, his thumb moving in a rhythmic fashion against the softness of her cheek.

      ‘I’m glad it was you, Rafaele…’ she told him in a whisper-soft voice.

      His hand dropped away from her face. ‘Why?’

      She drew in a little hitching breath. ‘Because you made me feel things I have never felt before.’

      Pain flickered briefly in his eyes. ‘Do not make this any harder than it already is for me, Emma,’ he said. ‘You are young and far too inexperienced for someone like me.’

      ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.

      ‘I say it because it is true,’ he said. ‘This attraction I feel for you will burn itself out in no time at all. It always has with everyone else I have been involved with. It is the thrill of the chase. It is a primal urge that all men feel, some more than others.’

      ‘If СКАЧАТЬ