It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Julia James

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СКАЧАТЬ sure it’s fine,’ she returned quickly. ‘And your friends obviously manage.’

      ‘Ah,’ he said, casually. ‘But then they bathe together.’ He sent her a swift, impersonal smile, then went unhurriedly up the stairs and out of her sight.

      That, thought Emily, furiously aware that she was blushing, was altogether too much information.

      Once again, Raf seemed to have caught her on the back foot. And with very little effort on his part.

      Why did I think I could ever take him on? she asked herself despondently. I should have hired myself a legal team of my own and let them battle it out.

      Only it was too late for that now. He was here, by his own admission, to make her see reason. In other words, to meekly submit to his particular point of view, she thought, biting her lip.

      Well, she was damned if she would. She’d fight him every step of the way.

      And if he’d imagined that breaking the news of Simon’s callous betrayal of her would undermine her strength of will, then he could think again.

      When Simon had walked out on her three years ago she’d been devastated, convinced her life was over. Wasn’t that why she’d yielded to her father’s urgings and agreed to a marriage of convenience with Raf—because she hadn’t really cared what happened to her? Wasn’t it?

      Now it seemed that Simon had really gone for ever. But, instead of the devastation of pain she might have expected, she felt numb—hollowed out inside.

      I should be weeping, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-mockery. Maybe I’m just too young for a broken heart.

      And, after this, I won’t be looking for another man either. Once I’m free of this marriage, I’m going to starting living for myself.

      She picked up her neglected wine. ‘To me,’ she said and drank deeply.

      But the fact remained that she was still sharing her living space with Raf, for tonight at least. And, in spite of herself, she found she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, senses finely tuned to the signs of his presence upstairs. That she was tensing as she heard the bath water eventually running away. Listening for the opening of the bathroom door and the soft pad of bare feet going along the passage. Then, at long last, his bedroom door closing.

      And that was the most welcome sound of all, she thought, her slim body sagging in relief.

      She put the guard in front of the fire and extinguished the lights before going quietly upstairs herself.

      She’d expected to find the bathroom a wet-floored shambles, but it was amazingly neat, his damp towel hanging on the hot rail.

      There was a small ramshackle bolt on the door, which was more than could be said for her bedroom, and she slid it into place before beginning to refill the tub. Just a precaution, she told herself, and she was probably just being paranoid.

      Raf was here on a face-saving exercise, that was all. His male pride had been damaged and perhaps, in retrospect, she’d been unwise to deride it. Maybe it would do no harm to apologise. Explain she’d spoken in the heat of the moment. Show that she could be reasonable.

      All the same, her bath was not the long leisurely affair she’d originally planned. She dried herself quickly and put on one of the nightgowns she’d brought with her—a relic from her school-days, voluminous in brushed cotton, but warm, which was all that mattered.

      As she went on tiptoe back to her room, she hesitated for a brief moment at the door opposite, but there wasn’t a sound. So maybe he was already sound asleep.

      She closed her own door and leaned against it, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath, listening to the unbroken quiet.

      After a moment she went over to the window and drew the curtain aside, wrinkling her nose at the swirl of white flakes dancing in front of her. It seemed to be snowing harder than ever, she thought, and while a sanctuary, however fragile it had proved, was one thing, being stranded by snowdrifts was something else completely.

      Shivering, she dashed back to the bed and hopped in, pulling the duvet up to her chin as she waited for the first chill to subside. She stared up at the ceiling, letting thoughts, impressions, snatches of conversation tumble headlong through her mind.

      Which achieved precisely nothing, apart from making her feel more on edge than ever. What she really needed was to turn off the lamp and go to sleep, she told herself firmly. Because things always looked better in the morning—didn’t they?

      And at that moment her door opened with a faint creak and Raf came in. He was wearing a black silk robe, casually belted at the waist, and the rest of him was tawny skin as he moved towards her with an unhurried purpose that brought all her worst fears choking to the surface.

      Propped on an elbow, Emily stared at him. ‘What—what do you want?’

      ‘We have matters to discuss,’ he said. ‘If you remember.’

      ‘But tomorrow.’ In spite of herself there was a quiver in her voice. ‘You said we’d talk tomorrow.’

      ‘It is already tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And have you never heard of pillow talk?’

      His hands went to the sash of his robe and she shrank.

      ‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘No, Raf, please. You can’t do this. You promised me…’

      ‘At that time, I was dealing with a terrified child,’ he said softly. ‘But you told my lawyers that you were planning to remarry, so it seems you have outgrown your virginal fears and are a woman at last.’

      ‘But there’ll be no other marriage,’ she protested. ‘You—you know that.’

      His brows lifted. ‘And you think that makes a difference? It does not.’

      His voice hardened. ‘I have been astonishingly patient with you, Emilia, but you went too far with your demand for an annulment. And I intend to make quite certain you will never insult me in that way again.’

      He shrugged off the robe and slid, naked, into the bed beside her.

      He added softly, ‘I am sure you understand me.’

      CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘MY GOD.’ Emily almost choked as she flung herself away from him across the bed, her heart juddering against her ribs, like a bird trapped in a cage. She was hideously aware that she’d closed her eyes a split second too late and that a unwanted image of Rafaele Di Salis without his clothes was now engraved on her memory.

      Aware too of the sudden warmth of his body in the intimacy of the bed—his nearness. And felt the breath catch in her throat.

      ‘Don’t you dare come near me. And don’t touch me,’ she added wildly, trying to wrench herself free as his hands descended on her shoulders.

      ‘Now you are being foolish.’ Calmly but inexorably, Raf pulled her round to face him, his brows lifting as he studied the high-necked nightgown with its demure row of pearl buttons, the long sleeves and the lace-edged collar and cuffs.

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