The Italian's Future Bride by Michelle Reid Page B

not tag her as a woman who was also capable of seeing off a baby before she was even sure that there was one?

     Hurt trammelled through her body, though, melting the ice and turning it into tears because she could not deny him the right to see her as a cold, ruthless schemer—she’d painted her own portrait for him to look at, after all.

     He saw the tears and frowned. ‘Rachel—’ he murmured huskily.

     She pushed his hand off her arm and walked away, only to pull to a hovering halt in the middle of the bedroom.

     Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide, she realised as her tears grew and grew. In the end she did the only thing she could see open to her right now and climbed back into the bed and disappeared beneath the duvet again.

     Heart thumping, eyes burning, she pressed a clenched fist against her mouth to stop the choking sobs she could feel working their way up from her throat.

     She heard him move. The lights went off. A door closed quietly. He had the grace to leave her alone with her misery and at last she let the first sob escape—only to jerk and twist her head on the pillow just in time to see him lift up the duvet and the warm dark shape of his now fully naked body slide into the bed.

     Her quivering gasp was lost in the arm he used to draw her against him. Eyes like diamonds wrapped in rich black velvet searched her face, then a grimace touched his mouth.

     ‘You’re crying,’ he said huskily.

     ‘No, I’m not.’ Squeezing a hand up between them, she went to brush a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

     Or she would have done if one of his fingers had not got there before hers took the tear away; she could not hold back another small sniff.

     ‘I would not have done it,’ she mumbled.

     ‘Si, I know that.’ He sighed. ‘We were fighting. You used your weapon well. I retaliated by cutting you to pieces. I apologise for doing it.’

     ‘You’re so ruthless it’s scary.’

     ‘Si.’ On another sigh he sent one of his legs looping over her legs to draw her in a bit closer to him, then he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest.

     She felt his warmth and his muscled firmness and the prickle of hair against her palm. It was all very intimate and very dangerous—especially so when she didn’t try to pull away. The shirt formed a sort of barrier to stop the more frightening skin to skin contact, but—

     She eased out a sigh of her own and tried to ignore what was happening to her. ‘I’m really sorry I got us both embroiled in this mess,’ she whispered in genuine regret.

     ‘But you did do it,’ he pointed out with devastating simplicity. ‘Now we have to deal with what we have.’ He came to lean over her, suddenly deadly serious. ‘And what we have is one story, one betrothal, one bed,’ he listed. ‘You will not, during the time we are together, give cause for anyone to question our honesty.’

     ‘Our lies, you mean.’

     He shook his dark head. ‘Start believing in this,cara ,’ he advised. ‘The fate of your sister’s marriage rests on your ability to live, breathe andsleep the role you have chosen to play in my life.’

     His life. Those two words said it all to Rachel. This washis life he was protecting. His reputation. His pride.

     And why not—? she thought painfully. Her mouth quivered. The tip of his tongue arrived to taste her soft upper lip.

     Rachel saw that grimness had been replaced with slumberous desire and knew what was going to happen next.

     ‘No,’ she jerked out.

     But his tongue dipped deeper. ‘Yes,’ he contradicted in soft silken English.

     ‘But I don’t—’

     ‘You do,cara ,’ and he showed her how much she did by trailing his fingers inside the shirt.

     Her breast received his touch with livewire tingles. Don’t respond! she told herself, but she did. Her mouth opened wider to turn the gentle contact into a proper kiss and the globe of her breast peaked pleasurably against his palm.