felt the arm that encircled her harden with sudden tension, and realised, with shock, that she’d spoken as if they had a real relationship. That she’d made unwise assumptions about a future which almost certainly did not exist.
She turned away quickly as her face warmed in helpless embarrassment. ‘Anyway—I—I’ll get us something to eat…’ she added with determined brightness.
She pushed away the covering sheet, then hesitated as she remembered that her robe was in the bathroom.
It was ludicrous, she thought with bewilderment. This was the man with whom she’d been intimately entwined for the best part of twelve hours, who had explored and kissed every inch of her body, and yet, in the space of a drawn breath, everything had changed. And suddenly she was reluctant to walk around naked in front of him.
Lack of inhibition was different when it was fuelled by passion. She’d given herself to him again and again in unthinking delight. Learned to bestow pleasure as well as receive it.
But now reason had intervened.
And it was still nothing more than a one-night stand, no matter how she might try to justify it. There’d been no commitment of any kind between them. It had been—just sex. A transient pleasure. And now the sex was over she felt awkward and bewildered—unsure how to behave.
Because Marco, in so many ways, was still a stranger to her, she acknowledged unhappily. Someone who had walked into her life a few days ago and who would soon be leaving in the same casual way.
And it was naïve of her to have supposed—or hoped—that anything that had happened had any real importance in the great scheme of things.
As a lover Marco was gifted, patient and imaginative, luring her into areas of sensuousness she had not know existed.
But she knew that no amount of pleasure would ever be matched by the pain of watching him leave.
It’s so easy for a man, she thought sadly. He can just get dressed and go. Whereas I—I’ve slept with Marco once, and now I want to make him a meal. Next I’ll be wanting to have his baby.
Behind her, Marco moved. ‘Is something wrong?’ He brushed his lips gently across the small of her back. ‘You are not having—regrets?’
‘No—of course not.’ She spoke bravely, not looking at him. ‘I was just wondering—where I’d left my dressing gown.’
She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Does that really matter?’
She said shortly, ‘It does to me.’
There was a silence, then he said slowly, ‘Cara, are you trying to tell me you are—shy?’
She bit her lip. ‘Is that so extraordinary?’
He said, ‘A little, perhaps, considering what you and I were doing to each other a little while ago.’ He paused. ‘Would it make things easier for you if I promised to shut my eyes?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed with a touch of defiance. ‘Yes, it would.’
He sighed. ‘Just for you, then, mia bella.’
Flora slipped out of bed and made for the door. As she reached it something prompted her to look back over her shoulder.
Marco was propped up on an elbow, watching her with undisguised and shameless appreciation.
‘Oh,’ she choked furiously, and flew to the bathroom, followed by his laughter.
By the time she had prepared lunch, adding fresh fruit and a dish of black olives to the food he’d provided, and choosing a bottle of wine, she was feeling altogether more composed.
While he’d been in the bathroom she’d snatched the opportunity to dress, in a brief blue skirt and white tee shirt, and give her hair a vigorous brushing.
She looked different, she realised with a sense of shock as she glanced at herself in the mirror. There was a new glow to her creamy skin, a woman’s shining secrets in her eyes. She was no longer the innocent of twenty-four hours ago, and everything about her proclaimed it.
All she needed to do now was develop a persona to go with her new-found sexual sophistication, she thought wryly. Find something hip and flippant to accompany her smile when she waved Marco goodbye. Proving beyond doubt, she hoped, that she’d always known this was a strictly casual encounter.
When she was alone she ate at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, but for guests she kept a folding table in the walk-in cupboard in the hall. She’d set this up in the corner of the living room, with the directors’ chairs which accompanied it.
She was just opening the wine when Marco came to the door.
‘Bello,’ he approved softly. ‘A feast.’ He indicated the towel draped decorously round his hips. ‘See, I am sparing your blushes, cara.’
Flora bit her lip. ‘You must think I’m awfully stupid…’
‘You are wrong. I find you a delight.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come to me.’
She went over to him and he drew her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head while she inhaled the clean, fresh scent of his skin.
After a moment she stood back, studying a discoloured mark on his shoulder. ‘What’s that?’
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Oh,’ she said, discomfited. ‘I—I’m sorry.’
‘Then don’t be. I like my battle trophy—and its memories.’
‘Is that how you see making love—as a war?’ She laughed, but she felt faintly troubled too. ‘Then who is the victor and who the vanquished?’
He kissed her, his mouth moving on hers with tender warmth. ‘At a moment like this,’ he murmured, ‘it hardly seems to matter.’ He paused, stroking the hair back from her face. ‘And don’t look at me like that, Flora mia,’ he added softly. ‘Or lunch might become dinner.’
Her glance didn’t waver. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’
‘Then let me be wise for us both.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I think it is time I also put on some clothes.’
He kissed her again, and went soft-footed back to the bedroom.
It was a quiet lunch. Marco seemed lost in thought more than once. Or perhaps, thought Flora, he was just exhausted…
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Nothing in particular.’ She took a hasty swig of wine. ‘Why?’
‘Because you are blushing again. I thought it might be—significant.’
‘Not really.’ Flora fanned herself with her napkin. ‘It’s probably the heat. It’s such a beautiful day.’ She paused. ‘Would you like some more wine?’
‘No,
