nipples with his thumbs...
Matilda gave another soft groan, pressing her hands harder against her closed lids, the memory in her head replaying no matter how much she didn’t want it to.
All she’d been able to hear was her own frantic breathing and the soft gasp that had escaped her as his hand had slid lower, down between her thighs to where she’d been aching and wet. His fingers had glided over her slick flesh, sending sharp, electric bolts of pleasure through her, making her shudder and arch against the wall.
No one had ever touched her there before, not in her entire life, and she hadn’t been able to believe she was letting a man she’d only just met do it then. But she had. And it had felt illicit, thrilling and so unbelievably good...
She let out a sharp breath, forcing the memories away and ignoring the subtle throb between her thighs.
No, she couldn’t think of that. The woman she’d been on that island wasn’t her any more, and she didn’t want to be that woman anyway. Not these days. Not now she was a mother with responsibilities.
When she’d returned to England, she’d worked hard to fit herself back into the good-girl box. She’d married Henry like she’d promised she would and put her studies on hold so she could care for Simon. It hadn’t been so bad.
She hadn’t found out she’d was pregnant until four months into her marriage, but luckily by then she’d realised that Henry truly had meant it when he’d said that he only wanted friendship. He’d been good to her, drying her tears when she’d confessed about her pregnancy, and deciding to save them both a scandal by claiming Simon as his own. He’d never asked for the name of Simon’s father and she’d never volunteered it.
He’d been a good man and a kind husband.
But she really, really wished that he hadn’t invited Enzo Cardinali to his stupid house party.
She swallowed and let some of the tension bleed out of her. God, what a mess. Still, it wasn’t all bad. The party ended tonight and tomorrow everyone would be gone, including Enzo, with any luck.
She’d never have to see or think about him again.
You really think he’s going to let Simon go now he knows?
Dread rose inside her because she knew the answer to that.
Of course he wouldn’t.
The quality of the silence changed abruptly in the hallway, and all the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
Slowly, carefully, her heartbeat going double-time, Matilda lowered her hands from her face.
And found Enzo Cardinali standing right in front of her.
‘Buono notte, Mrs St George,’ he said in that deep voice she knew so well, the one that had once been full of heat and yet now was so cold. ‘I think you and I need to have a little chat.’
SHOCK FLASHED THROUGH Matilda St George’s lovely grey eyes, along with a certain amount of fear, and there was an instant where a deep part of him regretted that fear, remembering how it had felt when she’d looked at him with nothing but desire.
But then that instant was gone.
Good. She should be afraid. She should be very afraid.
Because he’d never been so furious.
Not that he would ever hurt her—he’d never hurt a woman in all his life and he wasn’t about to start now. Still, he certainly wasn’t about to make things easy for her.
He could forgive her for walking out on him that morning after their weekend together, even though the way she’d left, without even having had the decency to say goodbye to his face, had been cowardly in the extreme.
He could even forgive her for the desire he still felt running through him, thick and hot as lava, despite the four years that had passed.
But what he couldn’t forgive was that she hadn’t told him about his son.
Because that boy was his son. Of that he had no doubt at all.
Her eyes widened as they stared up into his, her pale throat moving convulsively. Her pulse was beating fast and hard at the base of her throat and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off it.
It had beat like that for him when he’d first touched her. Getting fast, then faster. Out of control as he’d bent his head to taste it...
‘A chat?’ she said huskily, her chin firming, the shock and fear in her gaze quickly masked. ‘A chat about what?’
With an effort, Enzo dragged his gaze from her throat.
So, she was going to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, was she? Well, unfortunately for her, he wasn’t having it.
‘I’m not here to play games with you, Summer,’ he said coldly. ‘Or should I say Matilda. I’m here to talk about my son.’
Another burst of quicksilver emotion flashed in her eyes, then it was gone, nothing but a cool wall of grey in its place. ‘Yes, that’s my name. You don’t have to say it like a pantomime villain. And as to a son... Well.’ Her chin came up. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
The challenge made his anger flare hot at the same time as the physical hunger inside him tightened.
The blue cotton of her T-shirt was loose but the quickened way she was breathing made the fabric pull across the generous curves of her breasts. And he was very aware of how close she was, of how warm she was.
Which only made him angrier. He didn’t know why this chemistry between them was still burning the way it was, but it needed to stop.
She’d taken his son and there was nothing more important than that.
‘Is that how you’re going to play this?’ He didn’t bother to temper the acid in his tone. ‘You’re going to pretend you don’t know anything about that child you just rescued downstairs? The child with eyes the same colour as mine?’ He took a step towards her. ‘Perhaps you’re going to pretend that you don’t know who I am either.’
She held her ground, even though she didn’t have anywhere to go, not when there was a wall behind her. ‘No, of course not.’ Her gaze didn’t flicker. ‘I know who you are, Enzo Cardinali.’
The sound of his name in her soft, husky voice made a bolt of lightning shoot straight down his spine, helplessly reminding him of other times when she’d said it.
Such as on the daybed of the villa, when he’d been deep inside her and her legs had been wrapped around his waist. Or out beside the private pool, on the sun lounger, where he’d spent a long time tasting her, his name echoing off all those tiled surfaces, drowning out the sound of the waves of the beach beyond.
She’d turned him inside out, made
