you. And then…’
Sorcha swallowed as he traced his tongue along the curve of her jaw. He was tormenting her, teasing her, and yet she didn’t want him to stop it, because his soft cajoling was more enticing than anything else. ‘Then?’ she whispered.
Cesare touched the tip of his tongue to her ear. ‘I think we must discuss the campaign.’
Sorcha stared at him.
‘I’ve made an appointment for you to see an old friend of mine,’ he murmured. ‘He has an exhibition starting in London.’ His eyes glinted. ‘He used to be one of the world’s most famous photographers until he gave it up. But he’s agreed to do this job as a favour. It is,’ he finished with satisfaction, ‘a very great honour.’
For a moment he might as well have been speaking in his native Italian. Sorcha jerked her head away and blinked at him.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The new face of Whittakers. You.’ He nodded to himself.
She sat upright in bed, bright hair streaming down over her bare breasts, suddenly finding that rage was a far easier emotion to live with than willing surrender. ‘Excuse me, but I don’t actually remember agreeing to do it.’
‘Really?’ He slid his hand between her legs. ‘I thought you just had.’
Sorcha covered his hand with hers and halted its sensuous progress. ‘Let’s make one thing clear, Cesare,’ she said. ‘The sex is separate. I’m with you now because I want to be. Not because I’m allowing myself to be seduced into agreeing to have my photo taken.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you’re refusing to do the job?’
She gave him a demure smile. Oh, but she was enjoying this. Why didn’t some enterprising person write a book on how empowering it was to defy a man who thought it his right to issue commands and have them instantly obeyed?
‘That’s not what I’m saying at all, Cesare,’ she said patiently. ‘I’ll do it because I can see the sense in it. And if it works I’ll be the first to pat you on the back—since that is so clearly what you like. But my decision has absolutely nothing to with your skill as a lover.’ She saw the incredulous look in his black eyes and resisted a smile of triumph. ‘And now—if you don’t mind—I’d like you to drive me home.’ She slid her legs over the side of the bed in a graceful movement which he followed with a kind of helpless hunger.
‘Home?’ he repeated, in a voice of strained disbelief.
‘Please.’
‘Do you mind telling me why?’ he demanded.
Hearing the outrage in his voice, Sorcha lifted her head and steeled herself to meet the hot and sensual challenge which sizzled from his black eyes, reminding herself that sex appeal as powerful as Cesare’s was a very dangerous thing. It made you want to mould yourself against his silken olive skin and be made love to until the stars faded from the sky. But that would be a disaster—and a recipe for tip-tilting her emotions so much that she wouldn’t be able to think straight. And wasn’t it bad enough already?
She recognised that she was still vulnerable around him. That just because she had had mind-blowing sex with him it didn’t mean her heart had been granted some sort of special immunity from his spell. ‘We’ll have to be careful,’ she said.
Cesare’s eyes narrowed. ‘Careful?’
Sorcha bit her lip. Did he think she was talking about contraception? Was that the only level his mind operated on? ‘I want to keep this secret,’ she elaborated. ‘I don’t want anyone finding out, and I assume that you don’t either.’
‘Oh, do you?’ he questioned dangerously.
She had thought that this would please him. But the glitter in his eyes did not look like pleasure, and the steely note underpinning his stern voice did not sound like pleasure. ‘Surely you agree with me, Cesare? For one thing it’s highly unprofessional for two people working together to be…’ She struggled to think of a suitable description, but the only one which came to mind wasn’t even true. ‘Intimate.’
There was a pause as he weighed up her words. ‘But that’s not the real reason you want to keep it secret, is it, Sorcha?’ he asked softly. Yet inside Cesare was reeling. He was the one who usually laid down conditions within a relationship. Never before had a woman dared to impose her rules on him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
For a moment there was another silence. ‘No.’
He raised his dark brows. ‘So, are you going to enlighten me, cara?’
And—despite all her intentions—Sorcha suddenly found that it took a lot of courage to articulate her fears, to face up to the truth, no matter how bitter the reality.
‘Well, your position here is only temporary, and therefore if we embark on an affair it isn’t destined to last—it’s just a short-lived pleasure. We don’t want anyone building it up into something it isn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘And we don’t want other people projecting emotions on us when it finishes. If they don’t know about it—they can’t.’
‘You really have this all worked out, don’t you?’ he said admiringly.
‘Kind of.’ What choice did she have? What other way to protect herself against certain heartbreak?
She bent over to pick up her discarded bra and Cesare quickly shut his eyes in erotic agony. Was she deliberately tormenting him? Sliding the filmy lace garment over her breasts with all the sensual show of a stripper?
With a simmering fury he climbed out of bed, feeling as if she had wrong-footed him yet again.
‘So really,’ he said slowly, ‘this strategy of yours is designed to thwart any hurt pride?’
Sorcha nodded, turning away from the temptation of his magnificent naked body. ‘Surely you can understand that, Cesare?’
Pride? Oh, yes—he could understand that. He knew the pain and the comfort it could bring. If pride were a degree course at college, then Cesare would have picked up a first in it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘OKAY, Sorcha—if you could stand just over there.’
Sorcha stood on the chalk cross the assistant was indicating while they held light meters up close to her face and wobbled sheets of white paper around the place. She had only been there half an hour, and already she was bored out of her mind. How did professional models manage it? she wondered, devoting yet more silent sympathy towards that breed of overpaid beanpoles, because at least it stopped her thinking about…
Wriggling her shoulders, she smiled at the assistant. She was not going to think about Cesare and the way he had assumed he could seduce her into doing any damned thing he pleased.
Still, at least in some things she had shown him that she had a mind of her own. Every time he had made love to her she had insisted on going home to sleep in her own bed, even though he had tried his best to make her stay. Even though he was…was…
She
