through her mother’s assurance, making her gaze falter, her eyes flicker in uncertainty as they went to her daughter’s face.
‘Is this true?’
Amber didn’t need the small warning squeeze of her hand to remind her of the bargain they had made; the way that she had agreed to let the world think that they were back together.
‘Perfectly true.’ She was surprised at the depth of confidence she managed to inject into her voice. ‘Guido and I are together. My future is with him.’
It sounded so good. It sounded so real—when all the time it was nothing but a lie. It sounded so much like her dream of a year before that it tore at her heart, making her eyes burn, her throat close so that she couldn’t have said another word.
She didn’t have to. Already her mother was backing down, backing away. Her angry gaze took in the two of them then obviously decided against taking any risks.
‘I wish you joy of each other,’ she snapped, turning on her heel. ‘But don’t come running to me when it all goes wrong.’
‘Oh, I won’t.’ Amber didn’t care if she was heard or not. She needed to say it for herself. ‘I won’t…’ she repeated as she watched her mother disappear down the corridor.
It was only when Pamela turned a corner out of sight that she drew in a long, uneven breath and squared her shoulders.
‘So now what?’
‘One down, one to go.’ He indicated the door and the party beyond. ‘Ready?’
Guido could feel the tension in Amber’s body just through the link of their joined hands. He’d have to be totally insensitive not to be aware of the way that it had been growing stronger with each step they took towards the ballroom reception. And the confrontation with her witch of a mother had been the last straw. So now a swift glance down at her face showed the way that she had lost every last trace of colour, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her sharp white teeth were worrying at the softness of her bottom lip, digging in so hard that he almost expected to see bright pearls of blood spring to the surface at any moment.
‘Don’t!’
Concern made the word sharper than he’d intended, bring her brilliant emerald gaze up in a rush.
‘Amber—no…’
His tone was one of reproach but his touch was gentle as he reached out to place his fingers over her mouth to stop her from inflicting the small, unthinking damage on herself.
‘No, cara,’ he said again, more softly this time, and saw her eyes widen even more in disbelief and shock.
He didn’t blame her. She must be wondering what had happened to the coldly blazing fury of just minutes before. The rage that had erupted when he had been forced to face just how little her wedding to him had meant; how much she regretted ever having married him. She had flung those facts in his face with the deliberate intention of provoking him, and, like a fool, he’d let his reaction show.
But now, suddenly, all that heat, all that anger had gone. And the truth was that he didn’t know where or how it had seeped away. But he sure as hell knew why.
It had started in the moment that she had stood up to her mother by declaring them a couple, but more than that, it was touching her that had been his downfall.
At the moment that his fingers had touched the lush, yielding softness of her mouth, it had been as if someone had yanked out a plug somewhere so that all the stored-up anger and bitterness inside him had drained away, leaving only room for the intense jag of sensuality that arced through his body, pooling low down in his groin.
Having touched her, so very softly, he now found that he just couldn’t pull away again. His fingers stayed on her mouth, his thumb tracing the sweet shape of it, stroking over the fresh rose swell of her slightly parted lips, sliding between them.
On his hand he felt the cooler air of her snatched-in breath, the warm moistness of her inner mouth. And he could have sworn that, just for a split second, her tongue slipped up and out, to taste his skin as it rested against hers.
He had vowed to himself that he would drag her, kicking and screaming, into that room if he had to. That he would make her face Rafe St Clair with him, as his wife, even if he had to force her every step of the way. But suddenly that resolution escaped from him in a rush, like air from a pricked balloon.
‘Are you OK?’
Her expression showed that it had shocked her almost as much—no, more—to hear the question as he had shocked himself by asking. Clearly she had read his intent in his face and now she couldn’t believe that he was actually concerned about the way she felt.
‘I…’ she began but then the words failed her and he couldn’t tell if it was because she wasn’t OK, or if the movement of her mouth on the words had brought her lips and tongue into contact with the skin of his thumb again, and the sensation was what had driven the words from her mind, made the words die in her throat.
Her pupils had widened, seeming to fill the whole of her irises so that there was only the smallest rim of green around the edges, and under his restraining fingers the pulse at her wrist kicked up suddenly, fast and erratic, making her breath catch unevenly.
‘Guido…’ she tried again, her tone pleading, her voice low. But he shook his head to silence her
‘You can do this,’ he told her. ‘Don’t forget, I’ll be with you. At your side. You’re not alone.’
And to reinforce his words, to drive that point home, he bent his head and took her lips, replacing the soft pressure of his fingers with the firm demand of his mouth. He meant only to deliver a brief caress then move away but, as before, as soon as his mouth touched hers he knew such a twist of hunger, hard and hot and savage, that he had to fight against the need to grab at her there and then, pull her close, crush her against him.
He couldn’t even blame the fury in his blood on the way that she responded to him. Because she didn’t respond but simply took his kiss with calm compliance, her mouth lying passive under his, her lips warm and soft but unresponsive, not opening under his, giving nothing, just accepting.
And it was because she didn’t respond that he had the devil’s own trouble controlling himself.
He wanted her to respond—needed to make her respond. He wanted to take her mouth so hard, so strong—so softly, so enticingly-each and every possible way he could so that she was forced to respond to him—to open to him. It outraged him that she could stand there, so calm and submissive, giving nothing, when inside the claws of lust were threatening to rip him in two.
But now was not the time. Already the uniformed major domo provided by the hotel had spotted them and, opening the door, was looking at them enquiringly. He even gave a discreet little cough to get their attention.
With a savage effort, Guido wrenched himself away from the kiss and turned just in time to see the man’s obvious astonishment and confusion.
‘I’m sorry…’ he began stumblingly. ‘I thought…’
His bewildered eyes went to Amber, taking in the long white dress and the veil.
‘Mr
