we share is not dirty, and you are a secret because our relationship is so special to me that I do not want to lose it,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.
She averted her face, refusing to answer, and the silence stretched between them. She sensed his movement, but was still shocked when one of his hands brushed the hair back from her temple and then slipped down to cup her chin. He gently turned her face until their gazes met.
“I am very sorry if the pictures hurt you.”
She knew he considered this a major climb-down, and to give him credit, for him it was. He had started the conversation off with a refusal to have a scene and was now apologizing. He was too darn perfect to have to apologize much and too powerful to be forced into giving one even when he was wrong in most cases, but it didn’t make her feel any better.
What difference did an apology make when it wasn’t accompanied by the assurance the offense would not happen again?
Seeing the picture had hurt her. A lot. She felt like her heart was being ripped into shreds even now.
“Just tell me one thing,” she said. “How would you feel if our positions were reversed? What if you were the one looking on at me flirting with other men?”
His jaw clenched as if the thought was not a pleasant one, but then he visibly relaxed his tense facial muscles. “In order to keep our relationship private, I must act naturally at public social functions. It would be entirely un-natural for me to ignore a roomful of women. Speculation would be rife if I was to do so and the paparazzi would soon begin looking for my secret liaison or making assumptions about my masculine urges, or worse.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
He was a master at redirection, which made him a force to reckon with in the business world and not much more user-friendly in a relationship. But she’d been with him six months and worked for him six months before that. She knew most of his techniques by now and wasn’t about to be swayed by them.
“It is all the answer you need. This is not about tit for tat. My behavior was necessary.”
“And if I behaved similarly out of necessity it would not bother you?”
“The occasion does not arise.”
“Are you sure about that?” She paused, giving him a moment to let the question prick at his arrogant certainty. “Just because I’m not gossip-column worthy doesn’t mean I never flirt with other men.”
“And do you?” he asked with an indulgence that said more clearly than anything else could how little he worried about the possibility.
“I haven’t, because I considered myself taken, but I realize now that I shouldn’t have.”
CHAPTER TWO
“YOUare taken,” Marcello said forcefully, no indulgence in evidence any longer.
“Not if you aren’t, I’m not.”
He let out a breath of obvious frustration. “It is not a matter of not considering myself in a relationship…it is merely that were I to ignore the overtures of other women completely, it would lead to too much speculation.”
“Whereas my loyalty does not?”
“It is not a matter of loyalty,” he denied, anger starting to curl around the edges of his forced patience.
“Yes, it is.”
“I told you, it is a matter of expediency.”
“And if me turning down invitations led to the same speculation that worries you, would that be reason for me to respond similarly? To go out with other men, to flirt with them?”
“I did not go out with anyone! I danced…I talked…I flirted as Italian men do, but I did not touch anyone as I touch you. I did not want to.”
“You had that woman’s body as close to yours as you could get with your clothes on.”
“It did nothing for me.”
“Is that supposed to matter?”
“It should.”
“Why?”
“It tells you that despite your insecurities, you are special to me.”
“So special I’m a big, dark secret no one in your life knows about.”
“So special that only the thought of seeing you turns me on. Holding another woman with her body pressed to mine does not because she is not you.”
She didn’t want to be moved by his description, but her susceptible heart told her that was unique…particularly for a man like Marcello Scorsolini.
He put his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her collarbone in a way he knew made her shiver. “The only woman I want, the only woman I crave to touch and be touched by right now, is you.”
If he hadn’t tacked the right now on, his statement would have been perfect.
He crowded close to her until their bodies brushed. “You are the only woman I want to hold this close. Everything at the party was window dressing…it meant nothing. Believe me, tesoro. Please.”
The please did it. This man was not accustomed to begging. For anything. She had to be special to him, or he would have walked out when she started being difficult. Because he could have any woman he wanted…of that she was certain. And he made it clear he wanted only her.
“You didn’t have sex with the beautiful blonde?”
He crushed her to him, his arms winding around her in a possessive hold that shook her. “No, porca miseria! I would never do that to you, mio precioso. I promise you.”
She believed him and the relief she felt was incredible. “Good, because I would never stay with a player.”
He laughed, the sound strained. “I am no player. I am not even the playboy the press paints me. I thought you knew this. I thought you knew me.”
“I did. I do, but a picture is worth a thousand words.”
“Only if you are speaking the same language as the photographer. What that journalist caught on film was two strangers dancing, nothing more. But look at the picture we paint, amante. Look and see the difference between eyes hot to possess and a social smile that meant nothing. Look at my hands which tremble with the need to touch you, but which held the other woman with total indifference.”
His words did indeed paint a picture more powerful than the one in the scandal sheet. And the feel of his body pressed against hers backed it up. He needed her and she needed him. She’d missed him so much.
“If you are not a playboy, then what are you?” she asked provocatively.
“A mere man who wants you very much.”
She could feel how much he wanted her and it made her
