it hurt?’
‘Only sometimes... It doesn’t hurt... It feels tight.’
‘You were never tempted to get it removed? Like the people you help with your charity?’
His mouth firmed. ‘No. I think it’s important for people to see it—to know that if they want to live with their scars, it’s okay. And it’s a reminder.’
Lara was touched by his sentiment. Then she frowned. ‘A reminder of the kidnapping...? Why would you want that?’
‘Not that, specifically, but it’s a reminder that I’m not as infallible as I once believed. And it’s a reminder not to trust anyone.’
Including me, Lara thought.
Facing him like this in the half-light, with no sounds coming from outside, made her feel otherworldly. As if they were in some sort of cocoon.
‘The dream you were having last night...’
Ciro rolled onto his back again. ‘It was a nightmare.’
Hesitantly Lara asked, ‘About the kidnapping?’
He nodded, clearly uncomfortable. He probably saw it as a sign of weakness.
‘I had them too,’ Lara said.
Ciro looked at her.
‘For months afterwards. The same one, over and over again... The hoods being put over our heads, then taken off. Realising we were in that van with those men. Being ripped out of your arms...left at the side of the road—’ She stopped, shivering at the memory.
Ciro reached for her and hauled her into his arms. He said, ‘I would never let that happen again—do you hear me?’
Lara looked at him, saw the determination on his face. She nodded. ‘I believe you.’
There was something incredibly fragile about the moment. And then Ciro hauled her even closer and kissed her. Their bodies moved together in the dawn as they reached for each other and their breath quickened. This was nothing like the ferocity of last night—it was slow and sensuous, and so tender that Lara had to keep her eyes closed for fear that Ciro would see how close to tears she was.
* * *
‘Working from home again?’
Ciro looked at Lara and raised a brow, but there was no edginess to his expression. ‘Do I need to ask permission?’ he said.
Lara shook her head and helped herself to some of the salad which had been laid out on the terrace at the back of the house by the housekeeper. Ciro had been joining her for lunch the past few days. It had been a week since that tumultuous night, and since then Ciro hadn’t taken her back to her own bedroom once. They woke up together, and usually made love again in the morning.
But Lara knew it was dangerous territory to believe anything was changing.
Ciro sat down and helped himself to some salad and bread. The housekeeper came out and poured them some wine.
There was a mewling cry from down below and Lara looked down to see Hero, looking up at her with huge liquid brown eyes. It turned out that she was been a cross between a whippet and something else. Cleaned up, and getting fatter by the day, she wasn’t a pretty dog by any means—but she was adorable, mainly white with brown patches. The vet had said that he figured she was crossed with a Jack Russell.
A couple of times Lara had gone searching for her, only to find her curled up at Ciro’s feet in his study. He’d pretended not to have noticed her, and when Lara had carried her out she’d whispered into her fur, ‘I don’t blame you, sweetheart. I know how it feels.’
Hero would lick her face, as if in commiseration for the fact that they were both in thrall to Ciro Sant’Angelo.
Lara absently stroked Hero and she lay down at her feet, curling up trustingly. She said to Ciro, ‘Thank you for letting me keep her.’
Ciro shrugged, and then he looked at his watch. ‘You wanted to visit the Guggenheim Museum, didn’t you?’
Lara nodded, surprised he’d remembered her saying that the other night at a function.
‘I can take the afternoon off—we’ll go after lunch.’
Lara felt a dangerous fluttering in her belly and said, ‘Oh, it’s okay...you don’t have to. I can go by myself—’
‘Don’t you want me to come with you?’
Lara could feel her face grow hot. This teasing, relaxed Ciro was so reminiscent of how he’d been before that it was painful. ‘Of course I’d love to see it with you.’
Ciro stood up. ‘Va bene. I’ve a few calls to make—we’ll leave in an hour.’
Lara watched him leave, striding off the terrace back into the house. She took a deep breath—anything to try and get oxygen to her brain and keep herself from imagining impossible things.
Like the fact that Ciro might actually be learning to like her again...
* * *
The following day Ciro watched Lara play on the lawn with the puppy from the window in his study. She was wearing shorts and her long slim legs had taken on a light golden glow. She wore a silk cropped top and he could see tantalising slivers of her belly when it rode up as she moved.
He might have cursed her for trying to tempt him, but he knew she wasn’t even aware that he’d come home early. Home early. Since when had he started to come home early? Or work from home? Or take afternoons off to go to a museum? The only person who’d ever had that effect on him was on her back, laughing as the puppy climbed all over her, yapping excitedly.
There was a bone-deep sense of satisfaction in his body from night after night of mind-blowing sex. He’d stopped sending Lara back to her own bed. She effectively shared his room now—something he’d never done with another woman, far too wary of inviting an intimacy that would be misread, or taken advantage of.
And they’d spent hours wandering around the Guggenheim the day before. It had been one of the most pleasant afternoons Ciro could remember in a long time.
As he looked at Lara now he had to acknowledge that his desire for her wasn’t waning. Far from it. It seemed to be intensifying. But if he stuck to his agreement with her they’d be divorcing—at the earliest in only a few months. That thought sent something not unlike panic into his gut.
So far she’d fulfilled her side of the marriage, and introduced him to people who would never have welcomed him into their sphere before. He had a list of new deals to consider. Invitations to events and places he’d never been allowed access to before. All because of her.
But in truth, he found it hard to focus on that when she filled his vision and he spent most days reliving the night before and anticipating the night ahead.
She was not what he’d expected. More like the Lara he’d known first. And if this was an elaborate act, then what was the point? He couldn’t figure it
