the colour of moss rather than the vivid emerald he remembered.
The look she turned on him was blank and distant, totally closed off, as if she had never seen him in her life before. He knew that look; it was the one she had used so often in the last days of their marriage before she had walked out. When he had seen her, that is. Which hadn’t been often.
‘Signora D’Inzeo …’
Matteo, ever the smooth professional, was moving forward, hand outstretched to greet her.
‘Good morning.’
Her smile was brief, controlled, flashing on and off in a second. But it was more than she afforded her husband. The swift there-and-away-again flick of her eyes, the barest lifting of those long, lush eyelashes, granted him minimal acknowledgement as she curled her mouth around his name.
‘Pietro.’
It was as if the word had a sour, unpleasant taste on her tongue.
‘Marina.’
His own greeting echoed hers, with added ice, if that were possible. He inclined his head the slightest amount possible, then clamped ruthless control over every facial muscle, until even he felt the invisible barriers they had erected between them, the force field of distance and distrust which separated them.
‘May I take your coat?’
Matteo was really trying to improve the atmosphere, or at least warm it up by a few vital degrees. But then he was a specialised divorce lawyer who handled cases like this all the time; he must be used to the mood of barely sheathed tension between his conflicted clients.
‘Thank you.’
Did she know just how sensual that movement was? Pietro wondered—the tiny shrug that eased the garment from her, thrusting the rich softness of her breasts forward as she put her shoulders back to loosen the fit around them. She probably did, damn her, he admitted, his teeth clenching together in an unconscious response that tightened the muscles in his jaw against the need to make any response. So many times in the past he had performed just that small service for her, had felt the soft skin of her neck and shoulders under the back of his fingers, the silky slide of her hair over his hands as he’d freed her from the garment …
She would turn to smile at him, rub her cheek against his hands, perhaps twist her head to press a kiss on his fingers …
Hell and damnation, no!
Fiercely Pietro dragged his primitive thoughts under control and made himself take a step forward, if only to break the spell that Marina seemed to have cast over him from the moment she’d walked into the room.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Matteo was saying. ‘A coffee, perhaps?’
‘Some water will be fine, thanks.’
The removal of the coat revealed a crisp, white V-necked blouse and narrow black skirt: very understated, very controlled, very businesslike.
Very unlike Marina.
Obviously she had chosen the clothes deliberately to convey just the right sort of image. And what image was that? That she was cool and organised and totally in control? In that case, even less like Marina.
The understated look suited her, though. It was undeniably sexy in a very different way. The white top provided a sharp contrast with the rich tones of her hair and the mossy-green glow of her eyes. The slim-fitting skirt flattered her curvy hips and thighs, its shorter length revealing the long lines of her slim legs.
Those hips—and the rest of her body—had more of a curve to them than he remembered from the last time he had seen her, Pietro realised with a sense of shock. In contrast to the glowing woman she was now, then she had looked pale and thin—too thin. Life apart from him obviously suited her, he acknowledged. The thought stabbed him.
The only things about her that were the Marina he remembered were the long, sparkling earrings that dangled close to her neck, gold and multicoloured crystals of different sizes and shapes. They were clearly costume jewellery and a long way from the emerald and diamond creations he had once given her.
‘Shall we all sit down?’ Pietro asked as his lawyer opened and poured sparkling water into a glass. It was time he took charge.
Once more those green eyes flicked in his direction and, although he had his hand on the back of a chair ready to pull it out, Marina deliberately chose one on the opposite side of the big mahogany table, sinking into it in a graceful movement. She placed the document case on the polished surface in front of her, lining it up carefully and folding her hands on top of the brown leather. Seen like this, she had an almost nun-like composure and restraint. Again, so totally unlike the real Marina that it almost made him laugh. He caught back his amusement with effort. Marina, restrained and composed? The words just didn’t go together at all.
He found he rather liked this new image she had assumed. It made him think of the contrast between the outward impression she gave and the person he knew was hidden beneath the conformist clothing. Made him imagine the challenge of getting her out of the subdued garments and freeing the real woman inside. That thought blazed an image into his mind that had him suddenly pulling out his own chair and dropping into it swiftly, so that the barrier of the polished table-top hid the betraying force of his heated response.
As he took his own seat on the other side of the table, Marina accepted the glass that Matteo passed to her and sipped from it carefully. She was still wearing her wedding ring, Pietro noticed, seeing the glint of gold on the fingers wrapped around the glass. It was the last thing he had expected, and he was surprised by the force of his reaction to seeing his ring. It was the ring he had put on her finger after making their wedding vows, still there on the hand of the woman who hadn’t even pretended to play the role of his wife for over two years.
‘Pietro …’
The sound of his name on his estranged wife’s lips jolted him back to the present. He had heard her use his name so many times, but this was like no other time before. This time the single word was both a question and a reproach for the fact that she had said something and, lost in a dangerous blend of angry and erotic thoughts, he had not heard her.
‘Cara?’ he responded, deliberately lacing the endearment with cynicism and knowing he had hit home when he saw her reaction.
Her spine stiffened, her jaw tightened and the soft rosetinted mouth clamped into a thin, rigid line. Green eyes flashed an uncontrolled response. Now she was letting the real Marina show, he thought with a sense of grim satisfaction. Just for a moment the controlled mask had slipped and she had let him have a glimpse of the woman underneath. This was the Marina he knew of old.
‘What exactly are you doing here?’ she asked now, her tone making it clear that she wished he was a million miles away.
He dealt her a smile across the table and felt a flare of dark satisfaction when he saw her eyes widen even more.
‘We arranged to meet to discuss the terms of the divorce,’ he reminded her, calm and reasonable.
Marina took another sip of water and put down her glass with the sort of careful precision that he knew only came when she was really trying to keep a grip on her volatile nature. She wasn’t as much in control as she wanted to appear. That made him want to watch her more closely, to see what he
