Moth to the Flame (12 page)

choice of scent from light floral fragrances to the spicier, musky

perfumes. Luxuriously smoothing toilet water over her shoulders

and arms, Juliet thought idly what an incredible variety there was,

and then paused, the colour rising in her face as she realised the

perfumes and powders had been placed there to. appeal to a variety

of women.

She replaced the cap on the spray she had been using with indecent

haste and replaced it on the shelf. She had little doubt that Santino

had selected the perfumes himself, for his own delectation as well

as that of his lady friends. She only hoped that he would not

imagine she had been perfuming herself for him.

'I wish I'd used carbolic!' she muttered to herself, as she dragged the

denim up over her slim hips and fastened the zip.

Once dressed, she felt rather at a loss. She stripped the covers back

from the bed and left it to air, then emptied the suitcase and

repacked it more neatly. Santino on his rampage through Jan's

wardrobe had simply tossed things in on top of each other. Many of

the things needed hanging up to rid them of creases, but ever

present in her mind was Santino's parting shot that this was his

room. There was no way in which she was going to lay even the

slightest claim to it after that, even to the extent of hanging a few

dresses in that huge wardrobe.

She wandered restlessly over to the window and stood looking out.

Below her the sea shone like glass and the distant horizon

shimmered in the heat. What was she supposed to do? she

wondered. Stay here cooped up until Santino discovered the truth?

She bit her lip. Not if she knew it, she told herself resolutely. After

all, there was the sea, and where the sea was, there ought to be a

beach of sorts. She would simply carry on with her holiday and to

hell with Santino. After all, a lot of people paid hundreds of pounds

to come and spend a few days on the Italian coast, and yet here she

was being entertained at his expense in surroundings she could

never have afforded in the ordinary way, so the least she could do

was try and enjoy it.

She swung away from the window and went across to the door and

out on to the gallery beyond. She trod across it and stood looking

over the exquisitely carved balustrade that bordered it down into

what was presumably the main living area below. It appeared

deserted, and after a moment or two she ventured down the spiral

staircase that led down from her side of the gallery, and stood

looking about her. It was a large, lofty room, the floor smoothly

tiled in a deep terra-cotta shade, the rough stone wails washed in

pale cream. On one side a large alcove, with a slightly raised floor,

had been let into the thickness of the wall and Juliet saw that this

accommodated a large, heavily carved refectory table, and

high-backed chairs padded in deep crimson. There appeared to be

no fireplace as such, but the three long low oatmeal-coloured sofas

which formed the seating were grouped round a low antique table,

on which books and magazines were arranged. The original

window recesses had been extended and glazed to make full use of

the view, and a door behind her, under the gallery she had just left,

indicated that this was where the kitchen quarters were to be found.

There was a spartan simplicity about her surroundings that appealed

to Juliet far more than the more obvious luxury of Jan's Roman

apartment. She wondered how old the building was, and admired

the way it had been adapted to modern living needs without the

destruction of its essential character. For it must have been some

kind of fortress, she thought, her eyes straying once again to the

thickness of the walls.

She wandered across the room, her heelless sandals making little

noise on the tiles, and picked up one of the magazines, but apart

from the language problem they all appeared to be of a purely

technical nature, so she soon abandoned that as a pastime.

Presumably Santino's plans for the entertainment of his women

guests did not include the provision of reading matter, she thought

ironically.

Her stomach rumbled suddenly and disconcertingly, reminding her

that it was a long time since she had eaten. She had enjoyed the

coffee Annunziata had brought, but now she needed solid food

inside her. Presumably as she was no longer a prisoner in her room,

Santino did not plan to starve her either. Moodily, she flung herself

down on one of the sofas and stared into space, wondering among

other things where Mario and Jan were at that moment. She hoped

they were happy, because that was the only thing that would make

this entire business in any way tolerable. For a moment she felt

tears prick at her eyes, then angrily dammed them back. It was

useless indulging in self-pity. She had got herself into this mess, and

she would simply have to get herself out of it in due course, and

pray that she remained unscathed in the process.

As she lay back against the cushions, her eyes closed, struggling to

regain her composure, she was suddenly aware that she was not

alone. Her eyes flew open and she saw Santino standing over her.

She sat up instantly, pushing her hair back with one defensive hand,

hoping she had not exhibited any visible sign of weakness to him.

'I'm surprised to find you still indoors,' he observed after a moment

or two of rather taut silence had stretched between them. 'Or are

you afraid that our warm Calabrian sun will burn and blister that

lovely skin?'

She shrugged a shoulder, thankful that he had mistaken the normal

pallor engendered by a rather damp English summer for the care a

model girl would lavish on her complexion.

It is my livelihood after all,
signore,'
she replied in a small, cold

voice.

He sat down beside her on the sofa, stretching his long legs in front

of him, his lips twisting cynically as he looked at her. 'And in more

than one way,
cara
,' he said softly, and laughed at her small,

indignant gasp.

Her hand swung up to. strike him, to smash the sneer from his face,

but he was too quick for her. Cruel fingers seized her wrist and held

it until she gasped again, this time in pain.

'I think not,
bella mia,'
he said between his teeth. 'Or I should be

forged to exact retribution in a way that I promise you you would

not like.'

'Simply being in the same room with you, s
ignore,
is quite

punishment enough, believe me,' she said bitterly, nursing her wrist

where the marks of his fingers showed red against the whiteness of

her skin.

'Veramente?'
His brows rose mockingly. 'Then I shall have to think

of something to make your enforced sojourn in my home slightly

less of a penance to you, Janina.'

'And to yourself, no doubt,' she said tartly.

He smiled. 'Oh, I don't regard you as a penance, Janina,' he said.

'For a man, there must always be compensations in the presence of

a beautiful woman.' He reached out a lazy hand and took her wrist

which she was still rubbing, raising it in one sensuous movement to

his lips. 'You bruise easily,
cara,'
he murmured. 'That is something I

shall have to remember.'

For a moment she was speechless, stunned by the obvious

implication in his smiling words, then with a little choked cry she

snatched her wrist away, trying to ignore the long tremor that had

invaded her body at the pressure of his mouth against her flesh. For

a second she was tempted to put the length of the sofa between

them—he was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his

body, his thigh brushing hers as he lounged very much at his

ease—but she knew that any such action would merely result in her

looking foolish and undignified. But at the same time she would

have to make it more than clear that she was not his plaything, no

matter what role the other women who accompanied him here might

fulfil.

'I'd prefer you not to touch me,' she said at last with what she

gauged to be the right amount of ice in her voice.

'Why not?' he said, sounding faintly amused. 'There are no cameras

or gaping crowds of avid clothes buyers here for you to pamper and

perfume your body for, and yet your skin feels like silk and smells

of sun-warmed roses. As your sole audience, I'd thought it might

have been for my benefit.'

'Well, it isn't,' she replied stonily, hating herself for the faint

involuntary blush that was creeping up. under her skin at his words.

Jan, she thought rather bitterly, would never have blushed no matter

how personal the compliment might have been.

He laughed softly, but there was a faintly curious expression in his

eyes, as if her reaction had bewildered him, and she tensed slightly.

She certainly didn't want to arouse any suspicions about her identity

now at this stage in the game. Even now it might not be too late for

him to track down Mario and Jan and prevent their marriage.

She made herself relax back against the cushions, smile a little

even.

'I'm a creature of habit,' she said, forcing herself to speak lightly. 'I

assumed the perfumes and lotions were there to be used. Was I

wrong?'

'On the contrary,
cara.'
He laced his fingers behind his head and

leaned back, very much at his ease, the tawny eyes almost

slumbrous as they studied her. 'I hope my choice of wardrobe for

you was—adequate?' His gaze came to rest on the deeply slashed

neckline of the skimpy waistcoat.

Juliet lifted a casual shoulder as if oblivious of his regard. 'I'll

manage. After all, it won't be for very long, will it?'

'Who knows?' he murmured. 'Perhaps the charms of Roccaforte will

appeal to you so much that you will decide to extend your stay.'

The charms of Roccaforte or its owner? she asked herself silently,

her temper flaring under the sting
of
his arrogant presumption.

'I doubt it,' she said coolly. 'You can't imagine that I would willingly

spend any more time in your company than necessary,
signore?'

He laughed, apparently unmoved by the hostility in her tone. 'You

would be surprised at the lengths to which my imagination can take

me,
bella.
Although at times it does require a little practical

assistance.'

Before she could anticipate his intention, he leaned forward and

unfastened the top button of her waistcoat. 'I'm sure that was what

the designer intended,' he added, his voice wickedly amused.

Her immediate impulse was to refasten the errant button and hide

once again that provocative view of the shadowy cleft between her

breasts that it afforded, but again she was forced to hesitate. Such

an action would once more be uncharacteristic of Jan, she was

forced to admit to herself. That kind of teasing byplay would be

second nature to her. She wouldn't be sitting, her back ramrod-stiff,

her cheeks flaming, every unsteady pulse beat in her body

reminding her of the way his fingers had rested momentarily against

the softness of her skin.

This is madness, she told herself flatly. She'd been kissed

before;—held, touched, so why had this man the power to inculcate

such a response from such a fleeting' contact? It didn't make sense.

All she knew was this desperate, almost searing consciousness of

his close proximity and the havoc it was playing with her logic, her

reason, even her sense of decency. She even found herself

wondering what it would be like if he kissed her—if that firm mouth

would lose the slight sneer it wore so often and soften into

tenderness just before it descended on hers...

With a desperate effort she tore herself away from the danger of

that particular reverie.

'Don't fight so hard against your instincts,
cara,'
the mocking voice

at her side advised her coolly. 'Mario is lost to you anyway, so there

is nothing to be gained in withholding your body from me.' He

reached out a hand and took her stiffly averted chin, forcing her

head round so that she was facing him. 'Shall I tell Annunziata to

spare herself the trouble of preparing another room, Janina
mia?'

His hand slid tantalisingly down the line of her throat, stroking the