His Suitable Bride(104)

The passion of moments before seemed to cool in seconds, and she was reminded of how wanton she’d just acted—again.

He came and stood beside the bed, and she didn’t like what was in his eyes. She could see that he was already becoming aroused again and, despite her trepidation, she could feel herself responding. She drew her legs together, even though they wanted to open for him, and brought her arms up over her breasts, even though she felt as if she wanted to arch her back and offer them up to him again.

Confusion and fear warred with potent, aching desire. Perhaps he expected her to go? She made a move to get off the bed, but a large warm hand caught her back and pushed her down.

‘Sandro …’ She was breathless already. ‘I thought … Do you want me to go?’

In the dim light Rowan could see a muscle flex in his jaw. ‘I’ve no doubt that’s what you had in mind, but we’re not done yet.’

‘I—’

But he silenced her with his mouth, bringing his whole body down beside her, trapping her with his arms, drawing a hard-muscled thigh over her legs. And she could feel his insistent erection growing, firming against her body, and knew she didn’t want to go, couldn’t go anywhere.

Much later the weather had calmed outside. Without looking, Rowan knew the sky would be clear. She lay encircled in Isandro’s arms, her back against his chest. She felt sated, complete, and at peace for the first time in almost two years. She’d cried when they’d made love just a short while before, but she’d buried her head in Isandro’s shoulder and used her moans to disguise her sobs of helpless emotion. She didn’t think he’d heard them. She prayed that he hadn’t.

As if sensing her wakefulness, Isandro shifted behind her. Rowan held her breath as she felt him pull his arms from around her and get out of the bed. She closed her eyes tight, and then she felt him come around and scoop her up into his arms. She couldn’t pretend to be asleep. The tension in her body gave her away.

‘What are you—?’ Her words stopped when she saw where he was going. He was striding back towards the adjoining door, and bent to expertly open it before shouldering his way through and depositing her on her own bed, over the covers and naked. Her bedside lamp was still on from earlier, and Rowan felt ridiculously exposed in the soft light.

His eyes, cooled now after their spent passion, flickered down her body and back up, stopping suddenly at her breasts. They narrowed. Rowan felt a snake of something bad. He wasn’t looking at her with desire, it was curiosity. Isandro bent down slightly, coming closer, and Rowan cowered back. But he came down on the bed and grabbed her arms, stopping her from hiding herself. With a leaden sinking feeling she knew exactly what he was looking at—what he’d missed earlier, in the dimmer light of his own room. She closed her eyes.

A scar, about two centimetres wide, in the middle of her chest, under her breasts.

‘What is that?’

Rowan opened her eyes to see his finger come out to touch. She jerked her arm free, slapping his hand away. ‘It’s nothing. Just a scar from …’ her mind worked feverishly ‘… a brooch pin that stabbed me.’

He looked back up to her eyes, his other hand still holding her fast. For a moment it seemed as if he was going to question her, but then he shrugged. And that was like a slap in the face. He didn’t care.

He stood lithely from the bed and looked down at her, totally at ease in his nakedness.

Rowan frowned and looked up, feeling very much at a disadvantage. His absolute distance precluded any notion she might have had of telling him exactly what that scar was, what it meant.

‘Sandro … about what just—’

‘Firstly, don’t call me Sandro. I don’t like it.’

‘But I thought you liked it when we were—’

He laughed harshly. ‘Before you deserted this marriage? Before you walked away from Zac? Well, that was then—this is now.’

Familiar pain lashed her inwardly. ‘But what about … what about what just happened …?’ She hated the uncertainty in her voice, and scrabbled to find covers to pull around her in protection.

Isandro started to walk away, his tall, lean and powerful body a vision of perfection. Gleaming golden skin stretched over hard muscles. He turned at the door.

‘That’s the second thing. We just slept together, that’s all. It means nothing. And Rowan?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘This time I’ll expect you to be willing when I want you, for however long I want you. Perhaps you’ll be a better mistress than you were a wife.’