‘Why not, when it’s the truth?’
Sergio stared at the pulse jerking at the base of Kristen’s throat before returning to linger on her mouth, and watched as she moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. The anger he had felt earlier had been replaced with a primitive desire he could not control. She was as tightly wound as a coiled spring and he could almost taste the sexual awareness in the air. Four years was a long time and he had had plenty of other women since Kristen. But none had made his gut twist with raw need like she had done. Like she still did.
His senses were so finely tuned to her that he knew she was going to jump up from the sofa and, before she had time to move, he caught hold of her wrist and forced her to remain seated.
‘Let go of me!’ She was breathing hard, drawing his eyes to the thrust of her breasts beneath her high-necked blouse. There was something very tantalising about the row of tiny buttons that were fastened right up to her throat. He would never have the patience to unfasten each one, Sergio thought, sexual hunger corkscrewing through him as a memory came into his mind of her small, pale breasts with their rosy tips.
‘You are despicable,’ Kristen told him hotly. ‘You’re meant to be hosting a party to celebrate your engagement to a beautiful debutante.’
In truth, Kristen had forgotten about the party, but now guilt joined the gamut of emotions churning inside her. She knew full well that Sergio’s emotions were a barren wasteland, but presumably Felicity Denholm was under the illusion that he cared for her. ‘That poor woman...’
‘I’d save your sympathy if I were you,’ Sergio said drily. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the gutter press. The engagement story was pure fabrication.’
Kristen swallowed. ‘You mean you’re not going to marry Lady Felicity?’
‘You know my feelings about marriage, cara.’
Oh yes, Kristen knew. He had voiced his opinion of marriage loud and clear when they had been together, which had made his decision to marry a Sicilian woman with almost indecent haste after they had broken up all the more hurtful. She closed her eyes against the image in her mind of Sergio and his beautiful dark-haired fiancée. When she had seen the photograph of them in a magazine a few months after she had left Sicily, she had felt sick to her stomach.
Something fluttered against her cheek and she lifted her lashes to find Sergio’s face so close to her that she could see the tiny lines fanning around his eyes. The brush of his fingertips across her skin was as soft as gossamer yet she felt as though his touch had branded her.
‘What is the real reason you sought my attention tonight?’
Sergio was aware that his voice was not quite steady, but the shock of Kristen’s appearance was having a strong effect on him. In the ballroom he had been conscious of a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as he’d been about to address the party guests. He had felt an inexplicable sense of anticipation as he had scanned the room, but he hadn’t noticed Kristen until she had spoken.
‘First you interrupted the party and then you ran away from me, knowing, I am sure, that I would follow.’
This was the moment to tell him about Nico. Only the words were trapped in her throat, as if some primitive instinct she did not understand warned her to keep her son’s existence a secret. It was not a conscious decision. At that moment Kristen was incapable of logical thought. She felt light-headed, and it belatedly occurred to her that she had been too on edge about meeting Sergio to eat any dinner. Drinking a glass of champagne on an empty stomach had been foolish. It must be the effect of the alcohol that was making her heart race, she told herself. The dizzy sensation had nothing to do with the fact that Sergio had lowered his head so that she could feel his warm breath whisper across her lips.