The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty(57)
Pepe hadn’t been impressed. He’d been used to strong, confident women; the only bit of vivacity he’d found on Cara had been the colour of her hair. Other than that, she’d been like a wallflower, practically gluing herself to Grace’s side, talking to him and Luca only when spoken to and even then in monosyllables. He’d thought her surly and rude.
As the wedding had approached, slowly he’d seen a different side to her unfurl, until, by the day of the nuptials, when he had been best man and she the chief bridesmaid, she was happy to chat with him as easily as she could with Grace.
But no one else.
He’d come to realise she wasn’t surly, just painfully shy. It took her a while to overcome her nerves with someone, but when she did, she was excellent company with a dry wit that delighted him. But...she’d been Grace’s best friend. She would likely always be a part of his life. There was a vulnerability to her that none of his lovers had. Any attraction to her was quashed.
He would not involve himself with vulnerable women, no matter how sexy they were. All the same, he’d enjoyed her company, would happily return home to Sicily when she stayed there and go out on double dates. They always had the best of times together.
He’d known early on from Grace’s disappearance that Cara would hold the key to finding her. But he’d put it off. And put it off some more, always hoping Grace would turn up of her own accord or that Luca would find another clue to finding her. But as the months had passed with no word, he could not in all conscience stand idly by while his brother turned into an emotional wreck. So he’d swallowed that same conscience and sought Cara out. The one woman he’d sworn he would never seduce...
He’d spent the best weekend of his life with her.
He’d been haunted by memories of it ever since.
And now she was here, back in his arms. Her naked breasts crushed against him. Breasts that tasted like nectar...
His blood thrummed, deep and heavy, his senses reacting to the scent and feel of her, a primitive desire that came alive only for her.
He did not want to admit those brief moments of fear when he’d realised she’d gone from the party. Vanished into the night.
He did not want to think of the cold tightness that had clutched at his chest as he’d forced his driver to put his foot down through the dark Montmartre streets.
He did not want to think of his rage when he’d seen that oaf of a taxi driver manhandling her in such a callous manner.
Pepe despised violence. He’d grown up surrounded by it, not in his family, but in the associations his father had had until he had allowed his own conscience to lead him away from it.
Growing up, Pepe had vowed he would never allow his fists do the talking for him. Even when he’d felt the hot blade of the knife slice down his cheek he hadn’t retaliated. He’d been so numb from the preceding events that it had almost been a relief to feel something.
Yet for all that, it had taken every ounce of restraint not to throw himself onto the taxi driver and pulverise him.
If that driver had hurt her in any way, he doubted he’d have been able to hold on to that restraint.
Cara had stilled. He could feel her breath, hot through the crisp linen of his shirt, tickling his skin.
‘I...I need to put some clothes on,’ Cara said, trying to break away. It was happening again, that almost liquid feeling in her bones, the slavish desire creeping through her every pore. She tried to pull away but Pepe was too strong.