Darcy flipped it from his fingers. 'We'll toss for the bed.'
'I beg your pardon?'
But Darcy had already tossed. 'Heads or tails?' she proffered cheerfully.
'Dio—'
'Heads!' Darcy chose impatiently. She uncovered the coin and then sighed. 'You get the bed; I get the quilt. Do you mind if I have first shower? I'll be quick.'#p#分页标题#e#
Moving to the bathroom without awaiting a reply, Darcy closed the door with some satisfaction. The trick was to get over embarrassing ground fast. Had money not been in short supply, she would've asked for a second room, but why bother for the sake of a few hours? Luca was highly unlikely to succumb to an attack of overpowering lust and make a pass... I should be so lucky, she thought, and then squirmed with boiling guilt.
Stripping off, she stepped into the shower. In five minutes she was out again, smothering a yawn. After towel-drying her hair, she put her bra and pants back on, draped her sodden dress over one exact half of the shower curtain rail and opened the door a crack.
The room was empty. Darcy shot across the bedroom, snatched the quilt and a pillow off the divan, and in ten seconds flat had herself tucked in her makeshift bed on the carpet.
Ten minutes later, Luca reappeared. 'Accidenti...this isn't a schoolgirl sleep-over!' he bit out, sounding as if he was climbing the walls with exasperation. 'We'll share the bed like grown-ups.'
'I'm perfectly happy where I am. I lost the toss.' Luca growled something raw and impatient in Italian. 'I've slept in far less comfortable places than this. Do stop fussing,' she muttered, her voice muffled by the quilt.
'I'm a lot hardier than you are—'
'And what is that supposed to mean?' Her wide, anxious gaze appeared over the edge of the satin quilt. She collided with heartstopping dark golden eyes glittering with suspicion below flaring ebony brows. Her stomach clenched, her breath shortening in her dry throat. 'Why don't you go and get your hot bath and your brandy?' she suggested tautly, and in so doing tactfully side-stepped the question.
Dear heaven, but he was gorgeous. She listened to him undress. She wanted to look. As the bathroom door closed on him she grimaced, feverishly hot and uneasy and thoroughly ashamed of herself. He was a decent guy and he had made a real effort on her behalf tonight. A Hollywood film star couldn't have been more impressive in his role. And here she was, acting all silly like the schoolgirl he had hinted she was, reacting to him as if he was a sex object and absolutely nothing else. Didn't she despise men who regarded women in that light?
Sure, Darcy, when was the last time a male treated you like a sex object? Venice. She shivered. Instantly she remembered that passionate kiss out on the balcony high above the Grand Canal, how that fierce sizzle of electric excitement in her veins had felt that very first time. Excitement as dangerously addictive as a narcotic drug. And tonight she had experienced that same wild hunger all over again...
A hot, liquid sensation assailing the very crux of her body, Darcy bit her lower lip and loathed her weak, wanton physical self. But no wonder she had been shaken up earlier. No wonder she had briefly imagined more than a superficial resemblance of looks and nationality between Luca and her daughter's father. But there was no mystery. Her own shatteringly powerful response to both men had been the sole source of similarity.
The bathroom door opened, heralding Luca's return,
'Darcy...get into the bed,' Luca instructed very drily.
Darcy ignored the invitation, terrified that he might sense her attraction to him if she got any closer. 'I never really thanked you properly for tonight,' she said instead, eager to change the subject. 'You were a class act.'
'Grazie... would you like a brandy?'
'No, thanks.'
After the chink of glass, she heard the blankets being trailed back, the creak as the divan gave under his weight. The light went out.
'You know, when I said you'd make a great gigolo, I was really trying to pay you a compliment,' she advanced warily.
'I'll bear that in mind.'
Emboldened by that apparent new tolerance, Darcy relaxed. 'I suppose I owe you an explanation about a few things...' In the darkness, she grimaced, but she felt that he had earned greater honesty.
'When I was a child, Fielding's Folly paid for itself. But Margo liked to live well and my father took out a mortgage rather than reduce their outgoings. I only found out about the mortgage a couple of years ago, when the Folly needed roof repairs and the estate couldn't afford to pay for them.'
'Wasn't your stepmother prepared to help?'
'No. In fact Margo tried to persuade my father to sell up. I was really scared she might wear him down,' she confided. 'That was when we had a bit of good luck for a change. I had a piece of antique jewellery valued and we ended up selling that instead—'