The Petrelli Heir

Roman was torn between amusement and annoyance at the grudging concession. His annoyance would have been a lot greater had he not known that she was as aware of the chemistry spark between them as he was, but for some reason she was reluctant to acknowledge it …

He was confident that whatever the reason for fighting the attraction she would lose the battle, and he relished the prospect of seeing the confident bold woman he knew was there under her diffident, fresh-faced exterior.

‘A pleasant stroll down a leafy village road on a sunny day—what could be nicer?’ murmured Roman as he fell in beside her, matching his stride to hers.

‘The inn is fourteenth-century.’

‘Is the tour commentary optional?’

She slid him a sideways look of dislike. He had no manners at all but a great profile. Her glance drifted lower. Actually he had a great everything. ‘I thought you might be interested. My mistake.’

‘I’m fine with the charming company and the leisurely stroll,’ he murmured, adding drily, ‘Very leisurely stroll.’

Izzy compressed her lips, and, to squash any suspicion he might have that she wanted to prolong this walk, lengthened her stride. It was a struggle, despite his comments to the contrary, to believe that his mangled leg did not give him pain, but he showed no sign of difficulty in matching her pace.

As they continued down the steep, winding village street a silence developed … not of the comfortable variety. In the end and despite the risk of drawing another of his rude comments, Izzy cleared her throat. She had to do something to drown out the silent tension.

‘It was a lovely service … Rachel looked beautiful, didn’t she?’

Roman, who thought one bride in a meringue dress looked much like any other, gave a non-committal grunt. The main event had not been what he was watching, or thinking about. ‘Her father is Michael’s brother?’

Izzy, happy to discuss this safe subject, nodded. ‘Yes, they moved to Cumbria about twenty years ago. They bought neighbouring farms and married sisters.’ Both brothers still retained the Irish accent that Izzy found so attractive.

‘So the bride is your cousin?’

‘No … well, sort of, I suppose. Michelle isn’t my mother—I’m not a real Fitzgerald.’ Not something she normally said, actually not something she ever said except to herself, but he made her nervous and she babbled when she was nervous. He made her a lot of other things but Izzy didn’t want to go there.

Roman registered that this was an odd thing to say, but as his interest in the Fitzgerald family and how she fitted into it was at best minimal he did not react to the information. Instead he suddenly stopped in his tracks. While it had been entertaining to a point he was tired of this fencing.

‘How long are you going to carry on pretending we are strangers?’

Izzy took another few steps before she slowed and turned to face him, her face flaming. His elevated brow and his dark eyes mocked her.

‘I didn’t even know your name until five minutes ago. We are strangers.’

‘Strangers who have had sex,’ Roman retorted, his impatience wearing paper thin. Her innocent wide-eyed routine was beginning to irritate him. ‘Was the child yours?’ He had a vague recollection of dark curls and a pink dress, so presumably a girl, but he had been concentrating on the woman holding her and the way her already beautiful face had been transformed when she had smiled at the kid.

He’d said yours not mine. So maybe he hadn’t guessed that Lily was his daughter. Feeling her panic subside from red alert to amber and fighting the lingering urge to run, Izzy veiled her eyes with her silky lashes as she fought to regain her composure.

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Are you married?’

Izzy was too startled to respond to his abrupt question. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I’d prefer you answered my question.’

There didn’t seem much point lying. ‘No, I’m not married,’ she admitted.

He tipped his head, some of the tension in his expression fading as his eyes continued to sweep her face. ‘And you’re not with anyone?’

Izzy framed a cold smile in response to his continued abrupt questioning style. She was suddenly conscious of being very hot. The silk chiffon dress clung uncomfortably to her skin and beneath it her bra chafed her nipples.

‘Is this you making small talk or is there a reason for this interrogation?’ It was hard to tell if he knew how rude he was being.

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

She gave a small smile. ‘You noticed.’

He clenched his teeth in a white smile that left his spectacular eyes cold. ‘I can do small talk. I can even tell you you’re the most beautiful woman here today.’

Izzy was desensitised to insults after being the focus of gossip for so long, but compliments always threw her off balance, even one delivered in such an oddly dispassionate way. Or maybe it was the person doing the delivering.

She moved her head sharply to one side, causing the loose tendrils of her hair to move over her face, partly to hide the juvenile blush she felt burning. She looked at him through her lashes and achieved a negligent shrug that managed to deliver a level of indifference she was a million miles from feeling.

‘You could? But your innate honesty prevents it?’ she suggested.

‘I could, but—’ He shook his head and his hooded gaze skimmed the pure lines of her oval face, lingering on her soft full mouth, taking pleasure from her beauty on a purely aesthetic level. His pleasure tipped over into the carnal as the image of those cool lips moving over his body sent his level of arousal up several painful notches.

‘After that build-up this should be good.’ Her amused smile faded as their glances locked. The rampant, hungry gleam in his eyes made her painfully conscious of the ache between her thighs.

‘It will be,’ he promised modestly, adding in a low throaty drawl that made her heart kick heavily against her ribcage, ‘I thought you’d prefer a more direct approach.’

She had been very direct the last time they’d met, and it had saved a lot of time. He really wanted that bold seductive witch back. What would it take to cut through this act? ‘Maybe,’ he mused, appearing to consider the question, ‘I haven’t been direct enough.’

Before she could digest his comment, let alone respond to it, he was right there beside her before she was even conscious of him moving. Then without a word he framed her face with one hand, fitting his thumb to the angle of her jaw, and tipped her face up to him. His other hand moved over the curve of her bottom, his fingers splayed across the firm contours as he dragged her closer to him, then in one smooth, seamless motion he fitted his mouth to hers.

Izzy froze at the contact, her body stiffening in tingling shock. Then as his tongue insinuated itself between her lips, forcing them apart, a low tremulous moan was wrenched from deep inside her. He was hard and hot and she closed her eyes, stopped fighting and grabbed for him, her hands circling his neck as she opened her mouth, inviting him to deepen the slow, sensual exploration.

The devastating kiss seemed to go on for ever, or was it seconds? Izzy had no idea. When he released her her head was spinning and she was shaking and struggling for breath. Blinking, she took a shaky step back, falling inelegantly off one heel in her agitation.

‘No!’ she cried, avoiding the steadying hand he had extended as she regained her balance—her pride and dignity would take a lot longer. What was it about this man that seemed to awake her inner cheap tart?