His Delicious Revenge: The Price of Retribution / Count Valieri's Prisoner / The Highest Stakes of All

She stood in the centre of that vast living room, trying not to shiver as Caz took her wrap from her shoulders and tossed it over the arm of a sofa before discarding his own jacket.

‘What do you want to see first?’ His voice was teasing. ‘The kitchen? After all, there’s coffee to be made.’

She eased away from him. ‘I think you can manage that perfectly well without my interference.’

‘Then start the tour without me.’ He slanted a grin at her as he headed off. ‘I’ll be asking questions later.’

She’d noticed the big vibrant canvases that hung on the pale walls during her previous visit, but tonight there were no friends or caterers to provide a distraction—or to act as a barrier, said a warning voice in her head—so she had time to look around properly—examine the pictures at her leisure.

Like Evie, she was no expert, but she could see they deserved attention, their colours and textures drawing the eye and invading the imagination, their effect enhanced by careful lighting.

But there were other, homelier touches too. She noticed some charming ceramics, not old enough to be valuable, on a table and walked over to look at a group of photographs on top of a bookcase. Her gaze travelled from a couple, not young, standing smiling in the sunlight in front of a wall, draped in wisteria, to some children on a beach with a black Labrador, and, lastly, standing by an elegant fireplace, an elderly woman whose white hair belied the command of a strong but beautiful face.

Looking down at the sapphire ring, Tarn wondered if this was the grandmother who’d planned for his marriage.

I’m sorry. She sent the message out into the ether. I’m so sorry, and I’m glad you can’t know what’s going to happen.

When Caz returned with the coffee, she was standing at the window, staring at the lamplit panorama.

‘At sunset, it’s truly spectacular.’ He set down the tray. ‘Come and sit down. Can I offer you some brandy?’

‘Better not.’ She kept her tone light. ‘My head’s whirling quite enough, I think.’

She took her place next to him and accepted the cup he handed to her, breathing the coffee’s rich, heady aroma.

She said, ‘I’ve been admiring your pictures.’ She paused, adding deliberately, ‘You’ll have to teach me what they’re all about.’

He gave a rueful shrug. ‘I have a mate called Adam who’d be a far better instructor. My choices are instinctive rather than informed, and he says I’ve been damned lucky not to have been taken for a ride so far. When you meet him, ask him anything you want to know.’

‘But I understood you were a connoisseur.’ She could not hide her surprise.

Caz’s mouth twisted. ‘Well, I can’t imagine where you heard that, flattering though it may be.’ He added, ‘And I hope you’re not disappointed, now you know the truth.’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Not a bit. Besides, your method is probably better than picking something that ticks a lot of boxes with art critics. And I’d rather hear why you chose them.’

‘Let’s save that for some long winter evening,’ he suggested softly. ‘We have other things to discuss tonight.’

Her heartbeat quickened. ‘Yes—of course.’

‘For one thing, you need to see the rest of the place, including the kitchen, even if I couldn’t tempt you in there just now.’ He paused, putting down his cup. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘I never thought to ask. You can cook, I suppose.’

‘Now there’s a male chauvinist question.’ Her glance held mock reproof. ‘If I say no, will you want your ring back?’

‘Far from it,’ Caz said cheerfully. ‘I’m not looking for a domestic slave. If necessary, I’ll simply get the meals myself.’ He paused. ‘But I admit it would be nicer if it was a joint affair.’

‘Much nicer,’ she said. ‘And I may as well confess right now that I love cooking.’

‘Excellent.’ He took her cup from her hand and set it down, then moved closer, sliding his arms round her and pulling her against him. ‘And as love has been mentioned,’ he murmured. ‘Now might also be a good time for you to tell me how you feel about me.’

‘I thought I’d already made that clear.’ Her voice shook a little as the warmth of him, the scent of his skin began at once to work their dark, insidious magic.

‘All the same, my darling, I need to hear you say it.’ He pushed back her hair from her face, letting his lips graze her temple. ‘Would it be so very difficult?’

You don’t know. Oh, God, you just don’t know…

But at least, for once, she could speak the truth without evasion.

For this moment, she thought, just for this moment.

She said quietly, ‘I love you, Caz. I think I did from the first, only I couldn’t—I didn’t want to admit it when there were so many reasons not to. So many reasons for me to keep my distance.

‘But now it’s said and I can tell you that I shall go on loving you for the rest of my life.’

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…

Heaven help me, she thought.

He said hoarsely, ‘Oh, God, Tarn, my sweet, wonderful girl.’

He began to kiss her, gently at first, then with increased passion, his mouth moving on hers in urgent sensuous demand.

And Tarn responded, eagerly, helplessly, her arms around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest, as her lips parted for him.

Just for this moment.

A moment when nothing else in the world existed but the sweet draining delight of his kisses. She found herself sighing her pleasure into his mouth, arching towards him as she felt the first heated explicit thrust of his tongue and offered him an equally candid response in her turn, clinging to him, drinking from the shared moisture of their mouths.

She smiled as she experienced the warmth of his lips caressing her closed eyes, the curve of her cheek, and the crazy throb of the pulse in her throat.

Caz pushed her back against the softness of the cushions, his hands moving slowly but very surely, skimming the delicate line of her shoulders, then sliding down to cup her breasts and stroke them gently through the silky top she was wearing, coaxing her nipples to rise to hard, aching peaks under the passionate certainty of his touch.

Tarn gasped, her head thrown back, her whole being consumed by the long, delicious shivers that were running through her, inspiring her to let her fingers in their turn begin their own exploration—discover the taut muscularity of his back and trace the long supple spine through his fine linen shirt.

To feel the heat of his body as it pressed on hers, and find it echoed in the giddy rush of her own blood stream, and in the deep, inner trembling of her ungiven flesh as she encountered the hardness of his arousal against her slender thighs.

The thin layers of cloth that separated them seemed suddenly too great a barrier. With a kind of desperation, Tarn wanted to be naked in his arms. Naked with him. To find herself at last possessed and know the rapture of his body sheathed in hers.

To understand why she had made herself wait all this time.

Just for this moment. Just for this man. Whom she could not have…

He was kissing her again, slowly, deeply, and she cried out softly in longing and despair, her voice breaking as she whispered his name against his mouth.

‘My angel.’ His voice was hoarse, his hand heavy on her bare thigh where he’d pushed her skirt aside. ‘Tarn—stay with me tonight, darling—please. Give yourself to me.’

All she need do was remain silent and he would lift her and carry her to his room. And to the bed he’d shared with Evie…

It was that realisation that, somehow, forced her to clutch at her reeling sanity. Made her find the words that would save her. ‘I—I can’t.’ She stared up into his eyes, lambent with desire. ‘You—you said you wouldn’t pressure me. You promised…’