The Vengeful Groom. SARA WOOD

a mistake that you were ever born!” With that, her hand swept up and connected with his sardonic mocking face in a resounding crack that went right through her, shuddering down into her bones. She uttered one strangled broken cry of horrified remorse and turned, planning to run, her mind reeling from the terrible image of Giovanni’s savage mouth, his malefic eyes, her fingers tingling from the electric sensation when they’d connected with warm satin skin clothing the rock of his jaw.

      A huge hand closed on her slender arm, stopping her with its crushing force before she’d taken one faltering step. “That slap, Tina,” he said with a dangerous softness, “was your mistake.”

      “Take your hand off me!” she said jerkily. Being touched by him was a shock. They were joined again, the tension between them firing her with a sensation of uncontainable volcanic energy. Appalled, she tugged at his hand, but it only tightened, drawing her closer, and she knew with sinking heart that she’d have to look in his accusing eyes again and face the situation.

      She could deal with this. She wasn’t a guileless teenager any longer. She had a track record of dealing with trouble. Anyone who could handle unwanted pregnancies, knife fights and anxious parents could pull herself together and show a bit of cool in a crisis.

      This was nothing, she told herself, but knew she lied, because she was emotionally involved and it wasn’t the same at all.

      “I won’t release you yet. First, I have something for you, Tina,” he muttered. And he twisted her around, impaling her with his black, black eyes.

      The white imprint of her hand flared accusingly against the dark gold of his skin, and she stared at the mark of her contempt as if hypnotized by it.

      “You have nothing for me,” she said in a low tone.

      He had changed. Bigger, harder, with a hatred that lay cold as ice in the cruel eyes. Yet whatever the hardships he’d suffered, there was still that stomach-clenching impact of stunning good looks. Blond hair on a dark-skinned Sicilian had thrown a curve at women of all tastes and ages, and she’d never been immune. Her mouth trembled with a soft exhalation.

      “I have,” he murmured. “More than you think.”

      “Only memories, Giovanni,” she replied quietly.

      The songs they’d sung on clambakes, the trips down the Sussex River in a flat-bottomed boat, the lazy days building sand castles on Neck Beck. The laughter. The affection. Licking each other’s sticky fingers—and then the doughnut sugar off Giovanni’s lips…

      Tina drew in a quick breath, her expression guilty because she’d become aware that she was being watched by a pair of melting eyes that gleamed like deep shaded water—black, still and fathomless—and the mark on his face had grown into an angry red. His expression chilled her to the bone.

      “Done all the checking you’re going to do?” he murmured sardonically. “Have I changed so much?”

      She shrugged and pretended that was what she was still doing, quite surprised at his sophistication and casually elegant clothes. Yet in the rawness of his wicked eyes lay hints of that exciting rough edge of danger, which also touched his carnal mouth and made her think carnal thoughts.

      “Little change,” she said huskily. “You still have the arrogance to imagine women will come whenever you call.” Her head lifted in defiance. “Let me go, or I’m going to scream.”

      His eyes narrowed. The steady pull of his hand brought her close enough to feel his hot breath flaming her hot skin. His finger had delicately scooped up a bead of sweat from her forehead and transferred it to his tongue before she could blink. But the effect devastated her; all the sensual pleasures they’d enjoyed had turned her into a voluptuary, and that one small gesture filled her body with a terrible ache. He smiled with triumph when she remained mute, nursing her desolation.

      “I need five minutes of your time,” he said, his black eyes unreadable. “Nothing more. Yet.”

      Five minutes. She could survive that and wipe him from her life again. “What do you want?” she demanded shortly.

      The extravagant mouth eased into a cynical smile. “You left these behind just now. They’re yours. Multiply them by ten,” he drawled, “and you get thirty pieces of silver.”

      And before she knew what he intended, he’d reached out and pulled forward the neck of her thin T-shirt with a disdainful thumb and forefinger, audaciously dumping the three dimes into the gap. They lay stuck to her sweating breasts and stomach, dust and dirt and bits of clamshell and all.

      “You brute!” she gasped in red-faced outrage as he calmly dusted off his hands and wiped them on an immaculate navy silk handkerchief. “You’ve made me feel dirty inside!”

      The corners of his mouth swooped downward in scorn and he tucked the handkerchief back in his jacket pocket. “But, Tina,” he demurred, “I thought you were already dirty inside.”

      She winced. “I’m clean scrubbed,” she said tightly, easing her top from the waistband of her shorts and letting the coins fall to the ground. Then she concentrated on trying to dislodge the bits from her stomach by rubbing vigorously—till she realized from the breathless silence, and then his frowning stare, what the movement was doing to her unsupported breasts.

      “You look pretty pure,” he conceded laconically. “But there’s no honor or loyalty in there.” His scornful finger stabbed the air, pointing at her heart. “And when you drop the demure act, we get the truth. A woman driven by sex who’s only too ready to launch into a display of erotic originality.”

      Tina was momentarily lost for words. Slowly her expressive eyes widened, their color first pale, then becoming almost navy as her emotions changed from shock to shame and then to outrage.

      “Hypocrite!” she said bitterly. “I thought that we had a loving relationship and that our lovemaking was the natural consequence of our affection. I wasn’t ashamed of sharing my body with you—then. I am deeply shamed by it now!” she said shakily. “I trusted you with my most precious secrets…and you tricked me! All my life I’ll resent you for taking my innocence and betraying it when it had been so gladly, so devotedly given as a gift for the man I loved!”

      “Do you hold me solely responsible for your seduction?” he drawled.

      Tina lowered her head. She blamed herself for trusting him. “I—I was innocent and I didn’t know I was…”

      “Getting me beyond the point of no return?” he suggested. “So was I to blame for finding you irresistible, or were you to blame for not realizing how naive and provocative your behavior was to a teenager with Sicilian blood?”

      “We were both to blame,” she said quietly.

      “Progress at last,” he mocked. “There’s always shared blame, Tina. Remember that. Hold it in your beautiful head and think about it. And remember we were in love,” he said softly, as though remembering with pleasure. ”Love.”

      Heat scoured through her, head to toe, making her skin prickle. Shaken by the warmth in his voice, the lyrical indolence that cruelly brought back the soft nights beneath the stars and the moonlight gleaming on their naked skin, she let her thick black lashes hide the desolate expression in her eyes. If only she’d never let him arouse her to that fateful point of no return! It had been such a corny error to make after hearing the magic words, I love you. He loved himself. Sex. Her teeth snagged at her lip, stilling its tremble.

      “Take the coins,” he said tightly. “They represent your betrayal,” he said, slivers of steel behind each carefully enunciated word.

      She winced. “What did you want me to do in court? Stay silent? Perjure myself?” she asked, her voice husky with emotion, because she’d considered those options but obeyed her conscience.

      “I wanted you to believe me,” he replied quietly.

      “It wasn’t possible!” she cried irritably. “I know what I saw.