The Shadowed Heart. Nina Beaumont

left no place for anything else. Her mind went blank but for the terror of being touched by this man.

      Luca stilled, his hand hovering a palm’s breadth away from her face.

      “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was gentle.

      Chiara fought back the terror that was rising within her like black, noxious smoke, but still it came. And came. Until she was choking with it.

      Wanting to soothe the unreasonable fear in her eyes, Luca cupped her cheek.

      She cried out and spun away from his touch.

      Something snapped within him at her strangled cry. At the new wave of abject terror in her eyes. At the way she recoiled from him as she might have recoiled from a man repulsive with the French pox. The dark violence that he had worked so hard to control all his life burst forth as blood spurts from a deep wound.

      Forgetting that he did not want to hurt or frighten her, forgetting everything but that he wanted her, a low sound of fury built in his throat.

      Moving forward, he slapped his hands against the wall on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her.

      Chapter Three

      

      

      Chiara shuddered as she heard the hideous slap of his palms against the wall on either side of her head.

      For a moment she almost gave in to the terror. Almost gave in to the desire to close her eyes, slide down the wall and curl up like an animal playing dead. God, she prayed, don’t let him touch me. Please don’t let him touch me.

      A breath away from surrender, hatred and pride, those old twin friends that had been with her for so long, came to her aid, slowly pushing back the terror. She turned her head and met his eyes.

      The soothing darkness of a star-studded night, which she had seen there before, had disappeared. Instead, the opaque blackness of a sky roiling with storm clouds stared back at her. But the very violence in his eyes gave her something to focus on and she felt the fear recede further.

      Luca saw that fear was still lurking in the depths of her eyes, but the hatred that he had seen there before was back in full force now. Hatred that, had it been a knife, would have been sharp enough to kill. Strangely enough it was that hatred, so real and basic, that soothed the wild fury riding him to a controllable anger. And when he spoke, his voice carried more puzzlement than anything else.

      “Why do you hate me so?”

      “You know,” she spat. “Or, if you do not, you should.”

      Baffled, Luca stared at her, digging into the recesses of his mind. Had they met before? Had he done something to cause her enmity? He shook his head. What could he have done to inspire hatred so deep? He could not imagine it. Besides, he knew that if he had ever seen this woman before, he would not have forgotten her.

      “For a woman with the sight, you have remarkably poor judgment.”

      She said nothing but stared back at him, her eyes like blue flames, provoking him with their fire.

      “Manelli would have sold your body to the first comer,” he snapped. “Don’t you understand that?”

      She had known that she was taking a risk, Chiara thought. But she had thought she could protect herself. And she had needed the money to pay for her sister’s care.

      “He did sell me to the first comer,” she said tonelessly. She let her head fall back to the side so that her cheek lay against the wall, and she closed her eyes.

      Luca’s fingers curled as he fought the need to touch her, to cup her head and make her look at him again.

      “I paid him, with every intention of letting you go.” He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was apologizing. “I have never owned a slave in my life.”

      Slowly she turned back to face him fully. “But now you own one,” she said. “And you have no intention of letting me go, do you?”

      Some of the fire had returned to her low, smoky voice. The fire drew him, aroused him, and Luca shifted forward until his body was pressed against hers.

      Chiara sucked in her breath as he pressed against her, pushing herself back further against the wall, but he moved closer still—so close that it seemed as if their bodies were one. He was pressed against her so tightly that she could feel the rise of his aroused sex against her belly. He was crushing her. She wanted to cry out, but she knew there would be no help for her here. And she had never been one to waste her energy on useless gestures.

      He would move any second now, she though Every muscle turned to ice as she stiffened in expectation of his rough touch. He would push up her skirt. He would penetrate her body with his.

      But he did none of those things. Instead he remained still, his eyes on hers, as if he thought to find her secrets there.

      The dagger! How could she have forgotten it? Relief rushed through her. Chiara lifted her hand, but she could not reach for it without alerting him. Her mind raced. Before he tried to rape her, he would have to step away from her to free his body. Then she would be able to reach the dagger, she thought. Then she would kill him.

      She felt a little flicker of regret that she would have to do it quickly, and not be able to tell him why she was planting her knife in his heart. But perhaps it was better to do it swiftly, before she had time to think about the light she had seen when she had looked inside him. Before she had time to question why her sight was showing her what her eyes knew was false.

      The decision made, a small part of the tension seeped out of her even as she braced for his attack.

      Luca felt the slight relaxing of her body against his and smiled. She had been hurt by some rough, careless man, he thought. He would show her what it could be like.

      His hands still propped against the wall framing her head, he lowered his head toward her.

      Chiara stilled when he touched his mouth to hers. Because she’d been expecting a brutal assault, the light, gentle touch took her breath away. She found herself incapable of movement as he rubbed his mouth back and forth over hers. When he slid the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, she trembled but still could not move.

      With infinite patience he traced her lips again and again. When they parted, his mouth curved against hers.

      “Sì,” he murmured, “così. Yes, like this.”

      Desire was urgent in his blood, but even now he did not take what she offered. Instead, he leisurely dipped his tongue inside.

      Chiara could see them together. They lay on a couch, surrounded by bright-colored cushions. Her shoulders were bare and pale against the coverlet of crimson silk. Somewhere there was the sound of water lapping against wood. The smell of sweet incense drifted through the room and mingled with the scent of arousal—his and hers. Then he moved over her so that she could see only her eyes—wide-open, smiling with welcome.

      “No.” The single word was directed at the vision, not at the kiss.

      Luca withdrew far enough so that he could see her face. “No?” He smiled, his anger forgotten in the sensual pleasure of the moment. “Are you sure? That certainly felt like a yes.” Without giving her time to reply, he took her mouth again.

      Chiara wanted to fight him, but she found herself unable to move, as if her limbs had suddenly turned to water. He filled her mouth with his tongue, tasting her.

      There was an answering heat within her, but she told herself that it was the heat of hatred. Desperate, she tried to hold on to that, but the heat merged and melded with the light, blinding her as if she were standing in the full sunlight.

      His taste filled her. In a reflexive curiosity, she touched her tongue to his.

      Luca felt that first tentative touch of her tongue go through him as if it were a bolt of lightning.