A Tainted Beauty. Sharon Kendrick

warned Ciro.

      She turned on him and the fear and insecurity she’d been suppressing now came bubbling out in a bitter stream. ‘Don’t you dare tell me to go “easy”,’ she breathed, because surely defiance and anger were preferable to the hot tears which were stinging at the backs of her eyes. ‘I can’t believe that you sat down in my kitchen—sorry, your kitchen—and gave me all that wistful stuff about soup, when all the time…’ She drew in a shuddering breath and felt the brandy fumes scorching through her nostrils. ‘All the time, you must have been laughing at me, knowing that you were now the owner of this house while I had no idea.’

      ‘I was not laughing at you,’ he ground out.

      ‘No? Then why didn’t you do the decent thing and tell me you were the new owner?’

      ‘I thought about it.’ He paused and he could feel the tension in his body. A tension which had been there every time he’d thought about her. ‘But it wasn’t really my place to do so.’

      ‘Why not?’ She met his eyes—the brandy now burning in her stomach, giving her the courage to level an accusation she might normally have bitten back. ‘Because you were too busy flirting with me?’

      He shrugged. ‘There was an element of that,’ he conceded.

      ‘So, what? You thought you’d see how far you could get before you came out and told me?’

      ‘Lily!’ he protested, taken aback by her burning sense of outrage. And wasn’t her response turning him on? For a man unused to any kind of resistance from a woman, wasn’t it turning him on like crazy? ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone home—that much is true. And when I stumbled across you, well…’

      His words tailed off because he was reluctant to explain himself. Admitting his feelings to women wasn’t in his make-up—hadn’t that been a complaint which was always being levelled against him? Eugenia had said it all the time, especially in those early days—when she had been trying to make herself into the kind of woman she thought he wanted.

      Yet Ciro could never remember feeling quite so entranced by anyone as much as Lily Scott. She seemed to embody all the old-fashioned qualities he’d never found in a woman before—and hadn’t her blue-eyed face and sexy body haunted him ever since?

      ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘You can’t come up with a reasonable explanation, can you?’

      Impatiently, he shook his head. ‘If anyone should have told you, it was your stepmother.’

      As if on cue, Suzy came back into the room carrying a tray with coffee and a plate of Lily’s home-made ginger biscuits. Clearly she had overheard his last words because she put the tray down and gave him a reproachful look. ‘That’s not really fair, Ciro—since one of the conditions of your purchase was that I keep your identity secret.’

      ‘My identity, yes,’ he agreed, irritated by her over-familiarity, because he certainly couldn’t remember telling her to call him by his Christian name. Or to keep batting her damned eyelashes at him like that. ‘But I certainly didn’t ask you to keep quiet about the actual sale. No wonder Lily is hurt and upset if she’s just been told that in a few weeks’ time she has nowhere to live.’

      Suzy pouted. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! This isn’t some Charles Dickens novel! She’s not some homeless urchin, you know. I offered her space at my London place, but she turned her nose up at it.’

      Lily had had enough. Feeling slightly nauseous now, she put the half-drunk glass of brandy down on a table. ‘I’m not some kind of object you can just move around!’ she declared.

      ‘I don’t like the thought of you being thrown out of your home,’ he said roughly, thinking that she was now looking quite alarmingly fragile. ‘And I’m willing to help in any way I can.’

      She met his eyes, hating the way her body prickled in response to their dark and seeking gleam. ‘Well, I neither want nor need your help, Mr D’Angelo,’ she said, with as much dignity as was possible when her head was spinning from the hastily gulped brandy. With difficulty, she only just stopped herself from swaying, but the movement was enough to make Ciro move.

      He stepped towards her, his hand instinctively reaching out to catch her wrist and for a brief moment the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Her skin seemed to spark like a bonfire where he touched her and all she was conscious of was him. Him. Staring into the fathomless depths of his dark eyes, her mouth as dry as flour as she imagined him kissing her. Imagined him pulling her into the powerful and protective strength of his body and, to her horror, her breasts began to tighten in response to her fantasy. ‘Get… off me,’ she croaked, wondering if he could feel the rapid thunder of her pulse and if he realised what was causing it. ‘Just let me go.’

      Reluctantly, he let her hand fall—his brow furrowing into a deep frown. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

      Lily glared at him. ‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to work.’

      ‘You can’t—’

      ‘Can’t? Oh, yes, I can! I can do anything I please,’ she said, cutting across his words with fierce determination. ‘I believe your sale is completing on the third of the month, is that right? So I’ll make sure all my belongings will be out of here by then. Goodbye, Mr D’Angelo—and it really is goodbye this time.’

      She could feel his gaze burning into her as she walked out of the room and somehow she made it up to the bedroom she’d had for as long as she could remember. It was only then, surrounded by the comfort of the familiar which would soon be gone, that Lily allowed the hot tears to fall.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘SO WHAT do you think, Lily? I know it’s a bit small.’

      Fiona Weston’s soft voice penetrated Lily’s thoughts as she stared out of the dusty apartment window onto the street below. The village wasn’t exactly in a throbbing metropolis, but it still seemed unbelievably noisy when compared to the peace and quiet she was used to. A cluster of men were standing outside The Duchess of Cambridge pub, all clutching pints and puffing away at cigarettes. A man shot past on a scooter and Lily winced as it emitted a series of ear-splitting popping sounds.

      Well, she was just going to have to get used to it. No more fragrant roses scenting the air outside her window—and no more gazing out at the distant woods or gently rolling fields. Instead, she was going to have to learn to live with the sound of people and cars—because the village car park was only a short distance away.

      ‘It’s… it’s lovely, Fiona,’ said Lily, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, though it wasn’t easy. The brandy she’d knocked back earlier had left her with a splitting headache and she couldn’t get Ciro D’Angelo’s dark face out of her mind. Or the memory of the way she’d responded when he’d caught hold of her wrist.

      It was bad enough that his purchase had caused this dramatic turnaround in her fortunes, but it was made much worse by her reaction to him. He had made her feel vulnerable and he’d made her feel frustrated, too. And while a part of her had hated the rush of pleasure she’d felt when he’d touched her—hadn’t the other part revelled in the feeling of sexual desire? She forced a smile. ‘Absolutely lovely,’ she repeated.

      ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Fiona doubtfully. ‘You can move in any time you want.’

      Lily nodded like one of those old-fashioned dogs her grandfather used to have in the back of his car and she remembered his positive outlook on life. Shouldn’t she be more like that? To start counting her blessings? ‘I can’t wait! It’s such a fantastically compact little apartment—and with a lick of paint and a few pot-plants, you won’t recognise the place.’

      ‘It