Fascination: The Sicilian's Ruthless Marriage Revenge. Carole Mortimer

Her nipples were hard and sensitised beneath the soft material of her dress, and there was a spreading warmth between her thighs.

      It was totally incomprehensible to her why she reacted to this man in the way she did. Goodness knew, she had earned that ‘unattainable’ label these last twelve months, and yet every time she was near Cesare Gambrelli her body responded as if it already knew his—as if they were already lovers!

      ‘I have ordered dinner to be served at eight-thirty,’ he told her lightly, continuing to sip his own champagne even as he continued to look at her with that dark, penetrating gaze.

      He could order dinner for whenever he liked—Robin wasn’t in the least sure she would be able to eat anything. Just being with this man was totally robbing her of her appetite.

      ‘Fine,’ she dismissed tautly, although what they were supposed to do for the next forty-five minutes was questionable!

      Surely Cesare didn’t expect them to spend all the time before dinner with his baby nephew?

      ‘You seem a little … tense this evening, Robin,’ he observed.

      Tense? She was so taut with anxiety about this whole evening that her body ached, and her fingers gripped so tightly about the champagne glass that she was in danger of snapping its thin stem!

      ‘After the way you threatened me earlier, how do you expect me to feel, Cesare?’ she retorted.

      His mouth thinned. Of course he had threatened this woman earlier—she was the sister of the man whose memory he held in the highest contempt, the man responsible for Carla’s death!

      He arched dark brows. ‘Perhaps you would like me to give you another demonstration of how much you will … enjoy being married to me?’ he invited smoothly, instantly rewarded by the look of alarm in her violet-coloured eyes.

      ‘I haven’t agreed to marry you yet,’ she reminded him waspishly. ‘So any sort of demonstration on your part is totally unnecessary!’

      Cesare was lingeringly aware of the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her throat, of the soft rise and fall of her pert breasts, of the way her dress hinted at the enticing warmth of her shapely thighs.

      ‘It may be unnecessary, Robin,’ he acknowledged as he took a step towards her, ‘but I, for one, find it inevitable.’

      He took the champagne flute from her unresisting fingers to place it on the coffee table with his own, before turning back to draw her into his arms as his head lowered and his mouth easily captured hers.

      The curves of her body fitted so perfectly against his. Her breasts crushed against the hardness of his chest, the softness of her thighs pressed hard against his arousal, and her hair fell in silky waves about her face as he reached up and released it from its confinement.

      Her mouth tasted of champagne and honey. Her lips were soft and responsive. So very responsive!

      This had to stop, Robin told herself achingly.

      Had to!

      But for the moment she had no will to bring an end to Cesare’s assault on her mouth. His tongue was moving in a sensuous caress against her bottom lip as he quested for entry—an intimacy she couldn’t deny him as her lips parted and his tongue plunged into the waiting heat of her mouth.

      Dear God, she wanted this man! she acknowledged, as her fingers became fiercely entangled in the dark thickness of his hair.

      She wanted Cesare as she had never wanted any man before—not even Giles, the man she had been married to for three years. The man who had cast her aside when she no longer suited his plans for the future—

      She wrenched her mouth from Cesare’s. ‘No!’ she protested, even as she pushed against him. ‘I don’t want this.’ She breathed raggedly, glaring up at him as his arms remained like steel bands about the slenderness of her waist, moulding her body to the hardness of his.

      ‘No?’ he taunted knowingly, eyes dark, a nerve pulsing in the rigidness of his jaw.

      ‘No,’ she repeated firmly.

      Cesare noted the slight trembling of her bottom lip, knowing that she lied—that at that moment she wanted him very much.

      As he wanted her.

      But she was right. This was not the time. Perhaps later, once Marco was asleep.

      He released her abruptly to step back. ‘It is time that you met Marco,’ he told her haughtily.

      ‘Now?’ she breathed shakily, her fingers arresting in the movement of smoothing back her hair as she stared up at him with a haunted expression.

      Cesare’s mouth tightened at her obvious reluctance. ‘Yes—now,’ he grated. ‘I will go through to the nursery and get him—’

      ‘Oh … couldn’t I just come through with you and say goodnight to him there?’ she suggested. ‘It seems a pity to disturb him if he’s already tucked in,’ she added lamely.

      ‘He is not in his cot yet,’ he assured her firmly. ‘And even if he were, I am sure, like all children, he would welcome this break in his routine.’

      No escape there, then, Robin acknowledged with a grimace, her emotions too battered by Cesare’s kisses for her to even attempt to hide the fact that meeting his baby nephew was an ordeal she would rather have forgone.

      ‘I will only be a moment,’ Cesare assured her distantly, before turning to stride from the room.

      Robin picked up her glass of champagne before moving back to stand in front of the window, seeing nothing of the magnificent view outside as she took several nerve-bolstering sips of the wine.

      What would he be like, this young nephew of Cesare’s? If he looked anything like his uncle then she had no doubt that he would be a handsome baby—

      He looked exactly like his uncle! Robin acknowledged achingly, having turned sharply to look at Cesare as she heard him come back into the sitting room, the little boy held securely in his arms.

      Marco’s hair was as dark as Cesare’s, with the same silky curl, and his eyes were that same dark chocolate brown. His beautiful face creased into an excited smile as he looked across the room and spied her standing in front of the window, revealing two endearing little white teeth in his bottom gum.

      He looked very tall for six months, his long legs and body encased in a cartoon-patterned babygro, his little hands resting trustingly on his uncle’s chest.

      Robin felt her insides melt just looking at him.

      ‘Let’s go and say hello to Robin, Marco,’ Cesare murmured encouragingly, and he walked across the room towards her with the baby still held firmly.

      Robin took an involuntary step backwards, her back instantly coming into contact with the window behind her, its slight chill sending a shiver down her spine.

      Cesare’s mouth tightened as he saw Robin back away from him as they approached, the way in which she quivered with distaste even as her eyes remained riveted on Marco.

      What was wrong with this woman? Apart from caring for Carla when she was a baby, Cesare had had little contact with babies himself, but he had fallen in love with Marco from the moment he was born. He could not believe it possible for anyone not to do the same once they had seen the tiny boy.

      But Robin no longer looked as if she just wanted to run, but as if the devil himself were chasing at her heels!

      Cesare’s mouth hardened. ‘He does not bite, Robin,’ he said pointedly.

      ‘No?’ she came back tautly. ‘Those teeth say otherwise.’ She attempted a lightness she was obviously far from feeling.

      Cesare looked at her searchingly, noting the way she held herself away from them, as if she were afraid even to touch Marco.

      But Marco obviously had other ideas, gurgling happily