The Venetian One-Night Baby. Melanie Milburne

on his jacket. The room was moving, pitching like a boat tossed about on a turbulent ocean. Her head felt woolly, her thoughts trying to push through the fog like a hand fumbling for a light switch in the dark. But then a sudden wave of nausea assailed her and she swayed and would have toppled backwards if Max hadn’t countered it with a firm hand at her back.

      ‘Are you okay?’ His voice had a note of concern but it came from a long way off as if he was speaking to her through a long vacuum.

      She was vaguely aware of his other hand coming to grasp her by the shoulder to stabilise her, but then her vision blurred and her stomach contents threatened mutiny. She made a choking sound and pushed Max back and stumbled towards the bathroom.

      To her mortifying shame, Max witnessed the whole of the undignified episode. But she was beyond caring. And besides, it had been quite comforting to have her hair held back from her face and to have the soft press of a cool facecloth on the back of her neck.

      Sabrina sat back on her heels when the worst of it was over. Her head was pounding and her stomach felt as it if had been scraped with a sharp-edged spoon and then rinsed out with hydrochloric acid.

      He handed her a fresh facecloth, his expression wry. ‘Clearly I need some work on my seduction routine.’

      Sabrina managed a fleeting smile. ‘Funny ha-ha.’ She dragged herself up from the floor with considerable help from him, his hands warm and steady and impossibly strong. ‘Argh. I should never drink on an empty stomach.’

      ‘Wasn’t there any food at the cocktail party?’

      ‘I got there late.’ She turned to inspect her reflection in the bathroom mirror and then wished she hadn’t. Could she look any worse? She could almost guarantee none of the super-sophisticated women he dated ever disgraced themselves by heaving over the toilet bowl. She turned back around. ‘Sorry you had to witness that.’

      ‘You need to drink some water. Lots of it, otherwise you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.’ His frown and stern tone reminded her of a parent lecturing a binge-drinking teenager.

      ‘I don’t normally drink much but I was nervous.’

      His frown deepened and he reached for a glass on the bathroom counter and filled it from the tap and then handed it to her. ‘Is this a big deal for you? This wedding expo?’

      Sabrina took the glass from him and took a couple of sips to see how her stomach coped. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been invited to exhibit some of my designs. It’s huge for me. It can take new designers years to get noticed but luckily the fashion show floor manager’s daughter bought one of my dresses and she liked it so much she invited me along. And then Naomi, the journalist in the bar, asked for an interview for a feature article. It’s a big opportunity for me to get my name out there, especially in Europe.’ She drained the glass of water and handed it back to him.

      He dutifully refilled it and handed it back, his frown still carving a trench between his brows. ‘What did you tell her about us?’

      ‘Nothing. I didn’t even mention your name. I just said I was sharing a room with a friend.’

      ‘Are you sure you didn’t mention me?’

      Sabrina frowned. ‘Why would I link my name with yours? Do you think I want anyone back home to know we’re sharing a room? Give me a break. I’m not that stupid. If I let that become common knowledge our parents will have wedding invitations in the post before you can blink.’ She took a breath and continued, ‘Anyway, you were the one who made it look like we were having a dirty weekend. You called me “baby”, for God’s sake.’

      ‘Drink your water,’ he said as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘You need to get some rest if you want to look your best for tomorrow.’

      Sabrina scowled at him over the top of her glass. ‘Do you have to remind me I look a frightful mess?’

      He released a slow breath. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.’

      When Sabrina came out of the bathroom after a shower there was no sign of him in the suite. She wondered if he’d left to give her some privacy or whether he had other plans. Why should she care if he hooked up with someone for a night of unbridled passion? She pulled down the covers on one of the beds and slipped between the cool and silky sheets and closed her eyes...

      * * *

      Max went for a long walk through the streets and alleys of Venice to clear his head. He could still feel the imprint of Sabrina’s body pressing against him in the lift. He’d been hard within seconds. His fault for holding her like that, but the temptation had caught him off guard. Had it been his imagination or had she leaned back into him?

      He wanted her.

      He hated admitting it. Loathed admitting it but there it was. He was in lust with her. He couldn’t remember when he’d started noticing her in that way. It had crept up on him over the last few months. The way his body responded when she looked at him in a certain way. The way his blood surged when she stood up to him and flashed her blue eyes at him in defiance. The way she moved her dancer-slim body making him fantasise about how she would look naked.

      He had to get over it. Ignore it or something. Having a fling with Sabrina would hurt too many people. Hadn’t he hurt his parents enough? If he started a fling with her everyone would get their hopes up that it would become permanent.

      He didn’t do permanent.

      He would get his self-control back in line and get through the weekend without touching her. He opened and closed his hands, trying to rid himself of the feeling of her soft skin. Trying to remove the sensation of her touch. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he just ignore her the way he had for most of his adult life? He’d always kept his distance. Always. He avoided speaking with her. He had watched from the sidelines as she’d spoken to everyone at the various gatherings they’d both attended.

      There was no way a relationship between them would work. Not even a short-term one. She had fairytale written all over her. She came from a family of doctors and yet she had resisted following the tradition and become a wedding-dress designer instead. Didn’t that prove how obsessed with the fairytale she was?

      His mistake had been kissing her three weeks ago. He didn’t understand how he had gone from arguing with her over something to finding her pulling his head down and then his mouth coming down on hers and... He let out a shuddering breath. Why was he still thinking about that damn kiss? The heat of their mouths connecting had tilted the world on its axis, or at least it had felt like it at the time. He could have sworn the floor had shifted beneath his feet. If he closed his eyes he could still taste her sweetness, could still feel the soft pliable texture of her lips moving against his, could still feel the sexy dart of her tongue.

      The worst of it was he had lost control. Desire had swept through him and he still didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from taking her then and there. And that scared the hell of out him.

      It would not—could not—happen again.

      * * *

      When Max entered the suite in the early hours of the morning, Sabrina was sound asleep, curled up like a kitten, her brown hair spilling over the pillow. One of her hands was tucked under the cheek; the other was lying on the top of the covers. She was wearing a cream satin nightie for he could see the delicate lace trim across her décolletage peeking out from where the sheet was lying across her chest.

      The desire to slip into that bed and pull her into his arms was so strong he had to clench his hands into fists. He clearly had to do something about his sex life if he was ogling the one woman he wanted to avoid. When was the last time he’d been with someone? A month? Two...or was it three? He’d been busy working on multiple projects, which hadn’t left much time for a social life. Not that he had a much of a social life. He preferred his own company so he could get on with his work.

      Work. That’s what he needed to concentrate on. He moved past the bed to go to the desk where