The Sicilian's Surprise Love-Child. Carol Marinelli

if his morals were filthy.

      Oh, yes, she had heard the gossip about his many women!

      But there was still something so clean about him—the tang of his scent and the neatness of his nails that made her shiver on the inside.

      She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body that was burning inside like the mountains that were aflame all around them.

      She headed into her pink bedroom. It was too childish—she knew that—but then she should be gone by now.

      Aurora thought now that she would either be the village spinster or perhaps she would marry one day.

      But she would never know the bliss of Nico.

      Never.

       Ever.

      And that made angry tears moisten her eyes.

      Her nipples felt as if the surface skin had been roughened as she stuffed her breasts into her bra. And as she wrestled her dark hair into some semblance of style there was suddenly the snap of a chain, and her collana, the cross and chain she had worn for ever, fell to the floor.

      It felt like a sign.

      She felt dangerous and reckless and everything she should not be.

      Oh, what was the point of being a good Italian girl when the perfect Italian boy didn’t want you?

      And so she went to the special book on her shelf, out of which she had cut the middle and in which hid the forbidden Pill.

      The Pointless Pill, she called it, for she could not imagine sex with anyone other than Nico.

      Tonight she would drink wine and try kissing that firefighter again—and maybe this time when his hand went to her breasts she would not brush him off.

       To hell with you, Nico Caruso. I shall get over you.

      She put blusher on her cheeks and lengthened her lashes with mascara before sliding glossy pink onto her lips.

      She dabbed perfume on her neck and wrists and then strapped on high heels. And she knew that she was not dressing for the fireman tonight, but for the one minute when she would pass Nico on her way out.

      She wanted him to ache with regret.

      Instead Nico ached with need when, mid-meal, Aurora teetered out in heels and a silver dress.

      Nico tried not to look up.

      ‘Go and change, Aurora,’ Bruno warned.

      ‘Why? I would just have to put my dress and shoes in a bag and change in the street,’ Aurora said cheekily. ‘Because I am wearing my silver dress tonight, whatever you say.’

      Nico could not help but smile. Aurora did not hide, or lie, she just was who she was.

      The taxi tooted. The one taxi that ferried people between villages.

      He had to ignore the effect of her and the feeling, a lot like fear, that rose when he thought of her out on those fiery mountains tonight.

      As she bent and kissed her father, her mother, her brother, he found he had to stop himself from running a tense hand down his jaw and neck as he awaited the torture to come.

      Torture for them both.

      If she did not extend to him the traditional farewell it would give rise to comments. Her omission would be noted and it would be awkward indeed.

      He sat at the head of the table, and as she bent she put her hand on its surface to make as little contact with Nico as she could.

      His cheek was cool when her lips brushed it. His scent she tried to obliterate by not breathing in. But because her brother leaned forward to ladle out more pasta she had to move quickly and put out a hand on Nico’s shoulder.

      It was solid and warm.

      One cheek to go.

      Both were holding their breath.

      Their desire was like the cattails and the bulrushes, waiting to be snapped open and for a million seeds to fly out and expand.

      ‘Be safe,’ he told her, in a voice that was somewhat gruff.

      She gave the tiniest unreadable smile, and in it was a glint of danger as she straightened up.

      ‘I’m not your problem, Nico.’

      She was, Nico knew, looking for trouble tonight.

       Hell.