At Her Latin Lover's Command. Susan Stephens

through his hair till it was uncharacteristically tousled. He looked almost vulnerable, his dark eyes huge and liquid. However hard she tried, she couldn’t stop wanting him. And it was crucifying her.

      There seemed to be a current flowing between them. A last remaining link perhaps, however tenuous, of the passions they had aroused in one another. He despised her—but he desired her, as well.

      The evidence was all too obvious and she felt a spasm of excitement vibrating in every nerve of her body. Because there was one sure way to get rid of their unwanted lust. And before she realised what she was doing, she found herself saying recklessly,

      ‘Dante…I can see that you hate being tied to me. I feel the same about you. I want to be back in control. Why don’t we lay all the ghosts once and for all? We are married, after all—’

      ‘Out of the question!’ he exclaimed, knowing by her expression exactly what she had in mind.

      To make love. To rid themselves of this need for one another. And to start again, cold, indifferent, businesslike.

      Or would they?

      She heaved in a breath, realising that they’d never know. He’d fight his desire all the way. But then it was easier for him. He’d never loved her as she’d loved him.

      ‘I had thought you might be prepared to comfort me,’ she faltered. ‘Hold me securely until I slept.’

      ‘And?’ he challenged.

      Trapped by his laser stare, she lowered her eyes, unable to understand why she couldn’t get it into her head that he had never had any deep feelings for her. It seemed her heart just wouldn’t accept that fact. Nor her body. It seemed inconceivable that she could ever contemplate sex without love. Worse, that she could want a man who had nothing but contempt for her.

      And yet she seemed to be obsessed by Dante. He possessed her, body and soul, and she was alarmingly helpless in the face of her irrational passion. All her life she’d been in command of herself. Losing control like this was alarming. The situation had to change. She decided to be frank.

      ‘I’m not going to beat about the bush. You said yourself that we want one another,’ she defended quietly.

      ‘And we must resist that, for our own self-respect,’ he muttered.

      Then she looked up at him, catching a wrench of despair crossing his face. Emboldened by the evidence of his dilemma, she spoke her mind.

      ‘You say it’s inevitable that these feelings will remain for a while—and you’re right. What are we going to do when this happens again, then? Spend our spare time taking cold showers?’

      ‘There can be no other solution,’ he replied bleakly.

      ‘You and I had sex without love for the whole of our marriage,’ she pointed out with some tartness.

      He might not have loved her, but he’d been perfectly willing to use her. She went cold. Had he found someone else?

      Fury blazed in his eyes and his mouth compressed. ‘That’s no excuse to repeat it. I am not your comfort blanket!’ he snarled. ‘I will not be used to satisfy your needs! The situation is too delicate. I accept that this has been a difficult day for both of us but I am sure things will be easier in the morning. You’re tough, Miranda. You’ll get used to the lack of sex—’

      ‘And you?’ she asked unhappily.

      One day he’d really fall in love. She felt her stomach cramp. Even if there wasn’t anyone at the moment, there was a danger that he’d meet the love of his life one day. Another woman in his bed, as his wife. The pain racked her.

      Another woman mothering Carlo. Then, Miranda thought in dismay, she’d really be defunct. Fear raced through her, draining what little strength she had. The danger had never dawned on her before. She wouldn’t let that happen! But how could she ever prevent it?

      ‘I can get used to anything if it means Carlo is happy,’ Dante replied, his eyes like cold black pebbles. ‘His welfare will always be uppermost in my mind. We have to make this work, Miranda! We can’t let him down.’

      She knew then that she would move heaven and earth to clear her name. Perhaps then, she thought wistfully, like many who were in arranged marriages, he’d eventually fall in love with her.

      It was her only hope if she was to stay close to the two people who had captivated her heart.

      ‘I know! I swear that I will do everything I can to make this a success!’ she whispered, choked with emotion.

      ‘Make sure you do.’

      After one last look at her huge, bruised eyes, he spun around on his heel and strode rapidly into her sitting room. The light there flicked off, leaving her in the dark. The connecting doors closed softly and she heard the sound of a key turning.

      A subdued Miranda slid beneath the bedclothes, her heart beating like a drum. As well as the nightmares when she went to bed, she’d be living one during each day. Being close to Dante and behaving with polite restraint would be harder than she could ever have believed. It would be torture to be in his company—and yet not able to reveal her true feelings.

      He still held her heart in his hands. Despite everything, she loved him more than she could believe possible. Wanted him. As a friend, companion, a lover, a husband. Longed for his respect and admiration. And that all seemed a very long way from being realised.

      ‘Oh, sweet heaven!’ she whispered into the blackness of the room. ‘Make me strong for Carlo’s sake!’

      Dante was wrong. It wouldn’t be better in the morning. Miranda gritted her teeth, determined not to be destroyed by the situation. Tomorrow she might be calmer and able to deal with the problem.

      Her life had been hard before and she had overcome it. Nothing was impossible. Not even winning Dante’s approval and, one day, his love. Which meant she must become lovable in his eyes. A warm and inviting woman.

      So she would have to change.

      Dante had found her rigid self-control to be a barrier between them. But could she risk surrendering that and exposing herself to hurt?

      Sleep would not come. After tossing and turning for a while, she gave up and slipped from the bed. By feeling her way across the room, she managed to locate the floor-to-ceiling window and the mechanism to pull back the drapes.

      Immediately she felt soothed. Across the tar-black lake, village lights twinkled seductively and danced in the water with their shimmering gold reflections. The garden below was lit with soft-focus lamps, making it seem a magical place. A paradise in which Carlo could grow up.

      Her heartbeat slowed. Yes. She could do it. It would take tenacity and grit, but she would slowly and surely establish her position as someone with high moral values and total devotion to the family. That was all that mattered.

      Her thoughtful gaze fell on a figure, which had stepped out onto the terrace. Dante, dressed in jeans and a sweater, with the antenna of a baby alarm sticking out of his pocket. Miranda drew back a little, not wishing to be seen, but he didn’t glance back at the house once.

      Like her, he studied the view and she saw his high shoulders gradually ease to a more normal level. Head lowered, he began to pace up and down. For a while she watched in some sympathy, then she stumbled back to bed, somewhat consoled that he too had been disturbed, even though his agitation had probably only been caused by unrelieved lust.

      And perhaps also, she thought wryly, by the idea of harbouring an alcoholic junkie under his roof!

      For a long time she chewed over the situation. Gradually she came to the conclusion that, however ruthless he might be, he was also honest and fair. He’d acknowledged her distress and had realised that it had been a difficult day for her. Hopefully their misunderstandings would be corrected. They must be, if she was to survive his suspicion.

      One joy remained to boost her spirits. She smiled tenderly as she