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Authors: Sara Craven
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should make any kind of
admission? That was the question that began to hum at the back of
her mind and which she found herself increasingly reluctant to
answer. She'd already admitted to herself that he was out of her
league, so the kind of speculation that she had been indulging in
was unprofitable to say the very least.
She glanced again at the rose, glowing against her dress, and
shivered as she recalled the brush of his fingers against her breasts
as he had placed the flower there. Even that slight physical contact
with him had been like an electric < current, brushing through her
nerve-endings, so what would it be like to be held closely in his
arms—to be kissed by him? Her face flamed hotly as she realised
the exact tenor of her thoughts.
She gave a little shuddering sigh. It was utterly ridiculous to admit
even to herself that she could feel a measure of attraction for
someone like Santino. And such an acknowledgment, even uttered
privately in her heart, was in. some way disloyal to Jan. She could
not respect anyone who held her own sister in such total and cynical
disrespect.
She shook her head in disbelief. What in the world was happening
to her? All the most important considerations seemed suddenly to
have been eroded by these new and frankly overwhelming
sensations that she was experiencing. She knew—or rather she had
always told herself that she knew—what she wanted from a man.
Could it be possible that only a few short hours spent in the
company of someone totally alien to her experience could set all her
ideas, all her principles madly on their respective heads?
If so, it was an unhappy prospect. Would she find herself judging
each future relationship—she grimaced slightly at the word—in
comparison with a man whose eyes gleamed like a mountain lion's,
and whose icy tongue was quite capable of flaying the skin from
your body?
And was that really all it took—that fleeting physical contact and a
dinner at a candlelit restaurant—to begin this insidious bewitchment
of her senses, against all reason and all logic?
No, she told herself decisively, she was not going to allow this to
happen. She picked up her evening purse and rose, outwardly cool
and composed, but inwardly seething with conflicting and mainly
unwelcome emotions.
This mental admission of her attraction to Santino made her
departure to England even more imperative. She needed to escape
quickly while she was still comparatively heart-whole. She gave a
small bitter smile as she turned away. What strange and disturbing
byways her impulse to impersonate Jan had led her into! She had
wondered what it would be like to live her sister's life. Well, now
she knew, and it had not been a comfortable experience. She would
be glad to revert to being plain Juliet Laurence again, she told
herself firmly.
And if she hurried back to England, she might still be in time to join
that barge holiday she'd been offered. She would need something to
take her mind off the past couple of days. If she simply sat at home
brooding, Mim might guess that there was something wrong, and
start leaping to all kinds of conclusions. Juliet shuddered at the
thought of trying to evade her mother's gentle persistence once her
suspicions were aroused.
But for now, she had to get through the homeward journey. The
powder room door swung open at her approach and two women
entered, giving her an incurious look as they swept past on a cloud
of expensive scent. For a moment she lingered, wondering wildly
whether she could evade Santino altogether and get a lift back to
Rome from another patron of the restaurant—perhaps even these
very women.
But common sense soon disabused her of that notion. How was she
going to make herself understood with her limited knowledge of
Italian for one thing? She could hardly go round the terrace until she
found a driver who spoke sufficient English to comprehend her
requirements. And did she
admission? That was the question that began to hum at the back of
her mind and which she found herself increasingly reluctant to
answer. She'd already admitted to herself that he was out of her
league, so the kind of speculation that she had been indulging in
was unprofitable to say the very least.
She glanced again at the rose, glowing against her dress, and
shivered as she recalled the brush of his fingers against her breasts
as he had placed the flower there. Even that slight physical contact
with him had been like an electric < current, brushing through her
nerve-endings, so what would it be like to be held closely in his
arms—to be kissed by him? Her face flamed hotly as she realised
the exact tenor of her thoughts.
She gave a little shuddering sigh. It was utterly ridiculous to admit
even to herself that she could feel a measure of attraction for
someone like Santino. And such an acknowledgment, even uttered
privately in her heart, was in. some way disloyal to Jan. She could
not respect anyone who held her own sister in such total and cynical
disrespect.
She shook her head in disbelief. What in the world was happening
to her? All the most important considerations seemed suddenly to
have been eroded by these new and frankly overwhelming
sensations that she was experiencing. She knew—or rather she had
always told herself that she knew—what she wanted from a man.
Could it be possible that only a few short hours spent in the
company of someone totally alien to her experience could set all her
ideas, all her principles madly on their respective heads?
If so, it was an unhappy prospect. Would she find herself judging
each future relationship—she grimaced slightly at the word—in
comparison with a man whose eyes gleamed like a mountain lion's,
and whose icy tongue was quite capable of flaying the skin from
your body?
And was that really all it took—that fleeting physical contact and a
dinner at a candlelit restaurant—to begin this insidious bewitchment
of her senses, against all reason and all logic?
No, she told herself decisively, she was not going to allow this to
happen. She picked up her evening purse and rose, outwardly cool
and composed, but inwardly seething with conflicting and mainly
unwelcome emotions.
This mental admission of her attraction to Santino made her
departure to England even more imperative. She needed to escape
quickly while she was still comparatively heart-whole. She gave a
small bitter smile as she turned away. What strange and disturbing
byways her impulse to impersonate Jan had led her into! She had
wondered what it would be like to live her sister's life. Well, now
she knew, and it had not been a comfortable experience. She would
be glad to revert to being plain Juliet Laurence again, she told
herself firmly.
And if she hurried back to England, she might still be in time to join
that barge holiday she'd been offered. She would need something to
take her mind off the past couple of days. If she simply sat at home
brooding, Mim might guess that there was something wrong, and
start leaping to all kinds of conclusions. Juliet shuddered at the
thought of trying to evade her mother's gentle persistence once her
suspicions were aroused.
But for now, she had to get through the homeward journey. The
powder room door swung open at her approach and two women
entered, giving her an incurious look as they swept past on a cloud
of expensive scent. For a moment she lingered, wondering wildly
whether she could evade Santino altogether and get a lift back to
Rome from another patron of the restaurant—perhaps even these
very women.
But common sense soon disabused her of that notion. How was she
going to make herself understood with her limited knowledge of
Italian for one thing? She could hardly go round the terrace until she
found a driver who spoke sufficient English to comprehend her
requirements. And did she
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