advancing across the room towards her, his eyes burning with an intensity that was almost frightening.
‗Forget it,‘ she muttered, going into the bathroom to collect the things she‘d left in there. ‗It doesn‘t matter.‘
She threw her toothbrush into her washbag and, going out again, collided with him in the doorway.
Before she could back away, he caught hold of her shoulders and looked down at her with a twisted, ironic smile that skewered her heart. ‗Actually, it does.‘
Noticing the washbag, he frowned. ‗What are you doing?‘
‗Packing. I‘m going home.‘
His grip on her shoulders didn‘t loosen, but his gaze shifted from hers, sliding downwards. ‗That‘s a shame,‘ he said gravely. ‗I would have liked to get to know you better.‘ He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek.
In the soft light his face wore an abstracted expression, and was almost impossibly perfect. ‗Could I persuade you to stay?‘
Agonising desire zigzagged through her like lightning, rooting her to the spot for a second as every nerve in her body sang beneath his touch and her senses reeled at his nearness. For all this time she had carried the scent of his skin in her memory, and now it was in her head, and the eyes she had looked into so often in her dreams were staring straight back into hers…
But their expression was different now. Gone was the emotion that had reached inside her and tugged her heart from her chest, and in its place was something darker. Harder. Colder.
‗ No. ‘
Wrenching herself away, she took a couple of steps backwards, gathering up folds of satin, twisting them in her damp fists as she walked around to the other side of the pristine hotel bed. ‗I don‘t want to be another notch on your bedpost, another anonymous name on your list of one-night stands.‘ Grabbing her case, she viciously shoved the washbag into it and gave a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh. ‗I suppose that if you take into account that night four years ago that would technically make it a two -night stand, but it would also make me doubly stupid to fall for the same routine tw—‘
The knock at the door made her jump and stopped her mid-sentence.
Rushing to open it, she was dimly aware that she was still wearing the blue satin dress and had just put all the rest of her clothes in the suitcase. What was it about Cristiano Maresca that made it impossible to think straight?
‗Good evening, mademoiselle .‘
It was the concierge—a short, sleek man, with a neat moustache like Hercule Poirot. A strange mixture of relief and panic churned inside her at the thought of leaving here now. Walking away down the wide, thick-carpeted corridor. Walking away from Cristiano for good.
‗You asked to be booked on a flight back to Leeds, England, as soon as possible?‘ the concierge asked politely.
‗Yes. I‘ll just get my—‘
‘Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle, but I‘m afraid I have bad news. Due to thick fog over Leeds tonight many flights have been cancelled, and the remaining ones are being diverted to Heathrow. I‘m afraid there are no seats available on any UK
flight with any airline at the moment.‘
Kate felt the air whoosh from her lungs and the ground tilt a little beneath her feet as she took in this information. It felt like absorbing a physical blow.
‗But that can‘t be right, surely? There must be something…‘
‗I‘m afraid not, mademoiselle ,‘ the concierge murmured gravely. ‗I have checked with all the airlines. Of course,‘ he added doubtfully, glancing at her very obviously un-designer jumper, ‗if it is urgent I could possibly look into a private charter…?‘
Kate shook her head, swallowing back the hysterical bubble of laughter that rose inside her. Dominic was notoriously relaxed when it came to expenses, but she suspected that even he might balk at private jet hire. And, since most weeks she struggled to afford petrol for her ancient
‗Forget it,‘ she muttered, going into the bathroom to collect the things she‘d left in there. ‗It doesn‘t matter.‘
She threw her toothbrush into her washbag and, going out again, collided with him in the doorway.
Before she could back away, he caught hold of her shoulders and looked down at her with a twisted, ironic smile that skewered her heart. ‗Actually, it does.‘
Noticing the washbag, he frowned. ‗What are you doing?‘
‗Packing. I‘m going home.‘
His grip on her shoulders didn‘t loosen, but his gaze shifted from hers, sliding downwards. ‗That‘s a shame,‘ he said gravely. ‗I would have liked to get to know you better.‘ He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek.
In the soft light his face wore an abstracted expression, and was almost impossibly perfect. ‗Could I persuade you to stay?‘
Agonising desire zigzagged through her like lightning, rooting her to the spot for a second as every nerve in her body sang beneath his touch and her senses reeled at his nearness. For all this time she had carried the scent of his skin in her memory, and now it was in her head, and the eyes she had looked into so often in her dreams were staring straight back into hers…
But their expression was different now. Gone was the emotion that had reached inside her and tugged her heart from her chest, and in its place was something darker. Harder. Colder.
‗ No. ‘
Wrenching herself away, she took a couple of steps backwards, gathering up folds of satin, twisting them in her damp fists as she walked around to the other side of the pristine hotel bed. ‗I don‘t want to be another notch on your bedpost, another anonymous name on your list of one-night stands.‘ Grabbing her case, she viciously shoved the washbag into it and gave a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh. ‗I suppose that if you take into account that night four years ago that would technically make it a two -night stand, but it would also make me doubly stupid to fall for the same routine tw—‘
The knock at the door made her jump and stopped her mid-sentence.
Rushing to open it, she was dimly aware that she was still wearing the blue satin dress and had just put all the rest of her clothes in the suitcase. What was it about Cristiano Maresca that made it impossible to think straight?
‗Good evening, mademoiselle .‘
It was the concierge—a short, sleek man, with a neat moustache like Hercule Poirot. A strange mixture of relief and panic churned inside her at the thought of leaving here now. Walking away down the wide, thick-carpeted corridor. Walking away from Cristiano for good.
‗You asked to be booked on a flight back to Leeds, England, as soon as possible?‘ the concierge asked politely.
‗Yes. I‘ll just get my—‘
‘Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle, but I‘m afraid I have bad news. Due to thick fog over Leeds tonight many flights have been cancelled, and the remaining ones are being diverted to Heathrow. I‘m afraid there are no seats available on any UK
flight with any airline at the moment.‘
Kate felt the air whoosh from her lungs and the ground tilt a little beneath her feet as she took in this information. It felt like absorbing a physical blow.
‗But that can‘t be right, surely? There must be something…‘
‗I‘m afraid not, mademoiselle ,‘ the concierge murmured gravely. ‗I have checked with all the airlines. Of course,‘ he added doubtfully, glancing at her very obviously un-designer jumper, ‗if it is urgent I could possibly look into a private charter…?‘
Kate shook her head, swallowing back the hysterical bubble of laughter that rose inside her. Dominic was notoriously relaxed when it came to expenses, but she suspected that even he might balk at private jet hire. And, since most weeks she struggled to afford petrol for her ancient
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