A Sicilian Husband. Kate Walker

would always know it was there—and so would he.

      ‘Remember that…I never flatter.’

      His dark gaze dropped to where her hand still lay on his, looking pale and delicate in contrast to the tanned power of his fingers. Twisting his hand in hers so that they were palm to palm, he linked his fingers with hers, smoothing his thumb softly over her skin.

      ‘So, no sweet,’ he said, reverting to the conversation of moments before. ‘Coffee? A liqueur?’

      ‘C-coffee would be nice.’

      Somehow she forced her tongue to work, wincing inwardly when she heard the way that it croaked and fractured at the end of the sentence.

      ‘We’ll take it in the lounge.’

      It was a command, not a suggestion, and she could only nod a silent acquiescence to the tone of his voice.

      He didn’t release her hand as they stood up, but kept his fingers locked with hers, pulling her to his side as soon as she had moved clear of the table. With his free hand he scooped up the discarded red jacket, tossing it over his arm, barely waiting for her to collect her handbag before he headed towards the door out of the restaurant.

      She knew how he felt, Terrie reflected shakenly. She shared that sudden need to be somewhere quieter, less public—more intimate. The thoughts that were in her head, the feelings that his words and his touch had triggered off, were not at all appropriate for the public rooms of a big London hotel. She felt sure that the sensual inferno raging in her blood must be etched onto her face, stamped onto her forehead in letters of fire for all to read. Even if they found the darkest, the most secluded corner of the lounge, she suspected that the heat of the yearning that had her in its grip must radiate from her, scorching anyone who passed.

      But if they had wanted peace and quiet, as soon as they entered the lounge she saw that they would be disappointed. The comfortable chairs and cushioned settees dotted around the huge room were all occupied. Almost all the guests who had eaten in the restaurant had chosen to take their coffee here, and they looked as if they planned to linger late into the evening.

      ‘We’re out of luck.’ Gio’s tone was flat, unrevealing of what he was thinking.

      Perhaps they were in luck. Terrie swallowed, made herself speak before her nerve broke completely.

      ‘Do you think they would bring the coffee to our—to my—your room?’

      Such simple words but she almost felt the reverberations that followed from them echoing through the room, making the floor suddenly unsteady beneath her feet. And Gio’s sudden silence, the total stillness of his long body beside her, made it clear that he was thinking much the same thing.

      ‘It would be quieter—more private.’

      ‘Is that what you want?’

      He was watching her again, waiting for her reply. But all Terrie’s strength had deserted her, along with her ability to speak. She could only nod silently, unable to put into words the way she was feeling.

      She didn’t care if it was foolish, if it was the craziest, the most rash decision she had ever made. Ruthlessly she pushed aside the protesting cries of her offended sense of self-preservation, the promptings of innate caution. It didn’t matter what the end result would be, what risks she was running. She only knew that she couldn’t let this evening end now, here, in this public room. She couldn’t let this man go, walk out of her life, without seeing just how far this unexpected relationship might go.

      She knew she would regret it for the rest of her life if she did.

      So she nodded again, more firmly this time, and wetted her painfully dry lips, praying that her voice would obey her this time.

      ‘Yes,’ she said rawly, thankful that at least she could speak even if the word sounded horribly rough round the edges. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I want.’