Page 23 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

She swallowed. ‘Please don’t call me darling, when we both know you don’t mean it.’

‘Your command of the Italian language is coming along leaps and bounds.’

‘Yes. Obviously I’ve been quick to learn the words for “tyrant” and “despot”!’

He laughed as he glanced up at the strawberry milkshake blur of the blossom overhead, before lowering his head to survey her from between shuttered eyes. ‘Did you tell Floriana?’

‘Tell her what?’

He gave a click of irritation. ‘About what happened last night.’

‘That depends what you’re referring to, Romano. A lot of things happened last night,’ she declared. ‘There was a party after the christening, during which you did your best to showcase how well you could glower and stomp around the room. Much later, I did the washing up, and—’

‘Don’t play games with me, Kelly,’ he warned softly.

Kelly bit her lip. How would he respond if she told him she didn’t know how else to behave? Flippancy seemed a safer bet than vulnerability and surely insolence would protect her against this dangerous and destabilising rush of emotion. Because, standing here in the pure light of the early spring morning, it was hard to get her head around what they had done. This handsome and intimidating man had been her lover. He had explored her in a way which no other man had before. He had beeninsideher. He had choked out something helpless as he had come and this kind of thing happened to women all over the world, every single day. Did it make them feel different, too? As if a new person were inhabiting the same skin. As if she didn’t really know herself any more. She cleared her throat. ‘I take it you’re referring to our ill-advised grapple in the bedroom?’

His brow creased. ‘Ourwhat?’

‘Oh, come on, Romano. We both know your English is good enough not to require a dictionary definition ofgrapple.’

A hiss of air was expelled from his lips. ‘You insult me, Kelly Butler,’ he told her quietly. ‘Was that your intention?’

‘Well, maybe a bit, yes,’ she admitted. ‘You’re so easy to wind up. But I’m also trying to be realistic. Because how else would you describe what we did? Surely you wouldn’t want me to put a romantic spin on it? Because that would be completely false. And since it was nothing more than physical, then why would I embarrass Floriana by telling her? She probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. She knows how much we dislike one another. It wasn’t my finest hour.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Nor yours, I imagine.’

‘Porca miseria, but your tongue can wound,’ he observed wryly.

‘Maybe it’s good for you to know how it feels, because yours can too.’ She could hear the faint vibration of a phone sounding in his breast pocket but he didn’t answer it. ‘Look, somebody’s trying to get hold of you. Take your call. I’m going back to the castle.’

‘The call can wait. I will come with you.’

She shrugged, as if that might somehow cancel out the excited leap of her heart. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said carelessly, once again noting the superb cut of his clothing. ‘And speaking of suits—why are you dressed like that?’

Romano fell into step beside her, wondering how she could manage to look so attractive in the striped sweater he’d seen before and an oversized pair of crumpled jeans. He had deliberately absented himself from thecastellothis morning, even though he was curious to see how she would react to him in the cold light of day, wondering if she would gush or pursue him, as women always did after sex. But not Kelly. She hadn’t sought him out on his ride to gaze at him with admiring eyes, nor looked at him knowingly when he’d walked into the room as if to remind him of last night’s intimacy. She had been nothing but her usual feisty and combative self and had given him a very honest piece of her mind, without any apparent heed of the consequences. Once again, she had confused him.

A reluctant sigh left his lungs. She was a puzzle, this unexpected virgin who had given herself to him with such sweetness. And Romano did not like puzzles.

He liked answers.

Facts.

Certainty.

Because all of those things guaranteed control and that was the only thing he trusted. Control meant you didn’t panic, or scream. It had been the earliest lesson he’d ever learned. The only lesson which really mattered. A forbidden image flashed into his mind and he tensed as he recalled that lost little boy, alone with his mother’s body.

No. A pulse flared at his temple. Some things you never forgot, no matter how hard you tried.

For a while last night, he had lost some of his habitual control and it had unsettled him.Back in his room, he had been determined to put the redhead out of his mind and, for a man who had always been able to compartmentalise his lovers, it should have been easy. But eyes as bright as emeralds had ambushed his dreams and those fleshy curves had taunted him with remembered rapture and he had woken this morning, aching and hard and out of sorts.

‘Whatdidmake you drop out of art school?’ he questioned suddenly.

Her footsteps momentarily faltered on the gravel path and he saw the hesitation on her face. The sudden unexpected flash of pain. And then her expression became blank again.

‘My mother was sick.’ She started walking again, increasing her speed as if she didn’t want him to keep up, but he did, his long stride easily outstripping hers.

‘Tell me about it, Kelly,’ he urged, remembering that when he’d heard, he’d naturally assumed she was flighty—without the staying power to tackle a three-year degree course.

‘There’s not really that much to tell. I moved in with her to nurse her, though it was a bit cramped. She had a little flat she’d bought when she retired as matron, and when she died, I…’

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