The Christmas Eve Bride. Lynne GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
of euphoria, of being appreciated when he looked at her in just that way. What way? As if there were only the two of them in the whole wide world, as if she was someone special. Before Rocco came along, nobody had ever made Amber feel special or important or needed.
Her breath catching in her throat, she stared back at him, wholly enchanted by the charisma of that breathtaking smile. ‘I’m not lying…’ she muttered without even being aware of what she was saying.
Rocco reached out and closed his hands over hers. At first contact, a helpless shiver ran through her. Slowly, he smoothed out her tightly clenched fingers, one by one. Like a rabbit caught in car headlights, she gazed up at him, heart banging against her ribcage, aware only of him and the seductive weakness induced by the heat blossoming inside her. He eased her inches closer. His warmth, the feel of his skin on hers again, the powerful intoxicant of his familiar scent overpowered her senses.
‘I said I wouldn’t touch you again if I was dying but…’ The rasp of his voice travelled down her responsive spine like hot, delicious honey.
‘But?’
’Dio…’ Rocco husked, drawing her the last couple of inches. ‘I believe I could be persuaded otherwise, tabbycat…’
The sound of that endearment made her melt.
‘However, you would have to promise to keep it quiet—’
‘Quiet?’ All concentration shot, she didn’t grasp what he was talking about.
‘I don’t want to open a newspaper on Monday morning to find out how I scored between the sheets again—’
‘Sorry…?’
Without warning, Rocco released her hands and, since he was just about all that was holding her upright on her wobbling lower limbs, she almost fell on top of him. He righted her again with deft cool. ‘Think about it,’ he advised, stepping away from her.
For an instant, Amber hovered, breathing in deep, striving to get her brain into gear again. She did not have to think very hard. ‘Apart from the obvious, what are you trying to imply?’
‘I’m bored this weekend and you challenged me.’
In considerable emotional disarray as she appreciated that she had been standing there transfixed and hypnotised, entirely entrapped by the sexual power he had exercised over her, Amber spun round. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Rocco sent her a sizzling glance of mockery. ‘Maybe I want to see you faking it for my benefit.’
Amber reddened to the roots of her hair. ‘No chance,’ she said curtly and stepped past him to hurry back out to the sitting room.
Without the slightest warning whatsoever, the door she was heading for opened and Kaye Winton walked in. At the sight of Amber, she frowned in astonishment, pale blue eyes rounding. ‘What are you doing up here?’
Mind a complete blank, Amber found herself glancing in desperation at Rocco.
Brilliant dark eyes gleaming, Rocco said, ‘I asked for someone to remove the flowers.’
‘The flowers?’ the beautiful brunette questioned.
‘I’m allergic to them.’ Rocco told the lie with a straight face.
‘Oh, no!’ Kaye surged over to the centre table as if jet-propelled. Gathering up the giant glass vase, she planted it bodily into Amber’s hastily extended arms. ‘Take them away immediately. I’m so sorry, Rocco!’
Her sweater soaked by the water that had slopped out of the vase with the other woman’s careless handling, Amber headed for the corridor at speed, her shaken expression hidden by the mass of trendy corkscrew twigs and lilies she had arranged earlier that day. It was ironic that she should be grateful for Rocco’s quick thinking, even more relieved that her employer’s wife had not come in a minute sooner and found her in his bedroom. How on earth would she ever have explained that?
Indeed, how could she even explain to herself why she had allowed Rocco to behave as he had? She had acted like a doll without mind or voice and offered no objection to his touching her. Sick with shame at her own weakness, Amber disposed of the floral arrangement and pulled on her work boots again with unsteady hands. Rocco was bored. Rocco was playing manipulative games with her to amuse himself. Dear heaven, that hurt her so much. And she knew it shouldn’t hurt, knew she should have been fully on her guard and capable of resisting Rocco’s smouldering sexuality.
Wasn’t she supposed to hate him? Well, hatred had kept her far from cool when he’d turned up the heat. And there she was blaming him when she ought to be blaming herself! Rocco had made her want him again…instantly, easily, reawakening the hunger she had truly believed she had buried for ever. But with every skin-cell alight with anticipation, she had just been desperate for him to kiss her. And he hadn’t kissed her either, which told her just how complete his own control had been in comparison to her own.
Well, she was going to spend the rest of the weekend at her sister’s house and stay well out of Rocco’s way, she told herself impulsively. Then she recalled that she couldn’t do that. True, she was babysitting at her sister’s that evening, but she had to work Saturdays and would have to turn in as usual. Harris Winton was usually home only at weekends and the reason Amber got a day off mid-week instead was that her employer insisted that she be available for his weekly inspection tour of the grounds.
She trudged round to the old coachyard and climbed into the ten-year-old hatchback her brother-in-law, Neville, had given her on loan, saying it had been a trade-in for one of the luxury cars he imported, but not really convincing her with that less-than-likely story. Furthermore, the car was on permanent loan, Amber reflected heavily, once again reminded of just how dependent she was on Neville and Opal’s generosity.
The independence she had sought was as far out of her reach as it had ever been, she conceded heavily. Her sole source of pride was that she was no longer living under her sister’s roof. But she was only able to work because she shared the services of the expensive but very well-trained nanny her sister employed to look after her own child. Amber’s low salary would not stretch to full-time childcare or indeed towards much of a contribution towards the nanny’s salary. So she kept on saying thank you to her family and accepting for Freddy’s sake, striving to repay their generosity by making herself useful in other ways. It occurred to her then that she could have wiped the sardonic smile from Rocco’s darkly handsome features with just a few words.
As she drove over to the exclusive housing development where her sister lived, she asked herself why she hadn’t spoken those words to Rocco when she had finally got the opportunity.
‘Rocco Volpe is pond scum,’ her sister, Opal, had pronounced on the day of Freddy’s birth. ‘But I’d sooner cut my throat than watch you humiliate yourself trailing him through the courts to establish paternity and win a financial settlement. Rich men fight paternity suits every step of the way. The whole process can drag on for years, particularly when the father is not a British citizen. He could leave the country and stonewall you at every turn. Keep your pride…that’s my advice.’
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