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‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

‘Surely you mean what are we doing?’ Vincente murmured almost against her lips. ‘There’s no mystery about it.’

‘But—no—we ought to stop this now.’

‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ He spoke softly and his warm breath whispered against her face.

‘Yes…yes, it’s…what I want.’

She was lying and they both knew it. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him.

Elise didn’t even like Vincente Farnese particularly. What little she knew of his mind stimulated her and they had formed an alliance of convenience, but she’d also sensed a watchfulness in him, a carefully preserved distance that precluded any warmth. There was no tenderness, no meeting of the emotions.

Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she felt a desire that was liberated from all feelings—raw, basic, uncomplicated. She ached to be in his arms, in his bed. She wanted to undress before his hungry gaze, making a delicious performance of it. But she also wanted him to remove her clothes slowly—so slowly—heightening her excitement with every leisurely movement.

She longed to join her nakedness to his, feeling his fingers explore her gently, then urgently, with passionate desire ever mounting until at last his control was destroyed and he claimed her with fierce abandon.

Yes, she thought with sudden understanding, that was what she wanted most: to see this man, so sure of himself and his powers of command, lose all control because of her. That would be satisfying as nothing else would be.

Everything was there in her head, tingling along her nerves, the anticipation of what he would do and what she would do. She tried to shut off the thought, fearful lest he sense it. But, of course, he’d already sensed it. That was what made him dangerous.

‘Why deny us what we both want?’ he asked, reading her thoughts again in the way he did with such terrifying ease.

‘I don’t always take what I want,’ she said slowly.

‘That’s a mistake. You haven’t had enough pleasure and satisfaction in your life. You should take it now that you’re free.’

‘Free,’ she echoed longingly. ‘Will I ever be free?’

‘What should stop you?’

‘So much…so much…’

He drew her closer and laid his lips against the tender skin of her neck.

‘Take what you want,’ he whispered. ‘Take it, pay the price, but don’t waste time on regrets.’

‘Is that how you live?’

‘Always,’ he said, turning to guide her off the dance floor. ‘Let’s go.’

On the journey they didn’t speak, but sat together in the back of the car, watching the light and darkness flicker over each other’s faces.

Conscious of eyes upon them, they walked sedately through the hotel lobby and up to her suite. Only when the door had closed behind them did he toss aside the velvet wrap and take her into his arms, raining kisses all over her neck and shoulders.

Elise threw back her head, yielding herself up to the sweet sensation, welcoming it. Each touch of his lips sparked off tremors that flowed down over her skin, between her breasts, creating life where there had been only desolation before. A deep, shuddering breath escaped her and she reached for him.

She didn’t know how they got into the bedroom, but she was lying down and he was beside her, casting his jacket aside, then reaching for her dress, pulling it down to uncover her breasts.

For a moment his face, suffused with passion, loomed over her. She reached up, meaning to pull him down to her, but her hand seemed to have a will of its own. Instead of drawing him closer, it tensed to fend him off.

‘Wait,’ she whispered.

He became still, frowning as though not sure he’d heard her properly.

‘Wait,’ she repeated. ‘What’s happening to me?’

It was the worst possible moment for an attack of common sense, but it had leapt on her without warning, freezing her blood, filling her with dismay at herself.

‘I can’t tell you that,’ Vincente said. ‘Only you know what you really want. If you’ve changed your mind, you have only to tell me to leave.’

He was breathing harshly, but he was in command of himself.

‘I’m not sure—not any more. Please let me go.’

For the briefest moment he was disconcerted, but then his eyes gleamed with respect.

‘Very clever—very subtle.’

‘No, you’re wrong. I’m not playing tricks. It’s just that—’ She sat up and moved away from him. ‘Good grief! Today was my husband’s funeral.’

‘Suddenly you remember that?’

‘I guess I’m more conventional than I thought I was. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this.’

He too got up, retrieving his jacket from the floor.

‘You may be right,’ he observed. ‘It will keep until we meet again.’

‘I doubt that we’ll ever meet again.’

In the darkness she couldn’t see his face well or read its expression, couldn’t see the bafflement, admiration and sheer blazing hatred that chased each other in swift succession through his eyes.

‘You’re wrong,’ he said softly. ‘This isn’t the end between us. There’ll come a day when you’ll remember what I told you—take what you want. And then you’ll take it because, in that, we’re the same.’

Now her thwarted passion was punishing her, making her tremble with the violence she’d done to herself. But from somewhere she found the strength to give him a challenging look and say, ‘You left something out. I’ll take it when I’m ready, and not before.’

‘Then there’s nothing more for me to say. I will bid you goodnight.’

Before her astonished eyes, he walked calmly out of the room without a backward glance.

Vincente was just closing his suitcase the next morning when his cellphone shrilled.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s your driver. You said to let you know if I saw her. She’s just got into a taxi. I heard her tell the driver to go to the cemetery.’

‘I’ll be right there. Have the engine running.’

He was downstairs in a moment. As they found their way through the streets, he asked tensely, ‘Are you sure you heard her correctly?’

‘She definitely said St Agnes Cemetery, where she buried her husband yesterday. It’s natural enough if she’s grieving for him.’

Vincente didn’t answer this. His eyes were fixed on the road.

By good luck he saw Elise as soon as he reached the cemetery. She’d left her taxi and was walking away. A twist in the path gave him a sideways glimpse of her, revealing that she was carrying a bouquet of glowing red roses.

Red roses. The symbol of love. It defied belief that she was putting them on her husband’s grave.