Chapter Two #4
Zia shrugged, feeling the quickened beat of her heart thudding away like a runaway train inside her, a little mortified at how the rasp of his deep-pitched voice and his intense appraisal unleashed reactions that were far too new for her to feel comfortable with.
Yes, Orazio was drop-dead gorgeous, but he was as far removed from her as the moon.
He was so intense. When he studied her the way he had been doing, gooseflesh lifted on her bare arms and heat surged through her in a way that made her tense.
As a rule men left her cold. She had been through all the usual teenaged experiences while attending night classes and working at the hotel and not a single kiss or a disappointment from a guy had prepared her for a male of Orazio’s cut.
Sleek, sophisticated, poised and shockingly calm in comparison to her more volcanic temperament.
‘That’s kind of you to say,’ she replied as levelly as she could manage.
‘I’m appalled by what you have endured,’ Orazio admitted tautly. ‘It was unconscionable that nobody thought to check on your well-being, particularly when you were in that woman’s charge and at her mercy.’
‘Yet she was my mother’s best friend,’ Zia reminded him wryly.
Frowning, Orazio straightened his broad shoulders. ‘She was also a salaried attendant and your father’s mistress.’
Yet another wallop of shock bowled through Zia and she trembled in receipt of it.
She wanted to question his statement but she remembered the almost personalised hatred Sandrine had always seemed to have for her and, all of a sudden, so much of the older woman’s resentment of her existence made better sense.
She breathed in slow and deep and pushed away her untouched dessert, her appetite having vanished.
‘You didn’t know?’ Orazio demanded in surprise.
‘How could I have known such a thing? Yes, I read books that hinted that my father wasn’t faithful to my mother, but there was never any proof or any names.
I had no reason to suspect that someone as trusted as Sandrine was in our home could’ve been secretly involved with him.
Obviously, my mother didn’t know,’ Zia said flatly.
‘If she had known, she would never have given me to her and trusted her to take me to safety. My mother had complete faith in her. I could never understand why Sandrine acted as she did until now, when I suppose she felt she had stronger reasons to resent me and make my life miserable—’
‘I’ve given you far too many unpleasant surprises for one evening,’ Orazio registered, reading her pale, troubled face without difficulty.
‘Since what you know appears to be common knowledge, I prefer to know those facts now. I don’t want to be told anything sugar-coated or false,’ she told him valiantly.
‘We’ll have coffee out on deck,’ he suggested, gesturing to the hovering server with an ease that told her that he had lived with staff all his life. He barely had to speak to have his needs met. It was humbling and reminded her just how far she had stepped out of her own much more workaday milieu.
They moved onto a beautifully furnished outside deck with soft lights that was set into an alcove for privacy. She poured the coffee into the delicate china cups. ‘You live in a different world,’ she complained.
‘It’s your world as well.’
‘No, I’m just a temporary visitor,’ Zia scoffed without hesitation.
‘That is not how you should feel. You were born in Mandovia,’ he reminded her.
‘But I barely remember my life there,’ she traded.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Orazio insisted.
Zia sipped her coffee, her head swimming a little as she did so, making her think that that last cocktail might not have been the best idea.
Maybe she hadn’t eaten enough to balance out the alcohol.
The shocks Orazio had dealt her had blitzed her brain and now she was so tired she simply wanted to lie down and sleep.
‘I want to go to bed,’ she murmured, setting down her empty cup, suddenly aware that she had slurred her words. ‘I think I’m tipsy.’
‘That’s my fault,’ Orazio told her, rising fluidly to his feet. ‘I shouldn’t have paid heed to your claims. Perhaps what you drank before had a low-alcohol content.’
‘Who knows?’ Zia quipped, standing up and swaying slightly.
‘I’ll see you back to your room.’ Planting a steadying arm to her spine, Orazio urged her back indoors.
‘There’s no need. I can find my own way,’ she mumbled, feeling dizzy.
Orazio ignored her words, cursing himself for being so careless with her well-being. He didn’t want anyone on board to notice the condition she was in because it would create talk that would not be flattering to her image.
‘Everything’s going round and round. I don’t like this,’ she confided, momentarily resting the back of her head against his shoulder, drinking in the scent of him.
Her thoughts were all over the place. He smelt like forest trees on an icy night, she reflected abstractedly, crisp and vital and fresh.
He walked her along an endless companionway, said a bad word under his breath as she stumbled and, when they reached the stairs, he simply swept her up off her feet and carried her up, up and up.
He set her down again with care and finally opened a door a few feet further on.
‘I’ll go to bed,’ she mumbled sleepily.
‘Not until I know you’ll be all right alone,’ Orazio countered, pressing her over the threshold and following her in, firmly closing the door.
‘Why wouldn’t I be all right alone?’ she framed dizzily.
Without a word he lifted her off her feet again and rested her down gently on top of the bed, slipping off her high heels in a deft motion and then easing her onto her side. ‘Do you feel ill?’ he asked.
‘No, just tired.’ She gazed up at him with very wide violet-blue eyes. ‘You’re smoking hot, Orazio—’
‘Raz,’ he corrected with precision, tamping down the satisfaction that blossomed at her compliment. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Why do you always wear a tie?’ she muttered critically, taking in his beautifully tailored suit and immaculate shirt.
‘Because I’m never off duty—’
‘You wear a tie with swimming trunks too?’
‘Sleep…’ Orazio told her in a low-pitched undertone.
‘You sound like that snake in Jungle Book,’ she sighed and her lashes dropped.
Orazio tossed the throw at the foot of the bed over her, hung around long enough to hear her breathing deepen and steady, and then listened at the door before sliding out and closing it behind him.
The sly, seductive snake in the cartoon?
Well, thanks a lot for that comparison, Zia.
Raking long, impatient fingers through his hair, he headed for his own bed, knowing that he wanted her but that he absolutely couldn’t have her, not without a ring and all the pizzazz.
He cursed himself for his own weakness. The attraction would burn out.
For him, it always did. A few weeks from now, he would be treating her like anyone else around him, untouched by the deep ache of arousal currently afflicting him.