Wounds of Passion Charlotte Lamb (you can read anyone .TXT) 📖

up a black anger in him. It had showed in his face later, as he walked towards her across this garden, having tracked her like a predator and cornered her here. Those blue eyes had glittered with a cold desire to hurt, but he had seemed to change later, to soften, be almost gentle.

He was a deceptive, dangerous opponent. Last night, in her bedroom, he had touched her so seductively.

Her body shuddered now, remembering it. The smooth trail of his finger on her neck, her mouth, still seemed to her to lie there. She had not managed to wash them off when she showered this morning; they had been there all day. Sometimes she had looked into the mirror with bewildered eyes, almost expecting to see their trace; but they had not been visible, she had simply felt them, like the heat of a fire on her skin.

He had marked her, as if she were his territory and he were laying his scent on her to warn off all other males.

She felt him watching her now, and, tormented, wondered if it had been deliberate, if he had intended her to be unable to forget the way he touched her. Did he know that the memory of those moments in her bedroom had been haunting her all day?

What was he up to? What did he really want? She suddenly wondered if she still reminded him of the girl who had changed her mind about marrying him. An odd little pain stabbed inside her. She didn’t want to remind him of someone else.

She didn’t want him living under the same roof, either. The very idea sent her into a state of terrible panic, but Uncle Alex was so relieved to be able to make it up to Patrick for the way he had been treated at Bordighera that it never occurred to him that she might mind.

Patrick knew, though. He was watching her with glinting, narrowed eyes. If only she knew what he was thinking! Had she been right first time, when she’d seen him on the vaporetto, coming towards her with a face like a threat? Did he want revenge for being accused two years ago?

Uncle Alex cheerfully looked at his watch. ‘I tell you what, we must celebrate! I’ll go and ring a restaurant, book a table for the three of us, for dinner.’

Hurriedly, Antonia burst out, ‘Do you mind if I don’t come? I’m hot, and tired—’

Uncle Alex laughed. ‘Not too tired to eat at La Primavera, I bet? That’s Antonia’s favourite restaurant, Patrick; she never misses a chance to eat there. I’ll go and ring them at once, then I must ring Susan-Jane. She’ll be delighted when I tell her I’ve run into you again and that you’re going to stay with us for a while.’

‘If she isn’t happy with the idea I’ll find somewhere else as soon as I can, tell her,’ Patrick said, and Alex grinned at him.

‘Susan-Jane loves having visitors; she’s very hospitable.’

Antonia moved to follow him, and her uncle smiled affectionately at her. ‘No, Tonia, you stay out here and enjoy the shade; you’re looking very flushed. I won’t be long.’

When he had gone Patrick said softly, ‘He’s right; I noticed you looked very hot and flustered. Is something wrong?’

As if he didn’t know very well! ‘Look,’ she muttered, ‘I’m sorry if you can’t find anywhere else to stay, but I’d rather you didn’t stay here, and I’d have thought you’d realise why!’

‘Of course I know why,’ he said, and she gave him an incredulous look.

‘Then...doesn’t it bother you that having you under the same roof will keep reminding me of something I’ve spent two years trying to forget?’

‘And have you forgotten it?’ he drawled.

She bit her lip. ‘No,’ she had to admit, then broke out, ‘But having you around isn’t going to help!’

‘How many times do I have to remind you that I wasn’t the man who attacked you?’ he angrily asked, and she paled.

‘I know, but—’

‘But as you can’t hit back at the man who did, you’re determined to make me pay his bill?’ he harshly asked, and she was horrified.

‘That isn’t true!’

‘Then why don’t you want me to stay here? Do I really look so much like him?’ He caught her shoulders, his hard blue eyes hunting over her face. ‘Look at me, Antonia. Do I really look like him?’

‘I don’t remember what he looked like!’ she burst out, and saw his face tense, his eyes narrow.

‘But you remember me,’ he thought aloud in a low, flat voice.

She didn’t answer. How could she possibly confess to him that he had been haunting her dreams for two years? She hadn’t even realised herself, until now, that she had no idea what the other man had really looked like, although she had never forgotten Patrick.

‘Do we have to keep talking about it?’ she whispered. ‘I’m going up to change.’ She began to hurry towards the door, only to find her way barred.

‘I wish I knew what went on inside your head,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if you blame me, even though you do realise it wasn’t my fault it happened.’

Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Of course I don’t!’ she denied, although she wasn’t quite sure she was being strictly truthful. There had been times when she had half blamed him, because if he hadn’t forced her to notice him and then walked off she wouldn’t have followed him and been attacked.

‘You don’t hate me?’

‘No!’

‘Prove it,’ Patrick said softly.

Antonia stared at him with bewilderment. ‘What?’

‘Show me you don’t hate me,’ he whispered.

He reached down and picked up one of her hands. She stiffened at his touch, and his blue eyes watched her intently.

‘If you don’t blame me, or hate me, why do you keep jumping every time I’m anywhere near you?’

‘I can’t help it!’

‘Is it so terrifying just to have me hold your hand?’ he coaxed, and she bit her lip, then shook her head.

He smiled suddenly and her heart turned over