Wicked Temptation by Zoë Archer

Author:Zoë Archer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-06-02T22:00:00+00:00

NINE

“Paolo,” she drawled, pulling out several centimes from her reticule, “do be a dear and get us more wine.”

“Si, mi amore.” With a sleek bow, Marco took the coins and ambled over to the bar situated at the end of the dining car, then gave her the most outrageous wink. Bronwyn was surprised the train didn’t derail.

“Won’t you join us?” she asked Charles and Lydia.

Perhaps it was the English sense of politeness, but Charles stammered, “If … if you like.”

“Please.” She waved at two empty chairs nearby.

Charles pulled the chairs close to their table, and he and Lydia perched awkwardly in them as they waited for Marco to return.

When he did, he poured them all glasses of wine. “My dolce amore, she is generous, no? With more than just her denaro.” He took her gloveless hand between his and pressed kisses across her fingers. His lips were firm, warm, the whiskers of his goatee both soft and bristly against her skin. Then he turned her hand over and kissed her palm. His tongue darted out briefly to touch the delicate webbing between her fingers.

She fought the urge to close her eyes. Heat washed through her like a flood in a summer storm. Heaven help her, if this was how he kissed her hand, imagine what it must be like if he did the same to her lips, her mouth. And other parts, just like in those postcards.

“Paolo, please,” she said breathlessly. “You’ll shock our English friends.” Yet she didn’t tug her hand away.

“We’re not shocked,” said Lydia weakly.

“It’s just so … unexpected,” Charles said, tugging on his collar, “running into you here.”

“I must admit,” Bronwyn answered, “coming to France wasn’t part of my plans. But Paolo was so persuasive.”

“I tell her,” Marco said, “‘Cara mia, you must go to France. This English air cannot breathe. We go to France and breathe.’” He traced patterns on her wrist with his blunt-tipped fingers, patterns of heat echoing through her in elaborate arabesques.

“I always breathe well when Paolo is around,” she said with a slow smile.

“Because of the exertions.” He turned to the English couple. “So good, she is, at the exertions. I think, she is so good, she cannot be just made widow. A bit of a putana, aren’t you, cara?” Then he gave Charles one of those magnificently vulgar winks. “Good to have a principessa in the street but a putana in the bed, no?”

Lydia gasped. “Don’t dare answer him, Charles!”

“Ah,” Marco said sadly. “Your woman, she is no putana.”

Lydia pushed back from the table, and both her husband and Marco got to their feet. “I won’t sit here and listen to this … this filth.” She marched away from the table, with Charles rushing to keep up.

Once they had gone, Bronwyn forced out a laugh. Yet Marco still didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t try to snatch it back.

“If your other careers don’t prove fulfilling enough,” she said on a strained chuckle, “you can always try being a genuine gigolo.

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