An Invitation to Sin(50)

‘Not today.’

‘Yes, today. Taylor—’ he hauled her round and gave her a little shake, frowning slightly as he stared into eyes wide with fear ‘—this was just sex. Incredible sex, admittedly, but just sex. Sex followed by a lift to work.’ He said it slowly, as if he were speaking to a terrified child. ‘That’s all it is, so don’t allow the messed-up part of yourself to ruin everything we’re doing here. You were the one who got us into this but we’re in it now and we’re staying in it for as long as it suits us.’

She wasn’t messed up. She’d made mistakes and she’d learned from them and one of the things she’d learned was not to trust people. It was a simple rule and she’d had no trouble living her life by it. Until now.

She told herself that sex wasn’t trust but she knew it wasn’t as simple as that. What she shared with Luca was more than just sex. He got inside her head. He saw who she was.

And yes, she’d moaned.

Appalled with herself, Taylor paced the length of the bedroom and then back again. She could hear the shower running and she turned her head, wrestling with an almost painful urge to throw caution to the wind and join him there.

Admit it—last night was the hottest sex you’ve ever had.

‘No!’ She covered her ears with her hands to block out the sound of the water because hearing the water made her think of the man and thinking of the man made her think of his body and how it had felt to be with him.

When that didn’t work she snatched up her bag in desperation and left the room.

Down in the kitchen she found Geovana removing warm brioche from the oven. The scent was another assault on her already overloaded, overindulged senses.

Her stomach rumbled. ‘Could I make myself some coffee, please?’ She muttered the words in English and vowed to learn more of the language while she was filming here. ‘Strong, black. Americano.’

Geovana smiled and responded in Italian.

Taylor caught one word that she translated as breakfast and shook her head. ‘I don’t eat breakfast.’ But Geovana either didn’t understand her or chose to ignore her because she loaded a plate with fresh, glossy brioche and placed it on the scrubbed, antique table in front of Taylor.

Her mouth watered. It was as if everything in this house was designed to tempt her self-control. She felt herself weaken. ‘That smells so good but I really can’t—’

‘Granita.’ Geovana placed a glass filled with frosted sorbet in front of her and gestured that Taylor should eat the brioche with the granita. Unable to find a way of refusing without offending, Taylor broke off a piece of the soft, warm roll and ate as instructed, intending to take only a nibble.

‘Oh, that’s so good… .’ She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the flavour and the novelty of starting her day with food. She was so used to disciplining herself not to eat that she’d forgotten the pleasure of breakfast.

‘Sex and food in one day. You really have fallen off the wagon.’ Luca strolled into the room looking maddeningly fresh and relaxed while Taylor averted her gaze. He was the biggest temptation of all.

‘I came down for coffee and—’ She broke off as he kissed her and then stole a corner of her brioche. ‘Don’t do that!’

‘Kiss you or steal your food?’

Judging from the way Geovana beamed at them both, she was thrilled by the scene of morning-after domesticity and Taylor was trapped by the story they’d spun.

Luca spoke in Italian to Geovana and helped himself to coffee and brioche while watching Taylor. ‘You don’t like breakfast?’

‘Of course I like breakfast. It’s my favourite meal if you must know. Crispy bacon and a short stack.’ Her stomach growled. ‘I ran away from home once just so that I could eat it.’

‘You had to run away from home to eat breakfast?’

‘My mother decided that if I was allowed to embrace my appetites I soon wouldn’t have a career.’

‘So that’s when you stopped eating.’

‘I didn’t stop eating but I learned to control myself.’ Until I met you.

‘But having to control yourself for every minute of every day is exhausting. Eventually your natural impulses escape.’

‘No, they don’t, because I hold them in.’ Except she hadn’t held them in the night before. She knew it. He knew it.

Taylor found herself looking at him across the table and thinking about the night before and maybe he felt it because his gaze lifted to hers and in that single split second she knew he was thinking about the same thing. Dropping her gaze, she focused on her breakfast, feeling intensely vulnerable. Not because they’d had sex, but because she’d been herself. It had been real.