The Sicilian's Wife Read Online Free Page A

impossible.
    â€˜Cesare—are you telling me that—he’s ruined?’
    He didn’t have to spell it out. It was there in his face, etching lines around the stunning eyes, the beautiful mouth.
    â€˜Oh, no!’
    Her legs went from under her, threatening to send her crashing to the floor but, even as she sagged weakly, Cesare had moved, coming to her side with the swift, instinctive reflex action of a hunting tiger. Powerful arms folded roundher, enclosing and supporting her, holding her close as one hand fluttered in a weak gesture of supplication.
    â€˜It’s all right, carina .’ His voice was rough, sounding husky in her ear. ‘I have you safe. I won’t let you fall.’
    Safe, Megan thought hazily, the single word, the only one that would register in her clouded thoughts. Yes, here, at last, she felt safe. For the first time in six long, unhappy weeks, she felt something other than lost and afraid and alone. It seemed as if Cesare’s strength flowed along his arms and into her through the strong-fingered hands that clasped her around her waist.
    The heat of his body surrounded her, the clean, musky scent of his skin reaching her nostrils, making her want to inhale deeply, as if to draw in more of him that way. The urge to lean on him even more was irresistible, her head feeling too heavy for her neck to support. Giving in to the impulse, she let her head drop down onto his shoulder, feeling the hard bone, the taut muscle provide the perfect, much needed rest.
    â€˜Oh, Cesare…’ she sighed, abandoning herself to the luxury of giving in to a moment of weakness.
    â€˜Megan…’
    His voice was unexpectedly gruff and tight. Her heart thudded in time with his breathing, the sound of his own pulse under her cheek providing an echo, beat for beat. Again Megan sighed, nestling closer, turning her head so that her mouth was close to the smooth, bronzed skin of his neck.
    â€˜Megan…’
    This time there was a note of what seemed like warning in his use of her name, but she was too comfortable, too relaxed to heed it. For the first time since she had left Lancaster and travelled back to London at the end of her university life, she felt as if she had truly come home. Asif she was where she wanted to be. Where she had always been meant to be.
    The heavy throb of Cesare’s heart gave a sudden jolt then lurched into a new and faster beat and she felt her own pulse quicken in response. Her breathing became faster too, shallower, uneven, until it was rasping in and out of her lungs like liquid fire.
    â€˜Cesare…’
    She tried for his name but the heat inside her had dried her throat so that the single word came out on a raw, uneven croak. Her lips were parched and as she licked them nervously to ease the uncomfortable sensation she felt the faint adjustment of his head, knew even before she opened her eyes that he was looking down at her and that he had caught the small, betraying movement.
    Her eyelids felt unnaturally heavy and swollen so that it was an effort to lift them and meet his gaze. But in the second that she managed it and looked straight into the dark unblinking force of his stare, she was caught and held transfixed, like a rabbit in the oncoming glare of a car’s headlights.
    And she didn’t want to move. Instead she waited, outwardly patient, but inwardly fizzing with anticipation and excitement. Waited, knowing that this was a moment she had been moving towards all her life. One that she had dreamed would come, then feared she had missed out on altogether, but which now she knew was as inevitable as her next breath, the beat of her heart.
    â€˜Megan…’ Cesare began again in a voice that was thick and raw and sounded quite unlike the controlled, sophisticated man she had always known. ‘I think I’m going to have to kiss you.’
    â€˜I know…’
    â€˜I am sorry if you—you know