A Shadow of Guilt - By Abby Green Page 0,36

lines of Gio’s body as he looked out the window with his back to her. He clearly knew she was there as she saw him tense even more.

Valentina resisted the urge to pick something up and fling it at his head. Instead she said with saccharine sweetness, ‘I’ll just go and divest myself of my virginity and be back so we can continue where we left off, shall I?’

Gio whirled around, arms crossed and muscles bunched. Tension stamped all over his features. He looked wild and uncivilised and it made Valentina feel even hotter.

‘You should have been honest with me.’

Valentina crossed her arms and laughed out loud. ‘You are such a hypocrite! You just told me that you’ve slept with women and not even remembered their names—how do you know that they weren’t virgins?’

Gio winced. Why on earth had he spilled his guts like that? He’d never articulated to anyone how empty and meaningless those two years were. How low he’d sunk.

He tried to ignore how achingly sexy Valentina looked in nothing but the robe with her dark hair spread out across her shoulders. Frustration coursed through his veins, making his body hurt. He bit out, ‘They weren’t. Believe me.’

Valentina taunted, ‘So I should preface every kiss I have with a man with “By the way I’m a virgin”?’

Something dark went into Gio’s gut at the thought of her kissing any other man. ‘Yes, especially if every kiss ends up with you lying half naked on a bed.’

Valentina sucked in a gasp at the injustice of that comment and felt the prickle of humiliating tears. All she could think of right then was how ardently she’d thrown herself at Gio, how she’d begged him to kiss her. Make love to her. She’d been gyrating on his lap like some kind of an exotic dancer. He’d tried to stop her, had asked her twice if she wanted this, and each time she’d said a resounding yes.

As if sensing her turmoil Gio uncrossed his arms and put out a hand. Valentina backed away and fire raced up her spine, obliterating any lingering desire. ‘I hate you, Giacomo Corretti. And I wouldn’t sleep with you now if you were the last man on this earth.’

Valentina whirled around and hated that tears were blurring her vision. She dashed them away and went back into the bedroom where she ripped off the robe and dragged on her clothes, every move she’d made and kiss she’d just given this man running through her head like a bad B-movie.

When she re-emerged she stalked straight to the main door, turned the key and had her hand on the handle before she felt a hand on her other arm. Instantly sensations ran all the way down to her groin and her still-sensitive breasts peaked.

‘Look, Valentina, wait—’

She ripped her arm free and looked up into Gio’s face. The contrition she saw there sent her over the edge. She could handle anything but not this … pity. She lifted a hand and before she was even aware of the impulse, it had connected so hard with his face that his head snapped around. Trembling all over from an overdose of adrenalin and emotion she said, ‘Don’t touch me again. Ever.’

The first day of the Corretti Cup race meeting was dawning and Gio stood in his study office looking out the window at the hive of activity in every corner of the racetrack. It was usually his favourite time of the year but this year he was impossibly distracted. Distracted by a five-foot-seven chestnut-haired, amber-eyed temptress and a level of sexual frustration he’d never known could exist. Not to mention the ever-simmering cauldron of emotions in his gut—ever since he’d seen her again. Gone was the numb shell that had been encasing him since he’d returned to Sicily.

Valentina.

Her name was on his mind, his lips, every waking moment. He could still feel the sting of her hand across his face. It had been no less than he’d deserved. When he’d realised she was a virgin he’d reacted viscerally. He could never be the one to take that prize from her. It would be a travesty. Yet she had been ready to give it—in the heat of the moment. Gio knew damn well that in the aftermath Valentina would have realised the magnitude of what she’d just done and with who, and she would have felt nothing but disgust for giving in to such base desires.

Grief for Mario—talking about him had defused something