than one, if it makes you feel any better.” He leaned back and propped an elbow on the sculpture. “It was in Naples, I imagine.”
She nodded, choking back a burble of desperate laughter at seeing him leaning on a monstrous marble phallus. The situation was wildly, madly absurd. Here they were talking about death while surrounded by a lusty, lascivious ode to life.
No one could accuse them of having a conventional relationship, she thought.
“Ghiradelli, you are lounging on a—”
“Prick,” he finished, “Yes, and a rather handsome devil, don’t you think?” He ran a hand over the smooth rim of the flanged head. “Not that I’ve ever been tempted to indulge in that sort of play. I find women far more fascinating.”
Kate couldn’t repress another soft laugh. “Aren’t you ever serious?”
“Very rarely, cara.” He shifted his hips, drawing her back into his arms. Only a few thin layers of linen and gossamer silks lay between them. Through the soft wool of his trousers, Kate was intimately aware of the chiseled shape of his thighs, solid and unyielding against hers.
The dog and danger outside their sanctuary suddenly seemed very far away.
“Tell me about Naples,” he pressed.
It was a story she had never dared tell anyone, not even her fellow ‘Sinners.’ Yet, somehow the words came out. She haltingly described the humid night, the fetid alley, and the pimp’s attack on the helpless whore.
“I heard her cries and couldn’t just slink away. The brute had a cudgel and had bloodied her face. When he pulled a blade from his boot, I drew my own knife and tried to scare him off.”
“If I recall, Luigi Bonnafusco was twice your size and weight,” murmured Marco. “With bulging biceps and fists as big as Parma hams.”
“Yes, well, I have often found that bullies tend to be cowards at heart,” she replied. “He retreated at first, and I managed to help Magda to her feet. But then he came at us again, swearing and snarling that he would see us both dead. I fended him off until we reached the end of the alley. Seeing us close to escape, he charged like a bull. And tripped over a broken wine cask.” She paused, reliving the horrid few seconds of his fall—the jarring impact of his heavy body tumbling against hers, the hot slice of steel sinking into flesh as she lost her footing.
The twisted grimace and soundless scream as he dropped to the ground.
“It was an accident, Kate. The brute forced your hand and suffered the consequences.” Marco steadied her trembling shoulders. “You did the right thing, cara, the honorable thing, in rushing to help the woman. Sometimes it is necessary to take a life in order to defend another person or a noble principle.”
A connection seemed to form between them, drawing them closer together. “Please hold me. Just for a little longer,” whispered Kate. “I—I don’t want to be alone.”
His lips brushed against her cheek. “I won’t leave you.”
The husky murmur sent a shiver through her, a spark of ice-hot fire that left her limp with longing. She had never surrendered herself completely. Her only affair—the short-lived dalliance with the handsome American naval officer—had been more out of curiosity than any heartfelt passion. Marco ignited far more complex feelings, far more burning needs. His body seemed branded on hers, every hard, lean muscle scorched on her flesh.
Fire sparked deep in her core.
She sensed that Marco was a kindred spirit. Like her, he seemed to dwell in a strange sliver of twilight, a netherworld of sun and shadow. They both had a darkness deep within, a secret place locked to all others. Marco immersed himself in dissolute pleasures, but Kate had a feeling that some private pain was driving him to the brink of despair. He was a good man, an honorable man, though he refused to admit it.
Secrets and suffering. Yet another bond between them.
A bond of friendship—no, more than friendship. She feared she was falling in love with him.
Looking up, she saw him watching her intently, a tangle of dark, silky hair falling over his brow. His half-hidden eyes had a dangerous glitter, like pirate gold beckoning from beneath the waves.
Tantalizing. Tempting her to steal a touch.
Kate lifted a hand and traced the line of his jaw. Love was, of course, not a word he would ever say. Nor would she. For a brief, beautiful moment their bodies would couple and then they would come apart.