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“Both.”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Except, I don’t want to talk.”
He stared at her for a beat; she could feel the war being waged inside his mind, the weighing up of choices, working out what to say to that, and then evidently his brain gave wave to his body, because he kissed her as though he would die without immediately being with Portia; and she was glad. That was just how she felt, too.
Six
“SHIT!” PORTIA SAT UP with a start, grabbing for her phone. “I’m late. I must have switched off my alarm when I snoozed it.”
Beside her, Marco was a study of indolent relaxation, one arm thrown over his head, naked with just a sheet draped over his lower half.
“Relax. It’s still early.”
“It’slatefor me,” she muttered, pushing out of bed, hastily moving towards the small ensuite. “I have to get ready for work. Your brother is going to kill me.”
It wasn’t true. Dante had never once lost his temper in front of Portia and certainly never at her. He respected her, liked her; they worked well together. But that made it even worse; she didn’t want to let him down.
“He’s still in Italy.”
Of course he was. She’d organized the travel.
“That’s even worse,” she muttered. “I’m ten times busier when he’s out of the office. God, Marco, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have come over. This doesn’t work on a week night. Not staying over. Not…not…”
“Having sex in the small hours of the morning?”
Heat flushed her cheeks and then, he moved, standing, coming towards her. “Relax,cara.You get ready, I’ll make coffee. My driver will take you. It’s no drama.”
“Nothing’s ever a drama for you,” she muttered. “You live in your own world and keep completely to your own hours. The rest of us have jobs and can’t just…”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “This isn’t helping you get out the door any faster,” he pointed out.
With a look of impatience, she moved quickly into her bathroom and shut the door for good measure. Not to keep Marco out, but to stop herself from weakening and inviting him in. She was tingling all over with desire for the man she’d come to crave like fish needed water.
Ten minutes later, they left together, take away coffee cups in hand, Marco’s car waiting on the kerb.
“So?” He prompted, once trapped in the backseat together, Portia minutely aware of every movement Marco made, every shift, every breath. “Who was he?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “He’s not important. It’s over.”
“But you’re still cut up about it.”
She frowned. “In some ways.”
“Why?”
She lifted a shoulder, defensive. “It was only six months ago.”
“And you were serious about him?”
She sipped her coffee. “We were engaged.”
Marco shifted, turning to face her. “To be married?”
Portia eyed him sardonically. “What other kind of ‘engaged’ is there?”
He stared at her long and hard. “You loved him.”
Something about that description jarred with Portia but she agreed vaguely anyway. “That’s generally why people get engaged, isn’t it?”
