“You live here?” He pulled up outside the grimy building, the disdain obvious on his features.

She might have been offended, but she was too numb to feel anything but disbelief that this was ending. They had both agreed on two days and yet at some point, somewhere – perhaps even from that first wild evening when he whisked her away into the hills of Tuscany – she’d come to believe it would be so much more.

“Kate?” His word was inflected with raw cynicism. For he knew where she’d come from. He had been to the manor she’d grown up in; he’d seen photographs of the apartments in London. He knew that her first car was an Aston Martin.

“Yes. Thank you for the lift.” She pushed a smile to her face and lifted her eyes somewhere in his direction. But if she stared at him properly she knew she would cry. She felt for the door handle and pushed it open, stepping so hastily onto the street that she banged her knee on the car as she did so.

To her chagrin, he was beside her in a second. He didn’t touch her, nor did he attempt to check her knee for damage. But he stared at her, and it was apparent he was weighing his words.

“Show me,” he said finally, nodding towards the apartment.

Kate bit down on her lip. “Why?”

His smile was without humour. “I thought we had overcome this. Remember how much nicer it is when you do what I say?”

She swallowed. It was a comment that took her back to that first night. How could it only have been two nights ago? It felt like a year, for all that had happened between them.

Her eyes were weary. “Why?” She repeated, shrugging her slender shoulders. And they were slender, he noticed with a frown. She was achingly fragile, standing before him with no make up, her hair in a plait, and the dress she’d worn Friday.

“I want to know how you live.” He angled his head to look across the street and a muscle jerked in his jaw. “I need to know how you live.”

“Why?”

He pinned her with an angry gaze, loaded with impatience and then began to move towards the door.

“It’s none of your business,” she said with a quiet stoicism that he might have admired if it weren’t directly contravening his request. “I’m none of your business anymore, right?”

His eyes roamed her face but words wouldn’t come to him.

“I just don’t get it,” she said finally. Somewhere down the street, a door slammed shut and Kate winced. Benedetto’s eyes jerked towards the intrusion; two men in dark jeans and hooded sweaters walked past. Their eyes lingered on Kate in a way that made Benedetto’s skin crawl.

“What don’t you get?” He prompted, but his need to see her apartment and assure himself she had adequate safety measures was now paramount.

She swallowed, and then dropped her hand into her bag. She pulled the keys out and clutched them in her palm. “You wanted me. That’s what you said, right? I mean, I know I’m not experienced but I’m not getting that wrong. You wanted me, and you pursued me, and it was … amazing … for both of us. Right?”

His nod was an honest concession to that fact.

“So you’ve had enough of me? You got me, and now you’re done? Is that how it works for you?”

He could understand her confusion. He felt it himself. If it weren’t for the complication of his hatred of her father, perhaps he would have allowed himself more time with her.

“You don’t want me anymore?”

He felt himself harden at the simple question; his body was challenging him not to be such a cold bastard. But Benedetto needed to think. He needed to reconcile what he’d come to feel for Katherine Beauchamp with who she was. He needed time to assess if she could ever understand why he’d planned to use her for revenge.

“I do not wish to discuss something so personal on your stoop,” he said finally, his voice giving nothing of his feelings away.

“Fine,” she inserted the key into the door. “Come in. And seeing as you’re so good at sticking to stupid, arbitrary deadlines, let’s say you can stay for five minutes.”

Her accurate jibe hit him as she’d intended. He put a hand on the small of her back and propelled her through the door but she quickly moved away from him. “This is me.” She nodded towards a door just down the hallway. It was a glossy black where the others were peeled with cream paint.

“Show me,” he said simply.

He waited for her to slide the key into the mechanism and then he reached past her, finishing the unlocking action and preceding her into the apartment. He only had to take two steps to be right at its centre. There were two windows, one overlooking a clothesline and the other a train track, as she’d described. He crossed to the one with the view of her neighbour’s faded jeans and mis-matched socks and he lifted it easily. He pushed it down and frowned to see that in place of a lock there was a line of matchsticks wedged in between the wood.

“It offers resistance,” she said stiffly, his interrogation of her living quarters somehow making her feel like the young, naïve girl he’d perhaps begun to see her as.

He sent her a look of fury then inspected the second window. It was slightly harder to open but not by much. He turned his back to it and now swept his eyes over the single room that formed her living area. There was a small kitchen, dated in décor but spotless, with a bunch of purple hydrangeas in an antique jug. Instead of a sofa she had a single chair. It too was dated but she’d draped a bright rug over it and added a cushion that was pale pink with gold spots. Instead of a television there was a laptop propped on a coffee table, and a small table had a single stool beside it. Everything in her lounge room was spotlessly clean but heart-wrenchingly run-down.

He shot her another look of muted fury then opened the sole door in the apartment. Her bedroom was small but orderly, with a single bed made up as though for a catalogue shoot with crisp white bed linen and plumped pillows. Her bedside table had a stash of magazines and another arrangement of flowers. Instead of a wardrobe she had a hat stand with a meagre selection of clothes hanging from each hook.

An opening led to what he presumed would be an ensuite bathroom. He didn’t inspect it; he’d seen enough. He stalked back into the lounge area and came to stand directly before Kate.

“You cannot live like this.”

Her eyes narrowed and though Benedetto had no way of knowing it, he had finally stoked the small, dormant part of Kate that was capable of anger. It had never been a dominant part of her personality and her childhood had certainly forced her to subdue any emotions that were likely to cause trouble, but now, with Benedetto it flared spectacularly. She swore harshly and shoved her hands into his chest.

“Your five minutes are up,” she said, marching to the door and standing beside it.

He smothered his reaction of surprise. “You are not staying here.”

“This is my home,” she spoke with cold determination. “Not that it’s any of your concern. We’re done. All over.”

“No way.” He walked back into the bedroom and began methodically unhooking her clothes from the coat rack.

She followed and stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “What are you doing?”

“I presume you want to wear something other than that dress at some point?” He didn’t look at her, but he could see the dress in his mind that she’d insisted on wearing even as he insisted they leave the farmhouse.

“Stop.” Her temper sparked again. She knocked the clothes out of his hands, forcing him to look at her. “Stop this.”

“You will not stay here. This area is a haven for drugs and crime. Your apartment is an invitation. I cannot believe you have not already been broken into.”

“Actually,” she said without thinking; but the look of incredulity on his features promptly encouraged her to close her mouth.

“Actually?” He demanded, putting a finger beneath her chin to angle her head to face his.

Now he swore, sharply, in his native tongue, and his cheeks were slashed with colour. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Why are you acting like this? It wasn’t a big thing. I wasn’t even here.”

“Someone broke into your flat?”

Kate was the last person on earth to be cavalier about safety, but she knew the threat had been minimal. “I know. It’s not ideal. But they just took some money I had on the fridge and a few phone chargers and that kind of thing. Nothing I couldn’t live without.”

His voice had a dangerous silkiness to it. “And if you’d been here, cara? What do you think this person, or people, might have done to you?”

She squared her shoulders. “I would have handled it.”

His laugh was darkly condemnatory. “Merda. You are a tiny woman, and you think you could handle some drug-addled, out-of-his-mind piece of crap in the middle of the night?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I do actually.”

He expelled an angry breath. “You are being completely simplistic. Do you have a bag?”

His rapid fire change of conversation sent her mind spinning. “No. I mean, of course. But I’m not coming with you.”

“Nor are you staying here,” he said seriously, compressing his lips.

“How the hell do you think you have any say in where I live? A minute ago you were getting ready to deposit me at my door and walk away without so much as a goodbye, and now you’re acting like I’m somehow your responsibility. Which I’m not, by the way.” She swallowed, her throat knotted. Emotions were piling on top of her. The apartment, closed up for days, was absolutely freezing and she wanted to pull a sweater on and curl up in her chair with a steaming cup of tea.

“Are you going to walk out of here or do I need to carry you?”

She glared at him. “Just … stop it. I’m staying here.”

Their eyes were locked in a silent battle of the wills. “Fine. We’ll stay here,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, tossing her clothes carelessly onto the bed.

“Um, there’s nowhere for you to sleep.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” he rejoined sardonically.

“But I won’t.” She swallowed. “I need you to go. There are more dangers to me than windows which don’t lock.” She put a hand on his chest and felt the now-familiar spark of adrenalin course through her veins.

“Such as?”

“You.” Her smile was weak. She didn’t meet his eyes. “I can’t be with you anymore.” She fidgeted her fingers in front of her, not even bothering to try to curb the habit.

He sighed. “Kate …”

“No.” She lifted her face defiantly to his. “You can’t jerk me around like this. I really … liked being with you,” she winced at the insipid turn of phrase. “I like you. I don’t see why this has to be some stupid two-day thing. I mean, we’re both in Rome. We could …”

He shook his head. “It’s more complex than that.”

“Why?” She demanded huskily. “You either want more of this or you don’t. But if you don’t, and going from your behavior today you don’t, then just go. Just leave me alone. Please.”

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo. “What do you want from me, Kate? How do you see this working?”

Hope flared inside of her. It was a chance. It was something; an opening, an opportunity. “Why can’t we just … date?”

“Date?” He stared at her with undisguised amusement. “I don’t … I’ve never dated.”

“You’ve never dated?” She repeated with obvious disbelief. “I thought you were super experienced …”

“Si. With sex, cara. That is not the same thing. Dating is not in my make-up. I’m not interested in romance. So instead, we can keep sleeping together. You come to my home, where you are safe, and we sleep together as we have been. Is this what you want?”

She bit down on her lip. “And you don’t think it’s more than that with us?”

He padded his thumb across her cheek. “I have never offered you more than this. I do not believe I’ve done anything that should have led you to believe I want a relationship with you.” He’d been careful, hadn’t he? Despite the beauty of his villa, and the romance inherent to its tumble-down state, he had not offered more than he wanted to give. Had he?

“Just sex,” she repeated with a slow nod.

Even that was foolish in the extreme. His phone was a weight in his pocket. What would he find when he finally switched it on? Apart from the deluge of calls relating to business, would there be one from Augustine? How would he sound? Would he be furious? Angry? And why couldn’t Benedetto muster more interest in that speculation?

“So?” He was already lifting her clothes back into his arms, his belief that she would accede to his wishes obvious.

“No.” She reached out and took the pile of shirts and pants from him and placed them back on the bed. “No. I’d like you to leave now.” She pulled a sweater from the bottom of the stash and lifted it over her head. It was enormous on her and made her look, somehow, even younger.

Benedetto felt consternation swell inside of him. “You really want me to go?”

She was stubborn. He could see it in the set of her features and he admired her for it.

Only he had one easy way to bring her around to his way of thinking. Gently, so that she didn’t startle, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.

His lips claimed hers hungrily, his body requiring hers to submit as always. He felt her stiffen and then relax; her hands lifted to knot in his hair and breathing became rugged. He reached for the hem of her dress and lifted it, so that his hands could touch her beautiful rear and feel her lovely sweet femininity.

The jumper she wore over the gown was scratchy. He wanted to peel it off her but he didn’t dare break their kiss. He needed the spell to stay wrapped around her. He needed her not to think so much and just to feel.

He refused to ask himself why he cared so damned much. Why the idea of leaving her in this tiny apartment in a dangerous part of downtown Rome filled him with a sense of vehement disgust.

He knew only that he wanted her to be safe, and to be happy.

And to be his.

“I love this dress,” he murmured into their kiss, smiling as his fingers pulled her closer towards him.

“It’s not even mine,” the words were garbled; her hands were pushing at his shirt, trying to find the button for his pants. She made a noise of relief when she was able to free him from the constraint. Her fingers wrapped around his length. Her whole body quivered with the promise of what was to come. “Don’t push me away,” she said with desperation.

A part of his brain was hearing the words and understanding the plea behind them. But only a small part.

“I’m pulling you closer,” he demurred, thrusting towards her and groaning as he moved into her precious feminine core. “You’re so tight,” he muttered, his fingers splaying wide on her back as he held her tight, allowing himself to adjust to the way she felt. Her legs lifted to wrap around his waist and he thought, not for the first time, how petite and athletic she was; how easily she could be held by him.

She dug her fingers into his firm, muscular shoulders and pressed her forehead against his chest. “I want this,” she said from between snatched breaths. “How can you …” the words were hard to find. Every nerve ending was pulsing with pleasure and promise. “How can you think … this is … over?” Her nails dug deeper as she felt everything in the world flip out of control. “How can you think … you can walk … away from me … from this.” She moaned at the end of the sentence, low and sweet, as he shifted her with him to the bed.

It creaked as he eased her down, and it complained more loudly still when he brought his weight with her. He laughed crookedly. “This bed is a screamer.”

“Yeah,” she grimaced, but her fingers didn’t let go from around his neck.

“The floor,” he said with a gesture of his head to the cold timber at their feet.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He understood. There was an urgency to their coming together. A need that seemed to exist only between them, and in an insatiable way.

She moved and he moved with her. Their limbs tangled on the ground as once more he claimed her. This time, his weight pressed down on her and his lips clashed with hers with a passion that was fuelled by both anger and desire.

“Why are you fighting this?” She asked between snatches of breath as his hands ran over her body, feeling her through the fabric of the dress.

His expression flashed, for the briefest of moments, with an emotion that was impossible to interpret. “Do I seem like I am fighting you, cara?” His eyes locked to hers and to emphasise his point, he thrust into her slowly, gently, teasing her and making her heart flip over.

Ridiculously, she felt the sting of tears cloying in her throat. He studied her face, and saw the moment her eyes moistened, though she flicked them shut so that her long black lashes made perfect dark crescents against her cheek.

Desire throbbed between them, yet he saw her sadness and his whole body ached to fix her. He kissed the tip of her nose gently, and dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m here with you now.”

But for how long? The question was a darkness in her mind, blotting everything else out.

It was a testament to their physical connection that she was able to grab hold of the sensations he was arousing and come back into the moment. He was whispering to her in Italian, stroking her hair, and all the while, he moved within her, reminding her that their bond was special and strong.

She felt the beginning of her orgasm bursting from deep inside her abdomen, spreading, tingling, throbbing and pulsing through her body. It started slowly but within seconds it was an intense explosion of the kind of heat she’d never known before. She clung to him for dear life, crying out as every single cell in her body began to shake.

“Jesus!” She bit her teeth into the smooth tanned flesh of his shoulder. Her nails dug into his back, dragging lines across him, scoring her questions into his skin.

He laughed. Power was a beast in his gut. He felt better than he’d ever known he could. He held her close as he exploded, not that there was any chance of her letting go. They were two survivors of the hurricane of their need.

And even though she was filled with questions, she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask them now. She wasn’t sure her heart could bear the answers he might give. She sighed, and slowly, peeled herself away from him, easing herself back to the floor. He pushed up on his arms, so that he could hover above her and stare into her eyes.

When she blinked hers shut, he made a sound of exasperation. “Look at me,” he commanded, and when she didn’t oblige, he shifted his weight so that he could kiss her eye lids. “Look at me,” he repeated.

“Why?” But she flashed her gaze to his, feeling a burst of electricity as her will power slammed into his.

“This is not a perfect situation,” he said slowly, thinking once more of the dark past that dogged them at every step; of the reason he’d met her and seduced her; of the photo he’d taken and the manner in which he’d sent it. There was no hope of their becoming anything beyond what they were. How would she ever forgive him? How would she ever accept the burning need he’d held for revenge? His need to punish the man who had slowly, in the most painful way, killed his father had eaten him alive.

“Isn’t it?” She murmured, scanning his face. From her perspective, of course, it was the stuff of dreams. He had swept her off her feet. She just wanted to stay there! “You’re pushing me away again.”

A frown tugged at his lips. “I’m attempting to be truthful with you.” Even that was a lie! He looked around her bedroom, his displeasure obvious. “Your room is very … neat … but it is not sufficient for you.”

“I happen to like it,” she retorted with mock offense.

His gaze flared back to hers. “Come with me.”

Her heart flipped in her chest. “For how long?” Her gaze was loaded with determination.

He pushed up to standing. As with the first time they’d made love, he was still basically dressed. His shirt was undone and hung loose around his chest. Her eyes fell to his shoulder where she could see the hint of a bite mark. Her cheeks flamed. She had done that. She stood gracefully, and pushed his shirt away, so that her eyes could roam his back freely.

“I’ve scratched you.” She’d done worse than that. She’d come close to drawing blood, by the looks of it. “I’m so sorry.”

He spun around and caught her in his arms. “Di niente,” he demurred, his smile sexy and seductive and perfectly gorgeous. “They are … battle scars.”

“Battle scars?” She shivered. “That’s so primitive.”

“Si. As it should be.” He stroked her cheek gently. “Come with me.”

“For how long?” She repeated, her eyes hoping to see the promise in his eyes that he wouldn’t make with his mouth.

“I can’t give you that.” He held her close, his hips seeking hers. “I don’t deal in promises when I cannot fulfil them.”

“You were perfectly happy to buy me for two days …”

“Two days I can easily fulfil,” he responded, his eyes darkly contemplative.

“I’m not going to upend my life, come and stay with you, and get even more addicted to you, and this, if you could decide one morning that it no longer suits you and ask me to leave.” She shuddered. “I’m just being honest with you, Benedetto. It would break my heart.”

Her statement caused him a flash of wariness. “Our hearts are not involved, cara.”

“Yours might not be,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m not like you.”

Responsibility, guilt and regret jostled through him for priority. His soul was heavy with all. “You need to be.”

A laugh escaped her, but it was lacking in humour. “Oh, okay,” she shrugged sarcastically. “Just wait while I flick a switch and … yep. I’m done.” She did her best to assume his accent. “I am now ready for the meaningless sex to be continuing.”

He laughed despite himself. “I do not sound like that.”

She arched a brow. “Yes, you do. Sort of.” The cold Autumnal sun crested over the neighbouring building and blinded her with its milky brightness. She squinted with relief; her eyes were stinging anyway. “You should go.”

His nostrils flared as he expelled an angry breath. “I want you to be with me.”

“I know.” She swallowed past the bitterness of pain. “But sooner or later you’ll want me to go. And I don’t want to spend the next however long waiting for that.”

“You cannot live your life thinking of death,” he responded tautly. “It is an old adage my grandfather taught me. You cannot ever enjoy life if you’re always scouting for the end on the horizon. Why can you not simply enjoy this for now?”

Her smile was wistful. “I like that. You cannot live your life thinking of death. But that wouldn’t work for me.” Her delicate throat knotted as she swallowed to keep her emotions at bay. How many times had she been forced to contemplate death? As if to recall the worst of her pains, she lifted a finger to her temples and felt the small scar there. She’d passed out after the fifth blow. She remembered, because she’d counted, as each press of the empty wine bottle had crushed against her. “I know this place doesn’t look like much, but to me, it’s perfect. I’m free here.”

It was a curious turn of phrase. “When have you not been free?” He pushed thoughtfully.

“That doesn’t matter. The point is, here I am free and I am happy and I think … I can see a time when you could make me more miserable than I’ve ever been.”

“So you are saying no to what we share simply because it will end at some point?”

“You’re the one who said it was time to get back to reality. Well, this is it for me.”

“I’ve changed my mind. You can’t stay here. You must come with me.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that easy. Being back here reminds me of who I am. These last couple of days have been a fantasy. A wonderful, crazy, erotic fantasy. But not real life. I … I’ve learned that I have to be … careful. About who I trust.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I’d trust you with my life,” she promised truthfully. “But not my heart.” And after two short days, she already understood how much of it he possessed.