She had been glad she had opted for dark colours

when she had seen Lorenzo, wearing a formal dark

suit complete with a crisp white shirt and a tie. Now,

unable to stop herself looking slightly anxiously towards

him, she stepped with him into a world that

was totally unfamiliar to her. She recognised how forbidding

and arrogant he looked. Take away the suit

and clothe him in the costume of a Medici warlord,

and he could have been a Renaissance soldier prince,

she decided with a small shudder.

The huge emerald on her ring finger flashed green

fire in the sunlight, and someone in the small congregation

filing in through the narrow door gasped — although

whether in awe or shock, Jodie didn’t know.

Although no one spoke, it was obvious from the looks

that were exchanged that the other worshippers knew

Lorenzo, and Jodie could feel the sharp weight of

their speculation resting almost as heavily on her as

the betrothal ring.

People entered the dark interior of the church and

slipped into pews, kneeling immediately in prayer,

and Jodie turned towards the nearest pew herself, only

to find that Lorenzo was shaking his head and walking

past. Their footsteps echoed on the cold stone

floor, the stones themselves worn and slippery with

use. Ahead of them at the altar the priest kneeled,

head bowed in prayer, whilst smoke from the incense

drifted lazily upwards in the beam of light coming in

through the narrow stained glass windows.

They had reached the last pew, and Jodie’s eyes

widened a little when she recognised Lorenzo’s family

crest carved into the wood. A little uncomfortably

she bowed her own head in prayer. A prayer for her

parents, and for David and Andrea, for her friends

and for all those in need, and then to her own astonishment

she found herself suddenly praying fiercely

that Lorenzo might find some way of making peace

with his own past.

Even though she knew why they were here in the

church, she was still not prepared for the effect hearing

their banns read had on her — or the emotional

poignancy and turmoil she felt. Unconnected images

blurred her vision — a sunny day, and her parents

laughing down at her as they walked together; the

shock of learning of their deaths; her aunt and uncle"s

unhappy faces as they struggled to explain to her what

had happened, and that she herself might still lose her

leg; the first time she stood up properly after the accident;

the first time John had asked her out, standing

awkwardly beside her desk in the small office where

she had worked for his father; the first time he had

kissed her, and the let-down feeling of disappointment

she had had because she didn’t feel more excited.

The small ceremony they had just been part of

should surely be about more than fulfilling the demands

of someone"s pride, or gaining material pos-

sessions, and she should now be standing here outside

the church feeling uplifted by the promise of future

shared love — instead of which she actually felt

slightly guilty and shabby.

The priest was heading towards them, smiling

warmly as he congratulated them, his warmth increasing

Jodie’s discomfort. He was tall and unexpectedly

vigorously male, with an intent gaze.

"If there are any matters you feel you wish to discuss

with me, my child, I am at your disposal," he

told Jodie gently, in excellent English.

"My grandmother’s will has meant that we have

had to change our plans to marry in England and

bring our wedding forward," Lorenzo informed him,

slightly coolly. "And we are grateful to you for your

co-operation."

The priest inclined his head gravely, and Lorenzo

placed his hand in the middle of Jodie’s back in what

she bemusedly recognised as a classic male possessive

gesture, firmly ushering her away. She could feel

the warmth of his hand through her top, and the wilful

thought crept into her mind, like the incense smoke

rising to the light, that had they truly been in love she

might have turned to look up at him and smile at him,

and his hand might have stroked her flesh in mute

promise as he returned her smile. But they were not

in love, and she had absolutely no wish for them to

be in love!

"I wish we didn’t have to get married in church,"

she told him uncomfortably as they made their way

back to the Palazzo. "It made me feel so guilty when

Father Ignatius prayed for us and for our marriage,

knowing that it isn’t going to be a real marriage."

"A real marriage as in a sexual marriage, I assume

you mean?"

"No." Jodie denied it immediately, but she could

see from his expression that he didn’t believe her.

"Real marriage is about much more than just sex," she

persisted.

"But sex is a part of it — and you, as we both know,

are dangerously curious to know the reality of a man"s

possession."

"You keep saying that, but it isn’t true!"

"Your lips say one thing," Lorenzo told her softly,

"but your eyes say another."

She might be a virgin, but she could still recognise

the growing sexual tension between them for what it

was, Jodie decided shakily.

"I need to return to the Castillo for a few days,"

Lorenzo added abruptly. "It would be easier to leave

you here in Florence, but, since we are so newly betrothed,

it would be better if you were to accompany

me. When is your next fitting for the wedding dress?"

"On Thursday."

"Bene, we shall be back by then."

Jodie looked at the emerald ring she had just removed

and replaced in its box, prior to getting ready for bed.

The apartment was well set up with burglar alarms,

she knew that, but even so she didn’t feel happy about

the thought of the ring being in her room overnight,

and would far rather it were in Lorenzo’s keeping.

Closing the box, she picked it up and hurried out

of her own room and across the corridor, hesitating

briefly before she knocked on Lorenzo’s bedroom

door.

His brisk "Si?" had her opening the door and step

ping into the room, explaining, "I’ve brought you the

ring. I wanted to…" Her voice trailed away as her

gaze slid helplessly over the smooth golden flesh of

his torso, where it was revealed by the unbuttoned

shirt he was removing.

"You wanted to what?" he prompted silkily, walking

past her to close the door before shrugging off his

shirt completely. The gold strap of his watch gleamed

subtly in the lamplight, the dark vee of his body hair

a silky mesh of male sexuality that riveted and

trapped her spellbound gaze.

Her mouth had gone dry. She touched her tongue-

tip to her lips, unable to focus properly on answering

him, her senses too overwhelmed by the sight of him.

He was so arrogantly, so devastatingly, so magnificently

male.

If just the sight of those broad shoulders and that

solidly muscled chest could make her feel like this,

what would it do to her to see him fully naked? She

drew a deep, juddering breath of silent recognition at

the ache uncoiling inside her.

"The ring," she managed to tell him unsteadily,

stretching out the hand in which she was holding the

small box. "I want you to have it."

"Do you? Or do you mean you want me to have

you, to satisfy that curiosity of yours and to satisfy

you along with it?"

Beneath her angry outrage a shiver of something