Moth to the Flame

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Book: Moth to the Flame Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sara Craven
loveliness had induced had merely increased the
    selfishness, she thought rather desolately.
    She looked round her irresolutely. There was plenty of food, she
    knew. All she had to do was prepare some. And things could be
    very much worse, she reminded herself. True, she was disappointed
    that Jan was getting married in haste and secrecy, but judging by
    the reference to Santino Vallone in her note, she had her reasons.
    But she had the free run of the apartment in Jan's absence, and only
    herself to consider for the next few days.
    But she did not feel like a lonely meal after her solitary day. Jan
    would probably not have been particularly interested to hear about
    her experiences, but she would have lent an indifferent ear all the
    same. Now there was no one to share even at the remotest level her
    sense of wonder at all she had seen, or listen to her plans for the
    following day, and she felt almost childishly hurt.
    Oh, damnation, she thought angrily, brushing the stinging tears from
    her eyes with a dismissive hand. She was in grave danger of
    relapsing into self-pity, which was not a failing she usually suffered
    from. What she had to do now was make the most of her remaining
    time in Rome, because when Jan returned she would be on her
    honeymoon, and that was a situation which she would not be able
    to intrude upon no matter how lonely she might feel. Jan's return in
    fact would have to be the signal for her departure.
    But she wouldn't spend the evening brooding. She would shower
    and change and go out for a meal. The decision made, she felt
    infinitely more cheerful. As her stay was going to be inevitably
    curtailed, she could afford to splurge a little bit more on her daily
    spending. She talked through the bedroom and into the bathroom
    beyond, discarding sandals and clothes as she went.
    It was bliss to wash the dust and heat of the day from her body
    under the shower, and she didn't bother to use the shower cap
    hanging on the peg by the tiled cubicle. There was a range of talcs
    and toilet waters on a glass shelf above the bath and she sampled a
    few of them before scenting herself liberally from the most exotic.
    She picked up a towel and rubbed at her damp hair which tumbled
    in a copper cascade about her naked shoulders. She was just on the
    point of returning to the bedroom when she heard the door buzzer
    sound.
    There was a towelling robe hanging on the back of the door and
    without pausing she grabbed at it, thrusting her arms into the
    sleeves and tying the belt round her slim waist. At the top of her
    mind was that it could be Jan, or even Mario come to invite her to
    go with them to what was, after all, a family occasion. As she
    hurried -barefoot along the gallery towards the door, it occurred to
    her that the robe was much too large for her. In fact it would also
    have been much too large for Jan as well, and flushing slightly she
    realised it must belong to Mario. Perhaps he had merely moved out
    for a few nights to accommodate her, she thought as she fumbled
    for the chain on the door. In any case, it was none of her business.
    The buzzer sounded again, loud and imperative, and in her haste
    she forgot all about the preliminary precaution of using the door
    intercom. Even as the door swung open, a warning note sounded
    inside her head, but by then it was too late, because the man who
    had been waiting impatiently on the threshold was already pushing
    his way past her into the apartment.
    Juliet controlled a gasp of fury. Who does he think he is? she raged
    inwardly as the newcomer strode down the steps to the salotto and
    stood looking around him. If it was Mario, brother-in-law or no, she
    would give him a piece of her mind, but suddenly it was borne in
    upon her that Mario would surely be a younger man, and an
    unpleasing conviction began to take hold of her mind as she studied
    her peremptory visitor.
    She felt at an utter disadvantage, of course—her hair hanging round
    her face in damp
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