Harlequin Presents--April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Dani Collins

  She turned as she heard Evandro’s distinctive step emerging onto the terrace. Her face lit—she could not help it.

  Was there an answering light in his as he strolled up to her? In the fading light she could not tell.

  He paused by the table and she watched him, knowing she could not look away. And nor did she want to, as he casually picked up their cocktails, then came across to her.

  ‘See what you make of this,’ he said genially, handing her a martini glass. ‘It should refresh the palette after our afternoon champagne.’

  She took a cautious sip—it was tart and citrusy—and, she suspected, more potent than was probably wise after two glasses of champagne earlier. But today was a special day and surely, on a day like this, caution could be set aside. And wisdom too...

  ‘Well?’ Evandro enquired with a lift of his brow.

  She gave her judgement and he nodded, satisfied.

  ‘We’ll toast the setting sun,’ he said. His eyes went to her. ‘And more than the setting sun...’

  The sunlight was in her eyes and she could not make out his expression as he spoke—knew only that there was something in his voice that had never been there before. Something that, just as his show of gallantry when he’d kissed her hand as she descended the staircase in her new dress revealing her new self had done, made her tremble slightly.

  She turned to watch the sun pool on the horizon and then slip slowly beneath it in a final glory of gold as they sipped their cocktails. Dusk started to gather, and cicadas were giving soft voice in the air all around them. It was a strangely intimate moment.

  Thoughts flickered in Jenna’s head, then quietened. This was not a time for thinking, or for wondering, least of all for questioning. Only for standing quietly, as the day turned into night. Standing side by side... Evandro and herself...

  A sound behind her made her turn. Amelie was at the open French doors of the dining room, wrapped in her dressing gown, her feet in fluffy slippers. Jenna held out her hand to her, smiling, and the little girl ran up, taking it in her warm, small clasp.

  Her father smiled down at her. ‘We’re looking for the first star, carina. Can you see it yet?’

  Amelie’s eyes strained upward, then her little face lit. ‘There! There—I see it, Papà! Up there!’

  She pointed to where, almost invisible to the naked eye, the first faint star gleamed in a sky that was leaching slowly of its colour.

  ‘So it is!’ exclaimed Jenna.

  ‘Clever girl,’ said Evandro, taking his daughter’s other hand. He caught Jenna’s eye and smiled. A warm smile of companionship and closeness. A smile that seemed to linger...

  She felt the glow that had filled her all afternoon well up in her again. Happiness. Just...happiness.

  So simple. So precious. So good to feel.

  So unknown in her life—till now.

  For a moment longer they stood together, watching the star steadily brighten and the sky darken, Amelie between them, holding hands with each of them.

  As if we were a family, Jenna thought. With Amelie my daughter and Evandro my—

  Abruptly, as if Amelie’s hand had suddenly become red-hot, she dropped it, stepped away. Appalled at what she’d just thought.

  What she’d dared to want...

  * * *

  Softly, Jenna dropped a kiss on the sleeping child’s forehead before turning to head back downstairs. The palazzo was in silence, its staff all off duty. She slipped noiselessly into the dining room, where Evandro still sat, long legs extended, his empty wine glass in his hand. His expression was shuttered.

  He must have sensed her presence because his head turned and he saw her. Did something change in his eyes? She couldn’t tell as the light from the wall sconces was so low.

  He got to his feet. ‘The moon has risen,’ he said. ‘Come and see.’

  Though she was used to his direct manner, there seemed to be a staccato note to his voice now that was different. But then, she thought, frowning slightly, he had been different over dinner as well. As had she, she knew.

  The meal had been an informal affair, and although Evandro had been his usual genial self with Amelie, Jenna had felt his glance often flickering towards herself. Was he still taking in how different she looked—how he had wrought such a transformation in her? Making her visible to his eyes. As she had longed to be.

  She had been confused, conflicted. Dismayed by what she had allowed herself to think as they’d stood stargazing after sunset. She had found it hard to look at him, to meet his eyes, and yet she’d been burningly aware of his flickering glances. They’d both focused their attention on Amelie, until her reluctant yawns had drawn Jenna to her feet and she’d taken her up to bed.

  She followed Evandro out onto the darkened terrace. Her mood was strange, still conflicted. Perhaps she should not have come back downstairs again. Perhaps she should have bidden him goodnight when she’d taken Amelie up to bed. It would have been better...safer...to wait until tomorrow to see him again, when she would be in her workaday clothes, her hair pinned back, her face plain of make-up.

  The dangerous thought that had come to her as she had stood hand in hand with Amelie, the child between them—linking them, uniting them—still assailed her. She knew she must not think it. Knew it was only the result of the moment...an after-effect of the day.

  A day that had been made for her, created for her, given to her like a wonderful, precious gift—one she would forever be grateful for. A day like no other in her life.

  But she must not read into it her own longings. The longings of someone who had never belonged to a warm and loving family—never belonged at all. Someone who had never had anyone to love her—who had had loneliness imposed upon her and who had had to accept it because it was all she had known...all she had expected from life.

  But just because she no longer wanted to choose loneliness it did not mean she could have any place here. Or any claim on anyone here.

  Not Amelie—and not Evandro.

  No claim at all—however much her eyes went to him, however burningly aware she was of him as a man with an overpowering physical impact on her that had been there right from the very first moment, that she had never experienced before.

  None of that mattered.

  I am Amelie’s teacher—that is all. And if her father choses to treat me kindly and decently, that does not mean...does not mean...

  She felt her throat catch, as if a barb had lodged there suddenly.

  That does not mean anything at all.

  And yet...

  And yet she felt herself longing for it to mean something. Wishing that it was for himself that he had turned her from plain to pretty, from drab to desirable, turned her into the kind of woman who could light up the eyes of a man like Evandro Rocceforte. A man who had given her a gift she had never before received.

  She heard again the words he had spoken to her as he had kissed her hand, paid homage to the woman he had revealed.

  ‘Never hide again.’

  And she did not want to. Not from him. She wanted him to go on seeing her—now, tonight. Seeing her made lovely by him. For him.

  I don’t want this day to end—not yet.

  The longing sang in her head and her eyes went to him—as they always seemed to want to. He had paused on the terrace and was now turning back to her. She felt her throat catch again, but for a different reason now—because her breath seemed to have vanished on the cool night air.

  All around them the chorus of the cicadas filled the air, the scent of fragrant flowers perfumed it. He was looking at her, holding out his hand to her. Saying nothing, only waiting for her to accept. She lifted her face, looked up at him. His strong features were shadowed in the night, and she caught the faint scent of his aftershave.

  His outstretched hand touched her hair. ‘Always wear it long
and loose and lovely. It’s a crime to hide it with pins.’

  There was a smile in his voice as he spoke, but also something more than a smile. Something that seemed to reach into her, touching her deep within.

  With the lightest touch his hand smoothed down the length of her hair. The sensation was so light it was scarcely there, yet it made her tremble. She could not move—not a muscle. Could only stand gazing up at him, eyes wide...so wide...drinking him in...wanting nothing more in all the world but to be here like this. Looking as she did now for him, for this man.

  For this man who is like none other in all the world. The man who, alone of all the men in all the world, has the power to make me feel as I feel now.

  She tried to remember—hopelessly, uselessly—what she had just told herself. She was his daughter’s teacher—only that...

  But how could she think that? How could she think that as she stood there, so very close to him, feeling the fall of her hair flowing down her back like a silken river, feeling the soft folds of the skirts of her beautiful dress brushing her bare legs, feeling the night air drift over her shoulders, feeling the smooth material of her bodice shape her rounded breasts?

  She felt the silvered moonlight play upon her face, knowing it enhanced the long-lashed smokiness of her eyes and etched the contours of her delicate features, highlighting the softness of her lips as she gazed up at him, eyes wide, filled with all she felt.

  Never before had she been so conscious of her body. Never before had she felt she could do as she did now—gaze upon a man whose strong, powerful physique and whose shadowed face were always and for ever imprinted on her consciousness.

  In her breast she could feel her heart beating, and the pulse at her throat was alive. She felt her lips parting as if...as if...

  ‘Oh, Jenna...’ he breathed, and there was something in his voice that was like a warning.

  But was it a warning to her—or to himself?

  ‘Jenna. Don’t—’

  There was a break in his voice, a sudden starkness in his shadowed face as he seemed to draw back from her. Her eyes distended, filling with dismay at his withdrawal.

  She heard her voice, faint and faraway, whispering his name. ‘Evandro...’

  All her yearning was in the sound of his name—all that she could no longer deny, no longer withhold. From the very first it had been so. And now... Now...

  A rasp broke from him, and the flashing of his dark eyes was caught in the silvered moonlight. Something changed in his face... The lines around his mouth lessened, softened...

  For one endless moment time stopped and the universe stopped—her heart stopped. He stood immobile, as if riven by the tension that was racking his strong body, keeping it imprisoned. Then, as though breaking free of bonds, he let his long lashes dip over his dark eyes and lowered his mouth to hers.

  His kiss was cool and slow.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut and she gave herself to him entirely, with all her being, as his mouth moved across hers softly, sensuously. She felt her heart turn over and over...

  His hand closed about her waist, drawing her to him, and of their own accord her own hands lifted, pressing against the broad wall of his chest, feeling its muscled strength beneath her fingertips, her palms, delighting in it, glorying in it.

  His kiss deepened and instinctively, willingly—oh, so willingly—her mouth opened to his, returning his deepening kiss, feeling the pleasure of his arousing touch lighting a spark within her. His free hand shaped her face, his thumb curving into the tender hollow behind her ear, fingers spearing gently into the fall of her hair as softly and as sensuously as his kiss...and just as wondrously arousing.

  She leant into him, felt the hand at her waist splaying broadly, holding her to him as he kissed her, not cool now, but with a building sensuality that made her breathless, helpless... Wanting this...only this...

  Nothing else existed in the world—only this moment now, in his arms, his embrace, with his mouth on hers. He was taking her where she had never been—where she longed to go. Where she longed to be always and for ever.

  And then, like a sudden blow, he pulled away from her, lifting his hand from her waist, lifting her hands away from him. Stepping back. Moving away.

  She reeled, bereft, her eyes flying open, wild and strained. Her heart was beating wildly, hectically.

  He towered over her, blocking the moon. ‘Go to bed,’ he said. His voice was harsh and rough. His expression was closed. ‘Go to bed,’ he said again. ‘This never happened.’

  She did not move. Could not. The solid stone of the paved terrace beneath her feet was cold and hard. As cold and hard as his voice. She felt her nails press into the palms of her hands, as if her nails were the tail of a scorpion, stinging her skin, wounding her flesh.

  ‘This never happened—do you understand?’

  His voice was a blade now, and something flashed across his face, flaring in his veiled eyes.

  ‘I take full responsibility—it was my doing, not yours, so the blame is mine and the moon’s and the stars’. It’s the wine I’ve drunk and anything and everything else you can throw at me. Throw whatever you want—but go.’

  She did not cry out or make a noise, nor any sound at all. Only turned and fled. Invisible once again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EVANDRO PRESSED THE accelerator, urgently wanting to be back in Turin, at his desk, as fast as the powerful car could take him there. A glance in the rear-view mirror showed him that his face was grim and bleak, as if an iron mask were over it.

  Dio—how could he have done what he had? Been so reckless?

  Although he had, he acknowledged, courted exactly this kind of danger right from the start.

  But I never thought it was a danger. Never thought that a woman I didn’t look twice at could ever...

  Could ever what? Get under his skin little by little, slowly but surely, day after day?

  He’d thought he was safe. But he had come to want more than their walks and their smiles and shared laughter. Had come to want her to stop concealing herself behind the protective cloak of invisibility.

  But it wasn’t just protecting her—it was protecting me as well.

  That was the mocking irony of it. He had told himself he was doing it for her sake, not for his—his gift to her, to make her see herself as she could be, not as she thought she must be, blighted by what she had endured as a child.

  He had shown her how beautiful she could be—and shown himself in the process.

  And that fatal realisation had been his downfall.

  I should never have let her come back down after taking Amelie to bed. Never have been insane enough to take her out onto the moonlit terrace—never let her gaze at me with such longing in her eyes...

  He had sought to resist—but how could he have found the strength to do so? From the moment she had come down the staircase in that dress, revealed to him as she truly was, no longer hiding from the callous cruelty that had condemned her, he had felt danger pluck at him.

  Oh, he had denied it, blanked it out, been a convivial, benevolent host at the tea party—the same relaxed, good-humoured conversationalist he’d come to be in their times together, enjoying her company as he always had. But underneath, a tide had been turning, an awareness had been pulsing, making him want to look at her, take her in, notice every part of how hauntingly lovely she now looked.

  A woodland sprite. Lifting her lovely eyes to the stars, to the moon... To me.

  And he had kissed her. And been lost.

  Lost to all warnings...all danger.

  Lost to the danger that he had only truly recognised when she was close, in his arms. The danger that had made him wrest himself from her, set her aside, say such harsh words to her. Send her fleeing.

  Leaving him standing there, cursing the moon and the stars and the night, and above all
himself.

  And cursing the cruel chains Berenice still bound him with...

  * * *

  ‘Papà has gone!’ Amelie’s voice was mournful and unhappy, and she was unwilling to settle back into the routine of daily lessons. ‘Back to Turin.’

  ‘He has to work, Amelie—he cannot be here all the time,’ Jenna answered steadily, though it was an effort to do so.

  Misery filled her. And self-recrimination—bitter and galling—at her own folly. Clinging to him when he’d kissed her, kissing him back with such ardency—only for him to push her away from him, reject what had happened.

  She had to reject it too. For his sake—and for hers—she had to consign it to nothing more than a tormenting memory and then starve that memory.

  But how? Oh, dear God, how? How could she ever forget? Forget being in his arms...forget his kiss? Forget everything that she had felt and longed for? Forget the touch of the man she had fallen in love with—

  She froze, horror washing over her. No—no, that could not be. It couldn’t!

  That was a folly that was unendurable.

  And yet it was as undeniable as the sun in the sky.

  She turned her face to the window as the truth hammered into her, not wanting Amelie to see her expression, knowing her face was likely drained and whitened in shock.

  I love him. I love him and I can’t stop it, or turn it off, or make it unhappen. I love him and it is unbearable that I do. Unbearable to love a man who pushed me from him—sent me away.

  Yet bear it she must—what else could she do?

  One thing only.

  She set her face, still likely white as bone, knowing that all she could do now was endure and return again to being the person she had been all along. She would retreat into her safe place, where she would keep herself safe from more rejection—retreat into her familiar, self-effacing invisibility.

  * * *

  Evandro stood, his eyes half-lidded, before the unlit fire in the gilded salon that was seldom opened except when there was company.