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

by Dani Collins

  As there was now.

  The dozen or so guests he’d brought back with him from Turin filled the room, chattering and loud, knocking back his champagne with music blaring. The French doors were open wide to the terrace beyond, which was lit up like a stage. Several couples were out there now, dancing to the throbbing music that pulsed throughout the house and across the gardens.

  ‘Tesoro—mio caro! Don’t stand there like a grand seigneur of old. Come and dance!’

  The woman gliding up to him, champagne glass in hand, her tight dress emphasising every lush curve, was well-known to him—if physical intimacy counted as knowing someone well.

  Sometimes one can know a person well when a harmony exists between them that has nothing to do with how long one has known them...

  He pushed the thought from his mind. It served no purpose except to reinforce why he was doing what he was doing now—filling the palazzo with people he didn’t like and didn’t care about in order to set a distance—a vital, essential distance—between himself and the person he did care about.

  To protect her from me—and me from her.

  As it had when he’d raced back to Turin, a sense of mocking irony assailed him at the thought that he should need such protection. The kind of protection that the woman currently inviting him into her arms could provide.

  Bianca Ingrani was safe specifically because he didn’t desire her. Unlike...

  His eyes searched the room and found their target.

  She was sitting on a chair, right at the back of the room, knees pressed together, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were on Amelie who, overexcited by all the partying going on, was whirling around to the music, applauded by some of the guests who were making a fuss of her.

  He frowned with displeasure at the outfit his daughter was wearing—another of her mother’s dire choices. How had the child been allowed to don such execrable clothes tonight?

  His condemning gaze went to the person who had permitted it. Her face was still—as still as the rest of her.

  Invisible. She’s gone invisible again.

  His mouth twisted.

  And can I blame her?

  The question was as rhetorical as it was mocking—and the target was still himself. Always himself.

  The woman he had once passed his nights with during his celebratory indulgences post-divorce followed the direction of his glance. Her expression changed.

  ‘Who on earth is that?’ Bianca exclaimed. Then her eyes went to Amelie. ‘Oh, some kind of nanny... I see,’ she said dismissively. Her voice turned saccharine, like sticky honey. ‘How adorable your little daughter is, Evandro. I so want to meet her. Just in case...’ she threw a heavily flirtatious look at her former lover ‘...I ever get to be her step-mamma.’

  He watched with cynical eyes as Bianca went up to Amelie, cooing over her. While she did so, his eyes went to Jenna.

  He said her name. Low, inaudible to all. Yet her eyes, which had been fixed on Amelie, then on Bianca, turned to his. But though they were open, they were closed.

  Closed to him.

  Closed to him for ever.

  As they must be. I can allow nothing else.

  He went on looking at her, his face as closed as her gaze. She sat only a handful of metres away from him, and yet she was on the other side of the world.

  A cry pierced the noise around him and he turned. It had not been a cry of pain, or distress—only one of anger.

  ‘You clumsy thing! My dress! You knocked right into me with your idiotic whirling.’

  His eyes shot round to see a champagne glass rolling on the floor, its contents splashed across Bianca’s tight ivory silk dress. Amelie was standing stricken, her face as white as Bianca’s dress and puckering with tears. He started to move, but someone else was there before him, swooping down on Amelie, taking her hand, holding it fast.

  ‘It’s way past bedtime, poppet. You’re so tired you’re wobbly!’

  He saw Jenna look at Bianca, whose over-made-up face still flashed with fury, all coy pretence of Amelie being ‘adorable’ gone.

  ‘I do apologise,’ he heard Jenna tell the other woman, her voice low and tight. ‘I should have been keeping an eye on Amelie. I hope your dress can be cleaned. Amelie—come along.’

  He watched her take the little girl off, out of the room. Though he had stood so close, she had not looked at him.

  As if she could not bear to.

  * * *

  Jenna lay staring at the ceiling in her bedroom. Midnight had come and gone, and she could still hear the clash of laughter and conversation, the bass throb of the music. It was coming through the floorboards, throbbing into her head, into her misery.

  The misery of seeing him again—the man she had so stupidly fallen in love with.

  She had watched him roar up to the palazzo that afternoon in that gleaming monster car of his, followed by a cavalcade of cars and limos that had disgorged guests like birds of paradise, gorgeous in their couture clothes, their designer sunglasses, their glamour and their glitz. Talking and laughing with abandon, like noisy parakeets, they had streamed into the palazzo, taking it over.

  And Evandro, the seigneur, the millionaire... billionaire? Who knew what he was, besides a member of an elite world that she was not part of and never could be?

  She screwed her face up, flinching at the way she had thought herself lovely in his eyes when she’d worn that green dress, how she had glowed, thinking about his likening her to a woodland sprite...

  When all along she had still been invisible. As invisible as she had been this evening, sitting there in her corner, unnoticed and ignored.

  How could I possibly compare to that stunningly beautiful woman who was all over him?

  She felt her heart harden. However stunningly beautiful she was, she’d upset Amelie horribly with her sudden anger. Amelie had been tearful as Jenna had hurried her upstairs, as she’d got her out of that frightful outfit she’d so wanted to wear. And Jenna had had to listen to her anguished whispers as she’d got the overtired, upset little girl into her nightgown.

  ‘I spilt Maman’s wine, once...and it was red wine...and it stained her dress...and she was so angry with me...just like that lady.’ The little face had puckered again, tears welling. ‘I don’t like that lady—I don’t! I don’t!’

  Jenna had hugged her, aching for her—and for herself. ‘No one likes that lady, poppet,’ she’d said. ‘She’s a horrid lady.’

  She’d pulled Amelie’s nightie over her head, guiding her towards her bed.

  ‘Papà likes her,’ Amelie had said, climbing in and looking up at Jenna, her face still anxious.

  Jenna had smoothed back her hair, tucked her in, turned down her bedside light so that it only gave a glow, and stayed until sleep had taken the overwrought child. Then she’d gone back to her own room on leaden feet, hearing Amelie’s parting words tolling in her brain.

  ‘Papà likes her.’

  She heard those words again, and then heard, like a bleak counterpoint against it, her own word—the single word that repeated over and over again in her head.

  Fool.

  Because what other word could describe her but that? She who had never been good enough for anyone at all...

  Least of all the man she had fallen in love with.

  * * *

  Evandro slid open the sash window of his bedroom. At last, the blessed hush of the night lapped all around him, that infernal music silenced. There was only the soft, incessant murmur of the cicadas—the eternal chorus of the Mediterranean night, lifted to the heavens. The same silver moon that had lit the night when he had taken the woman he must not desire into his arms hung over the deserted, darkened terrace and gardens, but it was waning now.

  He knew he must not take Jenna in his arms again. However much he ached to do so.

 
In his head tolled the ever-present warning his lawyer had given him.

  He sliced the window shut, knowing that what he should do now was go to Bianca—all too willing and waiting for him.

  If I spend the night with her—resume my affair with her—that will put what I cannot have, dare not have, behind me for ever.

  But revulsion filled him at the thought of Bianca’s lush embrace. She was not the woman he wanted.

  Bleak-faced he retreated to his solitary bed to stare at the ceiling, knowing sleep would elude him, wanting what he could not have and must not want.

  Seeking the strength to stop. Failing.

  * * *

  For two long, endless days Jenna watched and endured. Doors opened and closed ceaselessly, and voices—overloud and piercing—filled the palazzo. She heard cars come and go, engines roaring, gravel scattering under tyres, music playing inside and out, heels clattering on the marble stairs and floors.

  The staff were being kept on their toes, bringing food and wine and champagne, fetching and carrying. And over all the noise, cutting through it like a scimitar, were the deep tones of the man she had been such a fool over.

  She tried to ignore it all—to focus only on keeping Amelie undistracted by the house parties going on all around them. After all, she reminded herself with bitter self-recrimination, Amelie was her pupil and the sole reason for her presence here. She must never forget that.

  As I did so fatally that night.

  Mortification burned in her. How had she thought that a man like Evandro Rocceforte might look twice at her when he had sultry beauties like Bianca Ingrani to bewitch him?

  But surely he would never think of marrying her? Not when he saw how harsh she was to Amelie?

  That was her sole comfort. After the incident with Bianca, Amelie did not want to join in any more with all that was going on downstairs, so Jenna did not have to witness Evandro and Bianca together.

  Except in her tormented imagination.

  There, it was impossible, in her misery, to banish images of them together...

  * * *

  Evandro stood out on the gravelled carriage sweep, watching the last of the motorcade heading off. Relief filled him. They were gone, the whole damn crowd of them. Taking Bianca with them and leaving him with one resolve. A resolve that had formed and then hardened with every moment since their arrival.

  I brought them here—brought Bianca here—with one purpose only: to sever myself from the woman I must not desire.

  But the attempt had been useless, instead serving only to have the opposite effect.

  In his mind’s eye he saw Jenna again, sitting there in the salon like a ghost...lost to him.

  But I will not lose her. I will not. I refuse to turn away from her.

  His benighted marriage had ruined enough of his life. For this, for what was happening now, he wished Berenice and all her lawyers to hell, despite her threats.

  I’ll seize what happiness I can while I can. Cost me what it may—I’ll pay the price.

  Resolve strengthening, he strode indoors with only one destination in mind.

  He vaulted the stairs as if the devil himself were goading him on—and laughing as he did so.

  But he did not care for devils—nor their mocking laughter.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘AMELIE, YOU STILL have another page of sums. They won’t go away until you’ve done them.’

  Jenna’s voice was sympathetic, but firm. Like Amelie, she’d heard the noise of the departing house party—the loud goodbyes and the cars disappearing into the distance—but now it had gone quiet.

  ‘Can I not go and find my papà now?’ Amelie asked plaintively. ‘Now that all the people have gone?’

  ‘He’ll ask for you or come and see you when he’s ready,’ Jenna replied, and her reluctant pupil sighed.

  Then suddenly she sat up straight, turning her head towards the schoolroom door. Footsteps, rapid and distinctive, sounded outside on the landing.

  ‘Papà!’ cried Amelie, ecstatic.

  Jenna had only a second to prepare. To steel herself. Then the door was flying open and Evandro was striding in.

  Amelie launched herself at him and he caught her up, swinging her around in a bear hug, then put her back on her feet.

  ‘Time for a swim,’ he said. ‘Be off and get your things.’

  Amelie needed no urging, and hurtled happily out of the room.

  Evandro straightened, heading straight for Jenna with purpose in his stride, gold glinting in his slate eyes. Catching her face in his hands, he turned it up to him. And then he crushed her mouth with his.

  * * *

  ‘Who’s for ice cream?’ Evandro’s question rang out over the swimming pool.

  ‘Me! Me!’

  Amelie scrambled out of the water, running up to him where he stood, three towering cornets clustered in his hand, freshly scooped from the freezer in the kitchens. Happily seizing the one he offered her, she settled down on a sun lounger to consume it.

  ‘That just leaves us,’ he said, lowering himself down on the lounger beside Jenna and handing her one of the two cones he still held.

  She took it, knowing her eyes were glowing. She had felt as if she were glowing—as if the sun itself was radiating from inside her—since Evandro had swept her up into that crushing, possessing kiss.

  Dear God, could it really be true? Had it really happened? Had she gone, in a single moment, from misery and anguish and hopelessness to radiant happiness?

  But it had happened, and it was true—entirely true!

  His kiss had been everything she could have dreamt of. And as he’d released her he’d cupped her cheek with his hand. Pooled his gold-shot gaze with hers.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he’d said.

  And in that instant, in that moment, it had been all that needed to be said. The rest of his apology had been in his eyes, in the clasp of her hand in his, in the smile playing at his mouth, as it did now, as he watched her catch at the fast-melting ice-cream.

  She asked for no more. No more than this. This happiness so profound that it was in every pore of her being, every cell in her body. She did not question it or examine it—only accepted it. With all her heart.

  * * *

  Evandro leant back against the trunk of the ancient chestnut tree that edged the woods above the palazzo gardens. The afternoon had become close and sultry, so they had brought a picnic high tea up here to the woods, where there was more shade from the oppressive heat. A little way away Amelie was playing teddy bears’ picnic, with leaves for plates and acorns for cups, absorbed in her game.

  He was glad of it—it allowed him to give more attention to Jenna.

  He drew her back against him, leaving the remains of their picnic on the rug.

  ‘She’s happy,’ Jenna said, looking across to Amelie.

  There was a warmth in her voice, a fondness, that made it sweet for him.

  ‘And so am I,’ he said, nestling her under his shoulder. ‘Totally and entirely happy.’

  Because happiness was what he was going to claim. The happiness he had never thought would come his way. The happiness that had been bestowed upon him by this special woman—his very own woodland sprite...as he had called her from the first.

  He smiled to think of it, their first encounter that had started him on this path and led him here, to this. This happiness he was claiming now. A summer’s happiness...that nothing, surely, could blight...

  From far away, through the too-still haze, across the heat-pooled valley where the hot gold sunshine was slowly turning to molten bronze, came a low, scarcely audible tremor on the windless air.

  Amelie’s fair head lifted from where she was playing. ‘What was that, Papà?’ A thread of anxiety was in her voice.

  ‘Thunder,’ he said. ‘This heat must break,
so a storm is coming.’ His eyes went upward, beyond the leafy bower under which they sat. Clouds were massing, and he could feel the static building in the atmosphere.

  ‘Are you sure it’s going to be a storm?’ Jenna sat up, looking out over the vista.

  Amelie clambered to her feet. ‘I don’t like storms,’ she said fearfully.

  Jenna got up as well. ‘Evandro, perhaps we’d better go back. Woods are not the safest places in a thunderstorm.’

  She started to close up the picnic basket, and Evandro levered himself to his feet.

  ‘It may pass by,’ he said. ‘The storm may never break—’

  But Amelie was already setting off, teddy bears clutched to her chest, and Jenna was following with rug and cushions, leaving him the picnic basket. The sky was darkening overhead now, the static mounting, and the bronze sun had disappeared behind heavy clouds.

  He hurried them all back to the palazzo, welcoming the failing daylight, whatever the cause. After all, when night came it would, he knew, bring him his heart’s desire...

  * * *

  Night meshed them in, and the airless stillness of the dark embraced them as they embraced each other. Evandro’s strong body arched over hers and it was wonderful to her...wondrous that he desired her, was claiming her as he was now.

  Joy filled her and she pulled his mouth to hers, feeling the arousing pleasure of his deepening kiss. And it was a pleasure that was only beginning, that grew more and yet more as his hand gently but insistently slid between her thighs, which slackened to his caressing touch. His other hand moved between her breasts, his skilled fingers ministering to them so that wave after wave of a pleasure she had never tasted before brought little sighs and catches from her throat.

  His mouth lifted from hers, descending to one breast and then the other in turn, engendering yet more catches in her throat and then, quite distinctly, a moan of pleasure so exquisite her eyes could only flutter shut with it as his hand, parting her thighs, found what it was seeking with infinite skill and slow, sure movements.

  She knew, with an uplifting of her heart, that he was making her ready for him. Her moans came again, her spine arching now, hands spearing into the nape of his strong neck as his dark head lowered to her ripened breasts.