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

by Dani Collins

  Accidenti. Why had he given anything away to the likes of Bianca Ingrani?

  ‘Jenna?’ Suspicion twisted in Bianca’s voice at his casual use of her forename. ‘You brought that girl to your apartment?’

  And suddenly, impatiently, Evandro was fed up with it—with Bianca’s persistence in trying to renew their affair. He wanted to get rid of her in the quickest way possible, even if it was none of her business.

  ‘Yes,’ he said tightly, ‘Jenna is with me here.’ He took a breath, urging her to get the message. ‘Bianca, I’m sorry if you had hopes we might get back together again, but that isn’t possible. I’ve moved on.’ He made his voice conciliatory, complimentary, for courtesy’s sake. ‘Our time together was good, and I wish you all the very best—and a better man for you than me.’

  He rang off, wanting only to be done with her. He turned back to Jenna, who was stirring the sauce again, but with jerky, mechanical motions. He set down his phone before winding his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I’ve given Bianca her marching orders.’ He drew her close and felt her lean back against him, her muscles relaxing.

  ‘She’s so incredibly beautiful,’ he heard her say, a little wistfully.

  ‘Not to me—not any more,’ he replied. ‘And besides...’ his voice hardened ‘...do you seriously imagine I would want to have anything to do with a woman who could speak as angrily as she did to Amelie at the palazzo? Upsetting her the way she did? No,’ he finished decisively, ‘Bianca is over and done with. She’s nothing to me now.’

  He turned Jenna around to him, not wanting her worrying a second longer about Bianca Ingrani, kissing her lightly at first, then more deeply, feeling passion build. But reluctantly he relinquished her. Now was not the moment—especially when Amelie’s voice piped up from the doorway.

  ‘Is dinner ready? Can I grate the cheese? Luisa and I were searching for unicorns—she found one and I found two!’

  She babbled on happily, fetching parmesan from the huge fridge and sitting herself on one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar to start grating. Evandro reached for his half-consumed beer and fetched a bottle of chilled white wine from the wine fridge, pouring glasses for Jenna and himself as she put the fresh pasta on to cook.

  An everyday, cosy, domestic scene...the three of them at dinner, convivial, affectionate and united.

  What I never had with Berenice.

  Once, at the start of his marriage, he had thought—hoped—that it might be so. Before those futile hopes had been destroyed.

  His ex had destroyed everything—everything she had power over.

  His eyes rested now on Amelie, busy with her grating, and then on Jenna, still at the stove. A chill plucked at him.

  What else will she seek to destroy, that woman who cursed my life?

  But he knew—he knew just what she would want to destroy next.

  If she ever found out...

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE PALAZZO WAS warm and welcoming when they returned a fortnight later. Evandro had interspersed his work with showing Jenna and Amelie the sights of the region, from the rich Piedmontese countryside surrounding Turin to the splendours of the Alpine lakes and mountains beyond, making a second holiday of it.

  Signora Farrafacci was welcoming, too, and all the other staff.

  Amelie ran upstairs with Loretta and Maria to show them her holiday souvenirs and give them the presents she’d bought for them—a carved wooden donkey each from the seaside, and a stylish scarf from a very upmarket fashion house in Turin.

  The scarves had not been the only items purchased there—Evandro had indulged Amelie in some judiciously selected frills and Jenna, too, had been the recipient of his indulgence.

  She had yielded to his insistence on enlarging her wardrobe with clothes she could never have afforded on her teacher’s salary—even the generous one he was paying her—for two reasons only: to look her very best for him, and to see his eyes light up when she wore the beautiful outfits he’d lavished on her.

  A homecoming feast awaited them on their first night back at the palazzo. And as she walked into the dining room with Amelie, her eyes went straight to Evandro, resplendent in a tuxedo for the occasion. Jenna felt a flush of pleasure go through her as his eyes swept over her, knowing that the beautiful evening gown she was wearing—dusky pink, cut on the bias—did things for her slender figure that were only and entirely for his benefit.

  He kissed her hand with bowing gallantry. ‘Bellissima,’ he murmured, his voice husky, his eyes speaking volumes. Then, tearing his gaze away, he dropped it to Amelie. ‘And you, too, carina!’ he exclaimed, and made a performance of kissing Amelie’s hand as well, with smacking kisses which made her giggle.

  Amelie’s dress was pink, too, but pale as a rosebud, with a little bolero jacket.

  ‘Which of us is prettier, Papà?’ Amelie’s voice piped up. ‘You have to choose between us!’

  Jenna glanced at Evandro, expecting him to make some jocular remark about the impossibility of his daughter’s demand. But it did not come. Instead there was something in his face, just for a fleeting second, that made her suddenly go still.

  It lasted only a moment, making her think she had imagined it, and then he was turning to fill their glasses with champagne and highly diluted Buck’s Fizz for Amelie.

  ‘To coming home!’ he proclaimed.

  The word home—so simple, so powerful—resonated in Jenna’s head.

  Let this be home—oh, sweet heaven, let this be home.

  Home for ever, with the little girl she had come to love and the man she always would...

  Longing filled her hope-filled heart. A heart that would surely break if she hoped in vain.

  * * *

  Evandro hung up the phone with satisfaction. He’d just booked Amelie into the summer holiday camp run by the convent school where she would be starting in the autumn. It would do her good to meet some of her future fellow pupils, as well as enjoy all the activities provided at the camp.

  He had another motive for sending her too—a much more selfish motive. It would give him undivided access to Jenna. He would still have to pay attention to his work, of course—his responsibilities were too great to ignore—but other than that... He found himself wanting to take advantage of all the time he had left with her.

  With sudden restlessness, he got to his feet. Though it was good—very good—to be back at the palazzo, he felt an impulse, powerful and compelling, to set off again. Somewhere far away, remote... Australia, New Zealand, the South Seas, even.

  Just the three of us—Amelie, Jenna and me. Somewhere far, far away, beyond the reach of—

  A light tap at the library door made him start. It was his housekeeper, coming in with his usual mid-morning coffee.

  ‘Thank you.’ He made himself smile, wanting his unwelcome thoughts banished.

  He took the tray from her to deposit it on his desk and resumed his chair, but she did not leave.

  ‘Is there something else, Signora Farrafacci?’ he enquired courteously. There seemed to be an air of expectation about her, and her smile was fulsome.

  ‘I just want to say,’ she opened, ‘how very much I—and all the staff—hope that for once all those pesky paparazzi are right. We would certainly welcome it!’

  Evandro frowned. ‘Paparazzi?’ he said blankly.

  ‘Normally, of course,’ his housekeeper continued, ‘I ignore all those rubbishy articles.’ She gave a dismissive sniff. ‘But in this case... Well...’ her expression softened ‘...such a nice young lady, Signorina Jenna, and a much better choice to be the Signora Rocceforte you deserve after all you’ve been through—and poor little Amelie.’ She drew breath, nodding. ‘I’ve said quite enough for now—I’ll leave you to your work.’

  She sailed out, oblivious to the b
omb she had just exploded in her employer’s face.

  As she closed the door behind her Evandro felt himself very slowly unfreeze. But it was an unfreezing that was like boiling oil being poured through his veins.

  After his divorce he’d become inured to the prurient interest of the tabloids as he’d celebrated his newly single freedom. Bianca, he knew, had actively fed them stories about their affair, tipping the paparazzi off as to where he and she might be hitting the nightspots in Turin, Milan and Rome, angling things so that one day she might be described not coyly as his ‘constant companion’ but as his ‘fidenzata’—fiancée.

  His mind raced urgently. He’d known the danger he was courting in claiming Jenna for himself right from the start—known the risks. But he’d overridden them, resolving—even after all his warnings to himself—that they were worth taking for what Jenna bestowed upon him. What he so wanted.

  He’d done his best to minimise those risks. All the time he, Jenna and Amelie had been away he’d been scrupulous in keeping a deliberately low profile—choosing a family seaside resort that would hardly attract the attention of any paps wanting to snap the famous and fashionable and then, in Turin, deliberately not being seen out with Jenna—that single shopping expedition aside.

  So, how the hell...?

  He yanked his keyboard to him, urgently searching. In moments the offending article leapt on to the screen in front of him—along with photos.

  He froze all over again.

  Bianca. Had she vented her anger at his dismissal to her tame hack, who’d promptly scented a bigger story and gone digging for it?

  The story claimed that Turin’s most eligible scapolo had a new woman in his life whom he was treating with kid gloves—no louche nightspots and clubbing for them—and was already living with, having installed her in his apartment.

  No way, the article purred in saccharine tones, could this unknown signorina be nothing more than his daughter’s nanny... Not when the vendeuse at an exclusive fashion boutique had confirmed that he’d spent a fortune on couture clothes for her. Not when all three of them had been photographed leaving the shop, with Evandro Rocceforte’s arm around the signorina’s shoulder, the two of them gazing at each other in so enamoured a fashion. Not when there were photos of the two signorinas going to the food market together, just like mother and daughter...

  The article trilled on...

  Can it be wedding bells in the offing, we wonder? Will it be second time lucky for newly divorced Evandro Rocceforte? A happy new family for his adorable little daughter—with a new mamma and a new love for our dashing Evandro?

  We hope so! How we adore a happy ending!

  Evandro stared at the screen, his blood turning to ice.

  Hell. Hell and damnation!

  I should have been more careful—more discreet. I should never have spoken to Bianca, never have taken Jenna to Turin...

  He threw himself back in his leather chair, staring ahead with bleak, impotent fury, his hands clenched over the arms of his chair, his mind filled with grim foreboding...

  And in his head tolled the warning his lawyer had given him as he’d signed those papers the other man had so reluctantly put in front of him.

  ‘Do you realise the implications of what you are agreeing to?’

  And the words his lawyer had spoken next.

  ‘She can destroy your future.’

  The iron grip of his hands tightened. Would the inevitable letter come, fulfilling his lawyer’s warning? Would the storm break over his head? Or would Berenice never find out about this damnable article?

  He just did not know.

  Face dark, jaw steeled, he knew all he could do now was wait.

  And hope.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t move.’

  Evandro’s voice was low and intense as Jenna’s naked body was illuminated only by the full moon shining through the bedroom window.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he said again. ‘I want you exactly...exactly...like this.’

  He knelt over her, his powerful legs caging her, and lifted her hands over her head, where her hair streamed across the pillow. A rasp broke from him as he straightened, one hand reaching down to shape her breast, and let his thumb play idly over her cresting nipple so that it peaked and strained against his palm.

  She felt her back arch, heard a moan of pleasure sound in her throat. Her eyes clung to his and Evandro’s eyes did not leave hers for an instant as he lowered his other hand to the secret vee between her thighs, easing into the delicate folds.

  Her moan came again, more helpless yet, and her eyes fluttered shut as she gave herself over to the unbearably exquisite sensations he was drawing from her with his skilled stroking. She felt him lean forward slightly, making her aware of just how aroused he was, and she gloried in the knowledge. She ached for his possession, but he would not let her take him yet.

  She felt her response mounting, the low, helpless moans in her throat coming faster and faster, and her lips parted, her head rolling back at how exquisitely, blissfully close she was as pleasure surmounted pleasure, growing and building, seeking the release she was now desperate for. The release that only he could give her.

  She felt her spine arching in supplication... And then, just as she felt she could bear no more arousal, no more delay, his hands lifted from palming her straining breasts and the aching vee between her parted thighs. He was moving now, with a sudden, decisive, surging clenching of his taut-muscled thighs around her hips. He lifted her urgently, coming over her naked, hungry body with his hard and powerful one, and thrust into her, filling her body with his.

  She gave a cry, her hands flying to his shoulders, clutching at their strength as he drove into her. Her legs netted his, and she cried out again as wave after wave of a bliss—a pleasure so intense she could not bear it—broke through her, consuming her.

  She felt the molten fusion of their bodies uniting them, melding them each to the other, and she cried out his name and all but sobbed as she slowly, so very slowly, descended from the indescribable peak he had taken her to.

  Her trembling body was still clinging to his as he gently relinquished her, drawing her back against him, his breath ragged on her shoulder. She could feel the pounding slug of his heartbeat, beating in time with her own.

  Had it ever been that intense before? Had there been an urgency—almost a desperation—and a ravening hunger in his lovemaking tonight? As if the need to possess her had possessed him?

  She lay in the strong circle of his arms, felt his embrace closer, tighter, than she had known it before, as he moulded her slender body against his as if he would never, never let her go.

  Gladness filled her, and a sense of blessing so great that she felt her body relax now, her hectic heart and breathing easing along with his. She murmured his name, the syllables like a sweet caress, and folded her small hand over his much larger one.

  How much she loved him. How very much...

  The words blurred in her mind as consciousness was clouded with the soft, cocooning blanket of sweet slumber. Uniting them both in its somnolent embrace.

  * * *

  They were breakfasting, as usual, out on the terrace. Amelie was chattering away, enthusiastically telling them about all the fun things she was doing at summer camp. It was her second week there, and Jenna was so glad she was enjoying it. Not just for Amelie’s sake, but also for her own. Darling though Amelie was, it was wonderful to have Evandro all to herself.

  Her eyes went to him now. He was drinking his coffee, and there was a distracted air about him that had, she thought, been noticeable before from time to time, in the shuttering of his face or the veiling of his eyes.

  Was he remembering Berenice, and his bitter unhappiness with her?

  But he was free of her now. Free to find new happiness. Free to make his life anew.

&nbs
p; And, oh, please let it be with me.

  The familiar longing lodged so deep in her heart burned in her as ever, warring with the fear that she was longing for what could never be...

  He looked up as Maria sallied forth onto the terrace, informing Amelie that the car was ready to drive her to summer camp. The little girl vaulted to her feet, grabbing her kitbag and bestowing a kiss upon Jenna’s cheek and a quick hug upon her father, before gaily running off.

  ‘For you, signor,’ Maria said to Evandro, and deposited a clutch of mail beside his plate before taking herself off again.

  As he did every morning when presented with the post, he started to leaf through it immediately, purposefully—presumably looking for work-related items, Jenna assumed. Halfway through the pile, he stilled. Then, abruptly, he extracted one of the letters and got to his feet. Not looking at her.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  His voice sounded terse, and tension was visible in his stance as he strode indoors. Jenna could only stare after him. Cold pooled inside her, and suddenly she did not want any more coffee.

  Something is wrong.

  And all the fears she had sought to dispel came rushing back.

  * * *

  The heavily embossed paper lay on Evandro’s desk, the ornate lettering of the name of the very expensive lawyers Berenice used leaping out at him, and the words they had written imprinted like red-hot metal on his brain.

  So it had come.

  The storm was breaking over him—he had not escaped it.

  He took a heavy, ragged breath that seared his lungs.

  Memory mocked him. Memories of that very first night at dinner, when he and Jenna had spoken of evil enchantresses and the malign spells they cast upon their victims.

  ‘All such spells can be broken,’ Jenna had told him.

  Not this one.

  A savage snarl broke from him and his fist crashed down upon the lawyer’s letter—the letter that activated Berenice’s final weapon against him. The weapon he was powerless to deflect. Powerless to defeat.