‘Did I say you wouldn’t have a life of your own?’ he lashed. ‘If I remember correctly, and I do, I stated precisely the opposite.’
She nodded wearily. But, determined to make one last effort, she rallied herself desperately, refusing to allow herself to weaken.
‘I don’t want to be your mistress,’ she told him flatly. ‘I won’t jump from one pigeon-hole into another—from Tom’s suitable fiancée to your mistress.’
She didn’t see him walk away. She didn’t hear him go. She only knew he was no longer near her by the awful emptiness, by the aching void he’d left behind, by the bleak and terrible feeling of loss...
Bess unpacked the few essentials she’d carried in her hand luggage and decided they’d do. No need to go to the trouble of raiding the suitcases she’d left in the safekeeping of the hotel porter. Besides, she was too tired to phone down and ask for them to be sent up.
After a month in New England, where she’d eventually signed up a wonderful hotel complex a few miles up the coast from Rockport where their clients, besides being luxuriously pampered, could go out on whale-spotting expeditions or inland and deeper into the lovely countryside for the glorious autumn colours—and all within easy reach of fashionable Boston—it felt strange to be back in Europe.
Particularly in Rome.
But Rome wasn’t Tuscany and Luke was well and truly married to Helen.
And that was in the past, she reminded herself, and the working trip to the States had helped concentrate her mind. She hadn’t even had to beg to be allowed to go. Mark must have taken one look at her haunted face and decided to send her halfway across the world to rid the office of her depressing influence!
Her lips indented slightly as she eased her shoes off her aching feet. She was sure that no one had guessed the reason for her misery. Except Niccy. And when she’d been told what had happened she’d vowed, ‘If he ever shows his face here, asking for you, I’ll kill him with my bare hands—and tell him why afterwards!’
And Mark hadn’t flickered an eyelash when, on the eve of her hurried departure, she’d asked him not to tell anyone—and that meant anyone—where she could be contacted.
She’d known that she looked like a burst balloon—she’d certainly felt like one, that day at the office—and he’d merely said, ‘Boyfriend trouble? Well, so long as you’re not wanted by MIS my lips are sealed.’
Not that Luca—Luke—would think of trying to get in touch with her. She’d told him all sorts of untruths to make him leave her alone. He must have thought she was the ex-lover from hell and been glad to have her right out of his life.
But she hadn’t wanted her mother phoning longdistance, or writing volumes, badgering her about her broken engagement to poor, dear Tom, rubbing salt in the terrible wound by gloating on about how well Helen had done for herself, catching the highly eligible Luke Vaccari—and hadn’t she told everyone it was on the cards and wasn’t a mother’s instinct always right?—and urging her to do her best to get back in time for the wedding.
That she could do without!
It had been bad enough knowing exactly when the wedding was taking place. During one of her routine calls back to base, Mark had told her, ‘I’ve had your mother on the phone again, asking for a contact number—even though I’ve repeatedly assured the good lady that you’re well, happy, working hard, moving around and difficult to pin down.
‘Anyway, she left a message for me to pass on when you phoned in next. Roughly edited out for sheer length, it’s to tell you that Helen’s wedding is set for the twentieth. This month. She, your father and Helen would like for you to be there, but will understand if you can’t make it. OK?’
The twentieth had been just over a week ago. Helen wouldn’t have wanted to hang around until she had a definite bump in her middle. Her wedding gown—no doubt a sumptuous clingy thing—wouldn’t have hung properly! She would have looked less than perfect!
Bess had allowed herself that slight balm of bitchiness then thrown herself back into her work, and then, just hours before she’d been due to fly back to the UK, Mark had faxed through an urgent message asking her to make a small detour, stopping off in Rome.
She had never wanted to visit Italy again. Her memories of her short time here hurt too much. But Mark had been tied up, so Bess had had to try her teeth on a little problem. And ever since she’d landed—or almost—she’d been ironing things out.
The driver assigned to their clients—a middle-aged couple and their teenage daughter, staying in this hand-picked hotel—had done a bunk, taking the car. Which hadn’t pleased anyone.
By the time she’d contacted the polizia with the help of the hotel manager, who’d acted as translator, and learned that the absconding driver had already been picked up in Naples, and that the car could be collected any time, she’d already hired another driver, making sure his references were impeccable, and an even more luxurious car, soothed the clients, assured them of Jenson’s best attention at all times, and narrowly avoided collapsing with sheer exhaustion.
‘Mission accomplished,’ she’d told Mark over the phone, utterly weary but pleased with the way she’d handled things, accepting without argument when he’d offered,
‘Stay over for a couple of days or so. I’ve checked with the manager and there’s a single room available. You’ve earned a short break—expenses paid.’
Earned or not, she had no real objections to taking a breather. And here was as good a place as any. After all, there were hurtful memories waiting for her back in England, too. Not to mention the inevitable and inexhaustible run-down on the wedding which would come from her mother, plus the delight at the prospect of the coming first grandchild, all laced with stringent grumbles about her stupidity in turning Tom down for no good reason that anyone could see.
So to hell with jet lag. She would see all she could of Rome in the next day or so. Visit all the picturepostcard sights. Make like a tourist. Tomorrow. Right now she felt too tired to put one foot in front of the other.
Straightening her weary shoulders, she walked slowly across the luxurious room she’d been given and stood by the tall window. The view was glorious. Perched on a hill, the hotel was set in its own typically Italianate gardens, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.
Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? Even a view, shimmering beneath the heat of the Italian sun, brought him back—so close that she felt she only had to stretch out her hand to touch him.
No matter how hard she tried, she kept remembering things about him. Things she would rather forget, wipe out of her mind for ever.
His passion, his warmth, the ability he had to make her feel as if she was the only woman in the universe... the terrible pain in his voice when he’d talked of the child he had lost ... the spell he’d cast over her, binding her, blinding her to everything but the need to be with him...
Scrubbing her eyes angrily, she turned from the window. She wouldn’t cry. She would stop thinking of him. She would never think of him again.
And she wouldn’t think of the stupidity of that affirmation, either—the fact that he was now her brother-in-law, that in a few months’ time Helen would produce her nephew or niece, that unless she went to live and work on the other side of the world she wouldn’t be able to avoid contact indefinitely.
It didn’t bear thinking about. So she wouldn’t.
A discreet tapping on the door made her frown, and she dragged her fingers over her face to remove any lingering traces of dampness.
‘Avanti!’ she called resignedly, expecting a chambermaid, surprised but pleased when Signor Velardi walked in. The hotel manager was short and round with shiny black hair and a very white smile. She liked him a lot. He’d been invaluable this afternoon, helping her with her dealings with the police.
‘Signorina—I check you have everything you need. You are happy with your room?’
‘It’s perfect.’ Bess found a smile, hating the concern in his dark eyes. Could he tell she�
�d been crying? What must he think of Jenson’s if their representative dissolved into tears after sorting out a minor inconvenience?
So when he said, his liquid eyes full of sympathy, ‘After your problems today you will want to rest. I will personally see that a tray of tea is brought up to you,’ Bess countered immediately, ‘That’s thoughtful of you, but I’m going out. There’s so much to see and I won’t be here long. I want to take in as much as I can.’ And she flashed him a smile and tried to look bright.
Launching straight into a round of hectic sightseeing was a great idea. It would stop her thinking...
‘Such stamina!’ the little man said admiringly.
‘A long flight, a troubled few hours, and still so eager! May I suggest the Borghese Gardens?’ he inserted smoothly. ‘Not far, and very peaceful.’
He smiled himself out and Bess grabbed a pair of jeans and a loose sleeveless T-shirt out of her flight bag and stripped off the classic navy blue summer suit she’d been wearing. Emerging from the shower ten minutes later, she dressed hurriedly, grabbed the complimentary guidebook, stuffed it into her bag and practically ran from the room, her tiredness ignored because anything was better than hanging around, waiting for her body clock to adjust to the new time zone, letting her head fill with thoughts, memories she had no wish to dwell on.
The sumptuous first-floor corridors were decorated and furnished in white and soft tobacco shades, crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and exquisite floral arrangements perfumed the air.
The professional part of her brain approved the atmosphere of luxury while another part insisted on reminding her that nowhere was special or exciting now that Luke could never be part of her life.
But she wasn’t going to think about him, was she? Tightening her mouth, she ignored the lifts and took the sweeping marble staircase, intent on getting outside, finding something—anything—to occupy her wretchedly wayward mind.
Pausing at the foot of the stairs, she fished out her guidebook and buried her nose in it, oblivious to the scattering of elegant guests who were relaxing in armchairs, sipping ice-cold drinks or simply people-watching.
The Borghese Gardens were fairly close, she noted, and Signor Velardi’s suggestion that she visit them was tempting. But perhaps her state of mind demanded somewhere more crowded, brimming with life...
Suddenly the book she was poring over so intently was unceremoniously plucked from her hands, warm, hard fingers gripping her elbow.
Startled, deeply affronted, Bess tipped up her head and glared. Then began shaking. She couldn’t breathe.
Luke!
It couldn’t be. But it was. Were he and Helen honeymooning here? In this very hotel? Fate couldn’t be that cruel!
Could it?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘LUKE!’ Bess whispered, her face stricken. Her pulses were beating so fiercely, so erratically, she thought she was going to faint.
‘Luca,’ he reminded her grimly. His hand tightened around her arm. ‘Come on, we’re getting out of here.’
Helplessly, she gazed up at him. His mouth was crooked, his silver eyes glittering. He looked very determined, strong emotions tightly leashed but simmering fiercely under the surface.
‘Outside,’ he repeated with dangerous softness. ‘Unless you want the sort of scene that would set the whole of Rome talking for a week.’
Scene or not, she hadn’t the strength to resist. His nearness, the sheer unexpectedness of the encounter, had weakened her until she could barely stand upright.
Sure that everyone must be looking at them—the sexy, smouldering male casually dressed in elegantly cut, hip-hugging black trousers and a dazzlingly white silk shirt, and the very ordinary female in her run-of-the mill jeans, her make-up-less face blotchy from crying—Bess kept her head low, her mind going round in futile circles.
Were they really honeymooning here? A dreadful coincidence? Was he as appalled as he’d sounded to have practically bumped right into her? And where was Helen? Waiting for him in their hotel bedroom, eager for his return?
Or was she hallucinating? Conjuring him out of the ether because he was her lost love, the only person in the world she needed to be near?
‘In,’ he commanded tersley, opening the passenger door of the car parked at the foot of the impressive steps down which he’d hustled her. ‘We’re going somewhere quiet where we can talk.’
The car was a low, dark, snarly-looking thing. Even without the engine running it seemed to vibrate with power.
Bess looked at him warily. She had never seen him like this before. He had turned into an out-and-out bully and she only had to glance at his hard, lean features to know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, not even if she screamed it until her throat was raw.
Nevertheless, she found herself saying, ‘We can talk right here. I don’t think I want to hear it, whatever it is. But go ahead, if you must.’
She wasn’t going anywhere with him. She couldn’t trust herself. She felt bad enough about betraying Tom—even though at the time she had already decided she could never marry him. She would fight to the last breath in her body before she would allow herself to betray her sister.
And fight she would have to, she recognised sickly. He was looking at her as if he could willingly strangle her, so the danger didn’t come from him. It came from within her, deep within her, from the terrible yearning to touch him, hold him, be part of him for one last time...
She gave a strangled gasp at her own incurable weakness and he put her in the passenger seat with inescapable firmness and strapped her in. And her giddy head was still swimming as he joined her in the state-of-the-art vehicle, fired the ignition and smoothly pulled away.
She had to get a grip on herself, she knew that, and managed to croak, ‘Where do you think you’re taking me? And where’s Helen? If you’re planning a sisters’ reunion party, forget it. She won’t want me around on her honeymoon.’
‘Too right, she won’t. At a guess, you’re the last person she’d want to see. You’d only make them both feel guilty and spoil their fun.’
Puzzled, Bess shot a look at him from beneath her lashes. He was smiling, damn him! Was he actually laughing at her? Had she said something amusing—or what?
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered darkly, reminded that when they’d first met he’d talked in riddles, making her feel a fool because she hadn’t understood what he was getting at.
He said gently, ‘Shut up, do. I’m trying to concentrate. If we start talking things out now you’ll claim my exclusive attention and we’ll both land up in hospital.’
He had a point, she thought on a draining sigh. The traffic conditions were scary, everyone driving far too fast, diving for their slice of the road with typical Italian machismo.
But his hands were relaxed on the wheel; he obviously knew what he was doing, where he was going, and the small smile played around the corners of his gorgeous mouth and somehow that relaxed her too. Although it shouldn’t have.
She sagged back against the soft leather upholstery. Her head was beginning to ache. It was very warm, and she was desperately tired; the strain of meeting up with him on top of everything else was poleaxing her.
And even though she did her best to stay alert, ready to shoot him down in flames if he so much as mentioned the word mistress, her eyelids felt heavier and heavier and she finally gave up the hopeless attempt to keep them open and drifted off to sleep.
She woke with a jolt. It was dusk. The car had stopped. She was alone.
Blinking, she peered through the windscreen. She could make out the heavy, dark shapes of trees, the hazy outline of mountains against the deepening sky. Somewhere a small animal squeaked in the night and she shivered. Where was Luca?
Her heart began to flutter frantically, her nerves all on edge. When the door at her side opened she gave a startled yelp and he leaned in, telling her lightly, ‘Out you get, sleepyhead.’
‘Where to?’ she a
sked tightly, with deep suspicion. She wasn’t going to let him know how relieved she was to see him. Besides, it had taken him a hell of a long time to find a quiet place to talk! From the dusk-restricted view they appeared to be at the end of nowhere.
‘Our overnight accommodation.’
Oh, hell! Bess agonised, tears of sheer fright flooding her eyes. He did want them to take up where they’d left off—why else would he have brought her here, miles from anywhere? And where had he put Helen? In a box labelled ‘Take Out Only When Needed’?
He’d been married less than two weeks and his wife was expecting their child. The brush-off she’d given him obviously hadn’t been nearly stringent enough. What would it take to make him give her up as a lost cause? And did he really want her so much that he would go to these lengths? To her shame, the thought excited as much as terrified her.
‘Take me back to Rome,’ she commanded, anchoring herself to her seat, folding her arms across her chest and looking, she devoutly hoped, as if nothing short of an earthquake would move her.
The car door opened wider and strong arms hauled her out. And fear of the hot surge of desire that coursed through her gave her the protection of anger, enabling her to produce a blistering, ‘Let go of me, you rat!’ and giving her the energy to thrash her limbs wildly, beat his silk-clad chest with her fists. ‘You made me betray my principles before—I’ll kill you before you make me do it again!’
‘You mean Tom,’ he said lightly, dismissively. Sublimely ignoring her frantic efforts to get free, he carried her effortlessly towards what looked like an old farmhouse. ‘You didn’t betray him. You knew what you were doing. The only person you ever betrayed was yourself, when you stupidly agreed to marry him.’
He shouldered open a heavy wooden door. It scraped on flagstones. Bess hissed, ‘That’s as maybe! But you’re married to Helen now and I never wanted to have to see you again. Ever!’ Her words throbbed with the intensity of her emotions and in the soft light of a lamp set on the central table she saw him grin, which made her redouble her efforts to beat him to a pulp. ‘Put me down!’
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