His reputation as a playboy meant that the press were fascinated by the story of how Luca De Rossi had eloped to Las Vegas to marry the woman who had captured his heart. As he had predicted, there was a great deal of interest in her engagement ring, and Athena lost count of the number of times she’d assured the journalists that she was blissfully happy and in love with her new husband.
‘I completely refute the suggestion that my marriage to Athena is a sham,’ Luca replied, to a question about the validity of their relationship.
‘How about giving your bride a kiss?’ someone called out.
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
Luca’s smile did not slip as he turned his head slightly towards Athena.
‘We’d better keep the paparazzi happy,’ he muttered. ‘My PA informed me just before the press conference that my great-uncle Emilio has begun legal proceedings to try and stop me claiming my inheritance, and the only way he can do that is if he can prove our marriage is a fake.’ He dipped his head closer to her. ‘Are you ready?’
He made it sound so clinical. But of course for Luca kissing her was just part of his strategy to show the world that they were in love.
He had not been acting in front of the press when he had kissed her in their honeymoon suite last night, she remembered. When he had walked into the bedroom and seen her wearing a virtually see-through nightgown his eyes had glittered with desire. His hands had explored her body with the skill of a man well practised at seducing women, but his touch had been surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, when he had cradled her bare breasts in his hands and played with her nipples until they’d hardened.
She watched his darkly beautiful face descend and was gripped with panic. It was not the nervous feeling she’d had in the past whenever a man had tried to kiss her—it was a different kind of panic...a sense that she was being drawn ever deeper into a situation that was out of her control.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
His face was so close that she could see each individual eyelash, and his lush mouth was a temptation she knew she must resist if she was to survive a year of being married to him.
Luca was puzzled by the fearful expression in Athena’s eyes. It was the same expression he had seen on her face last night, when she had called a sudden halt to their lovemaking. He couldn’t think of any reason why she would be afraid of him, but something had happened that had upset her. She had cried for a long time after he had left her.
‘Relax, piccola. I’m not going to hurt you.’
His softly spoken assurance was whispered across Athena’s lips. Piccola meant ‘little one’—she had looked up the translation last night.
Luca’s gentleness was her undoing, and she released her breath on a ragged sigh as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her with heart-stopping passion mixed with an unexpected tenderness that evoked an ache inside her for something elusive and indefinable.
She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. Time was suspended and the journalists with their microphones and cameras disappeared from her consciousness. There was only her and Luca. She heard his low groan as he took the kiss to another level, where there was nothing but the sensations of darkness and velvet softness and the sweet, slow throb of desire stealing through her veins.
When eventually he lifted his head, she could not say a word as she waited for him to make some witty comment to the paparazzi. But he didn’t speak. He simply stared into her eyes, and a nerve flickered in his jaw when he saw the tears clinging to her lashes.
‘Don’t.’ His voice sounded strangely rusty as he pressed his lips to each of her eyelids in turn and tasted moisture on his lips. ‘You cannot deny the attraction between us any more than I can,’ he said in a harsh whisper, to avoid being overheard by the journalists. ‘So what was last night about?’
Athena was incapable of answering him—and was spared from having to try when Luca’s PA appeared at his shoulder.
‘I received a message for you from Villa De Rossi while your phone was switched off during the press conference,’ Sandro told Luca quietly. ‘Maria has asked you to return home urgently.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ATHENA’S FOOTSTEPS ECHOED on the black-and-white chequered floor of the entrance hall at Villa De Rossi. Luca’s secluded home, set in thirty acres of stunning parkland with views of Lake Como and the surrounding mountains, was a haven of peace and tranquillity after vibrant Las Vegas. Athena had fallen in love with the villa at first sight, and after three days of exploring the house and beautiful gardens she felt incredibly lucky that she would be able to spend time here for the year while she was married to Luca.
But if the past few days were anything to go by she would not be spending much time with her husband. She hadn’t seen him since the evening they had arrived at the villa and he had shown her to a suite of rooms: a large bedroom, en-suite bathroom and a charming sitting room overlooking the lake.
She had eaten dinner in splendid isolation in the wooden-panelled dining room, and when she’d asked the affable butler, Geomar, if the Conte—she had been shocked to discover that Luca had a title—would be joining her, she had been informed that he was very busy.
Whatever it was that occupied him, it wasn’t to do with his work.
His design studio, on the second floor of the villa, was a huge space, which must have been created by knocking through several rooms. Athena had taken a quick look inside, and had been amazed by the dozens of sketches pinned to the walls. Luca’s designs. He was obviously a gifted artist, who used bold pencil or charcoal strokes on his drawings, and she had thought how fussy her own drawings were in comparison.
Luca had not been in his studio or in his study when she’d looked. The villa was huge, and she remembered he had said they would be able to keep out of each other’s way most of the time.
At least the staff were friendly—and Geomar and his wife Elizavetta, who was the cook and housekeeper, spoke reasonably fluent English. She would have to find someone to give her Italian lessons, Athena thought. The two nurseries in nearby villages where she had made enquiries about a possible job both required her to be able to speak at least basic Italian.
The late summer sunshine pouring through the front windows filled the entrance hall with golden light and danced across the portraits of the De Rossi family lining the walls. Luca’s ancestors shared his classically sculpted, rather haughty features, but she noticed that none had his curious amber-coloured eyes. The two most recent portraits were of a stern-faced couple who Athena guessed must be Luca’s grandparents and, in contrast, a last picture of a smiling woman wearing an eye-catching orange dress. She was very beautiful, with long black hair and slanting eyes, and she looked so vividly alive that Athena almost expected her to spring out from the canvas.
‘My mother—Beatriz.’
Luca’s gravelly voice sent a ripple of reaction through Athena and she spun round to see him walking into the hall through a door which was usually kept locked.
‘I see you can’t take your eyes off her. She had that effect on most people—particularly men,’ he said sardonically.
Athena noticed that he could not seem to tear his own gaze from his mother. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She had an addiction to cocaine and vodka. A maid found her body at the bottom of the stairs in her apartment in Monte Carlo. It was supposed at the inquest that she had fallen and broken her neck, which resulted in her accidental death.’ Luca’s voice was emotionless but a nerve flickered in his jaw.
Athena drew a sharp breath. ‘What a terrible thing to have happened—for her and also for you,’ she said gently. Intuitively she realised that Luca had been deeply and irrevocably affected by his mother’s death. ‘She looks so full of life in the painting...as if she was determined to live her life to the maximum.’
‘My mother was the most selfish, self-obsessed woman I have ever known—and I’ve known quite a few,’ Luca said cynically. ‘When she was a child my grandparents gave her everything she desired, and as an adult she carried on taking what she wanted without giving a thought to anyone else.’
‘When did you come to live with your grandparents?’
‘Just before my eighth birthday.’ It had been a week before, and in the upheaval of dumping him on her parents, his mother had forgotten his birthday. His grandparents did not even know the date of his birth, and Luca had never told them. ‘My mother moved in with a lover who didn’t want me around. I rarely saw her after I came to live here.’
Athena looked along the row of portraits. ‘There isn’t a picture of your father here.’
Luca hesitated. He had long ago stopped feeling ashamed of his illegitimacy, but memories of being teased by the other boys at school about his mother’s outrageous lifestyle and very public affairs with a string of men meant that he rarely discussed his background.
‘That’s because his identity was unknown—even to my mother.’ He shrugged. ‘She had a vague idea he might have been a croupier she’d had a fling with in Monte Carlo, but she told me she couldn’t be sure who had fathered me.’
He grimaced when he saw Athena’s shocked expression.
‘My grandparents were appalled that my mother had given birth to a bastard. They believed—with some justification—that Beatriz’s wild lifestyle of drugs, drink and careless sex would bring the De Rossi brand name into disrepute. And I was the living proof that they had gone badly wrong when they brought up my mother. Rather than spoiling me, they went to the other end of the spectrum,’ he said grimly. ‘I loved being at boarding school, because at least during term time I had some respite from Aberto and Violetta’s constant attempts to suppress any source of happiness or enjoyment in my life.’
He gave a harsh laugh.
‘Perhaps it was natural that when I grew older I rebelled against my grandparents’ strict ways. They regarded my playboy reputation as proof that I had inherited my mother’s irresponsibility—especially when...’
‘When what?’ Athena asked, puzzled by his abrupt halt.
‘It’s not important.’
Luca’s jaw clenched as he remembered his grandparents’ anger when he had brought his illegitimate daughter to live at Villa De Rossi.
‘You continue to heap shame on the family with your immoral behaviour,’ Nonna Violetta had accused him.
Even when Rosalie’s illness had been diagnosed, his grandparents had been uninterested in the bastardo’s bastard child.
The situation he now found himself in was difficult, Luca brooded. When he had married Athena he had intended for her to live at his penthouse in Milan, as he had originally planned for Giselle. But since Emilio had threatened to try and prove that his marriage was a sham, he had been forced to bring his bride to live at the villa.
He realised he could not keep his daughter a secret from Athena for a year, but he could not forget his concern that she might talk to the press about Rosalie’s medical condition. He was determined to guard his daughter’s privacy, and he certainly did not want journalists hanging around the villa—or, even worse, the local hospital. Rosalie was frequently admitted there for treatment, and she had been there for the past couple of days, receiving treatment for a chest infection.
Sufferers of Rett Syndrome were prone to developing pneumonia—which was why Maria had urgently called him home from Las Vegas when Rosalie had shown signs of breathing problems. But, thank God, his daughter was okay after a course of antibiotics to treat the infection.
Relief that Rosalie was recovering from her latest bout of illness was replaced with frustration as Luca acknowledged that he had no option but to tell Athena about his daughter—sooner rather than later.
He turned his back on his mother’s portrait and skimmed his gaze over his wife. She had obviously spent time outside in the garden since arriving at the villa, and the mellow September sunshine had given her bare arms a light golden tan and encouraged a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.
‘You are sensible to wear a hat. The sun at this time of the year can still be very hot, and although your hair is dark you have fair skin, which would burn easily.’
The light blue cotton sundress Athena was wearing was not at all glamorous, but the square-cut neckline showed off the upper slopes of her breasts and Luca found her natural, wholesome beauty incredibly sexy. He tried to ignore the tug of desire in his gut.
‘Are you settling in at the Villa De Rossi? If there is anything you need just ask Geomar.’
‘I’m fine now that my luggage has arrived from England,’ Athena assured him.
The villa felt more like home since her parents had sent over her clothes and personal belongings. The phone conversation she’d had with her mother about her shock marriage to Luca had been extremely tense, but now her parents were on a Caribbean cruise, and she hoped they would soon come to terms with her decision not to marry Charlie—although it sounded as if he still had not told the truth about his relationship with his best man.
She looked at Luca’s darkly handsome face and her stomach twisted. She had missed his company these past few days—missed his kisses, she acknowledged.
‘Where have you been? Geomar said you were busy. Was it to do with your work?’
‘I had matters to attend to.’
Luca stiffened as he watched Athena lift her straw hat from her head so that her hair tumbled down her back like a river of silk. It was all he could do not to reach out and run his fingers through the glossy chestnut mane. Dio, she was going to be a distraction he did not need at the villa.
‘Did you go to Milan?’ Geomar had told Athena that Luca often went to the city. The head offices of his design company DRD and also De Rossi Enterprises were there. ‘You told me you have an apartment in the city.’
He sidestepped her first question. ‘My penthouse is close to Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II—Milan’s famous shopping gallery. You are welcome to go and stay there if you are bored at Villa De Rossi.’
‘I can’t imagine ever being bored here—the house and grounds are so beautiful. But there is something I’m curious about. What is behind the wall that runs along the side of the house? There’s a door in the wall, but it’s locked.’
Luca frowned. ‘The area beyond the wall is out of bounds. There’s nothing much there,’ he said, seeing the curiosity on Athena’s face.
She wanted to ask him why the place was out of bounds, if there was nothing there, but he was striding across the hall towards the library. She followed him, puzzled by his secrecy about the locked door. What was beyond the garden wall? Luca clearly did not want her to find out.
Perhaps it had something to do with the mystery of the disappearing women!
She thought of the attractive dark-haired woman she had seen arriving at the villa early every morning, and another woman of whom she hadn’t managed to get a good glimpse because she arrived in the evening, as it was getting dark. Both the women parked their cars at the back of the house.
When Athena had asked Geomar about these regular visitors to the villa he had made out that he hadn’t understood her—although usually he had an excellent grasp of English.
Were the two women Luca’s mistresses? Athena’s imagination went into overdrive. Now that she thought about it, he did look tired. Perhaps he had been ‘busy’ entertaining his lady friends.
Her thoughts scattered when she stepped into the library and found Luca flicking through the sketchpad she had left on the table.
‘Are these your drawings?’
‘Yes, but please don’t look at them.’
In an agony of embarrassment, she tried to snatch the sketchbook out of his hands.
‘They’re very good.
’ Luca put the pad back on the table, but continued to turn the pages. ‘Your drawings of animals are incredibly detailed. Have you ever thought about becoming an illustrator?’
Some of Athena’s tension eased when she realised that Luca wasn’t mocking her. ‘I’d love to illustrate children’s storybooks.’ She hesitated. ‘Actually, I’ve written a few books for children in the five to eight age group, and illustrated the stories.’
‘Have any been published?’
‘No, I’ve never sent my work to a publisher. My father...’ Athena bit her lip as she remembered her father’s irritation with what he had called her time-wasting. ‘He used to get annoyed if he found me scribbling childish drawings instead of studying for my exams. I really don’t believe my drawings are good enough to be saleable,’ she said ruefully.
‘It sounds like your parents did a good job of destroying your confidence.’
Luca could sympathise with how Athena must have felt when she had failed to meet her parents’ expectations. He had never fitted the mould his grandparents had tried to force him into.
‘I think you should send your work off to some publishing houses. What have you got to lose?’
‘Do you really think my drawings are good enough for a publisher to be interested in them?’
Her shy smile transformed her from pretty to beautiful, Luca brooded.
She straightened up and tilted her head to meet his gaze. ‘Thanks for being so encouraging.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Luca knew he was staring at her—but then, she was staring at him. He watched a soft flush of colour run under her skin, suffusing her cheeks and throat and spreading down to the upper slopes of her breasts. The tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips and desire corkscrewed inside him.
He wanted to kiss her as he had done in Vegas. Hell, he wanted to tumble her down onto the sofa and make love to her hard and fast, and then take the slow, leisurely route and satisfy the hunger that he was convinced she felt as strongly as he did.
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