Andreas gave her another probing look. ‘No doubt this question will offend your newfound sensibilities, but it must be asked. Is there no chance that you might already be pregnant?’
Gemma stared at him, speechless.
‘I realise Michael Carter could not be the father, but perhaps there was someone else?’ he continued.
‘There is no possible chance I could be pregnant,’ she said, looking him straight in the eyes. ‘No chance at all.’
‘I hope I can trust you on that,’ he said.
‘You can trust me,’ she said, her mouth tightening. ‘But if you don’t I can perform a pregnancy test in front of you to verify it if you would like.’
‘That will not be necessary,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to make sure we both are playing on a level field right from the start.’
‘I understand, but I can assure you there are no cuckoos in this particular nest,’ she said with increasing sharpness in her tone.
‘Cuckoos?’ He gave a slightly puzzled frown as if he was unfamiliar with the word.
‘A cuckoo is a bird that is known for leaving its eggs in someone else’s nest to be hatched and cared for by the other bird,’ she explained.
‘Ah, yes, cuculo as it is in Italian. I can see I have still much to learn even though I have spoken English for most of my life,’ he said, his mouth suddenly relaxing into a wry smile.
‘Your English has greatly im—’ She stopped mid-word, her eyes flying back to his in case he picked up on her little slip.
‘You were saying?’ he prompted with a quizzical tilt of his head.
‘I—I was saying your English has…greatly impressed me…I mean, it must be hard to switch from one language to the other, thinking in one while speaking in the other…that sort of thing.’ Gemma knew she was rambling but she couldn’t seem to stop, ‘I’m impressed, that’s all. I couldn’t do it…’ She held her breath, her chest feeling tight with the effort.
It was only one or two seconds at the most before he responded, but Gemma felt as if time had come to a standstill, leaving her helplessly stranded.
‘If you like I could teach you to speak my language,’ he offered at last. ‘It is quite close to English and I am sure it would not take you long to pick up a few phrases.’
‘I’d be hopeless,’ she said. ‘I failed every subject at school. You’d be wasting your time.’
‘I am sure you are greatly underestimating your ability,’ he said. ‘You would no doubt be amazed at what you could do if you put your mind to it.’
‘Yes, well, my mind is not what it used to be,’ she responded with a little downturn of her mouth.
‘You are far too hard on yourself, cara.’
His low, deep, gentle voice brought her head back up and her heart skipped a beat. ‘That means darling…doesn’t it?’ she asked.
He smiled as he opened the door to leave. ‘See what a fast learner you are? Buonanotte, Gemma.’
Gemma sank back amongst the pillows once she heard the front door click into place, but she didn’t sleep another wink for the rest of the night.
She couldn’t.
Her growing feelings for Andreas Trigliani kept her awake by gradually and irreversibly seeping through and filling that achingly hollow space she had carried in her chest for so long…
CHAPTER EIGHT
ONCE the legal work was dispensed with the following morning Andreas suggested they have a light lunch at his house in the harbourside suburb of Balmoral.
‘Don’t you have to get back to work?’ Gemma asked, wondering if it was wise to spend too much time with him, especially alone.
‘I have an excellent business manager,’ he said. ‘He will call me if there is anything that needs my immediate attention.’
‘Where is your office?’ she asked as they made their way to where his car was parked.
He stopped and, putting his hands on her shoulders, turned her to look back at the city outline. He pointed past her shoulder, his arm so close to her cheek she felt the soft brush of his shirt sleeve and the light lemony scent of his aftershave. ‘See that that blue-glassed building, the tall one?’ he asked, his warm breath gently ruffling her hair.
She could hardly breathe, let alone speak, with him standing so close behind her. The temptation to lean back against his leanly muscled frame was almost uncontrollable. ‘Um…yes…I can see it.’
‘I have a suite of offices on the thirtieth floor,’ he said. ‘But I also do a lot of work from home.’ His hands fell away from her shoulders and she slowly turned around to face him.
His eyes locked with hers.
Gemma felt as if the world had come to an instant halt. The sounds of the busy city seemed to fade into the distance as she stood in front of him, looking up into his breathtakingly handsome face. Her senses were full of him; each deep throb of her heart seemed to be for him and him alone. Her hands ached to reach for him, to touch his face in a gentle caress, to explore the contours of his sensual mouth, the dark twins of his brows and the length of his aristocratic nose.
Almost without realising she was doing it she stepped half a step closer, one of her hands going to his chest to stabilise herself, the other going to his lean, cleanly shaven jaw, the softness of her palm on his masculine skin sending sparks of electricity up the length of her arm.
She couldn’t stand on tiptoe without falling, but in the end she didn’t need to as his head came down to meet hers in a kiss that was nothing like the soft kiss he’d given her before. There was a heated urgency in his mouth this time as it connected with hers. It was like fire meeting fuel, the eruption total and devastating.
Gemma’s body sang with the rush of desire flowing through her, making her feel alive in a way she had never felt before. His arms were around her, one of his hands on the small of her back holding her against his hardening body, the intimate contact thrilling her that she had the power to attract him in spite of everything that had happened to her.
His tongue was a sweet, thrusting sword of sensuality, delving and sweeping and commanding hers into a duel that went on and on until she was consumed by the need to feel him in her most intimate place of all. She pressed herself closer, delighting in the feel of his strength and power as his mouth worked its heady magic on hers. Her breasts swelled against his chest, their tight points aching with the need to feel skin on skin instead of through the frustrating barrier of clothes.
It was Andreas who finally broke the kiss. He looked down at her up-tilted face for a long moment, his dark eyes still alight with the fire of need.
‘Who started that, I wonder?’ he mused with a lopsided smile.
She bit her bottom lip and lowered her gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I think it might have been me…’
He tipped her chin back up to hold her gaze within the force field of his. ‘Do not apologise, Gemma. You have the perfect right to initiate physical contact—after all we will be husband and wife in just over twenty-four hours.’ He stroked a finger over the fullness of her bottom lip where her teeth had caught at it. ‘But what I would like to know is why you felt the need to do so. Perhaps you are beginning to remember me a little, yes?’
‘Y-yes…I mean no,’ she said, her brain feeling like a ball of tangled string. ‘I don’t remember a thing…’
‘You have a totally unforgettable mouth,’ he said, moving his caress to her top lip. ‘I have thought of that mouth for ten years, wondering what it would feel like to have it beneath mine.’
‘So…’ she affected a little frown hoping it would be enough to convince him she had no recollection of that time ‘…have we…er…ever kissed before? In the past, I mean.’
‘Believe me, Gemma,’ he said with a glinting look in his eyes, ‘if we had, I swear to God you would not have forgotten it.’
Gemma got in the car a few moments later, her heart still thumping erratically in her chest. She had thought it beneath her ten years ago to allow that mouth anywhere near hers. What would have happened if h
e had kissed her back then? Would she have still treated him the same despicable way or would she have melted into a pool of longing as she had just done?
Andreas’s house was a recently renovated two storey property with a wonderfully landscaped low-maintenance garden, a lap pool and an indoor well-appointed gym, most of the rooms enjoying fabulous views over Middle Harbour.
The interior was decorated along modern minimalist lines, in muted tones throughout. The taupe large leather sofas looked luxuriously comfortable in the lounge and the entertainment system was state of the art. The works of art on the wall hinted at wealth in an understated rather than opulent way, which privately impressed Gemma.
‘My housekeeper has prepared a meal for us,’ Andreas said as he led her to the dining area, which overlooked the beach. ‘Would you like to use the bathroom before I get her to serve it?’
‘Yes…thank you…I won’t be a moment,’ Gemma said, finding her way back to the large bathroom on the lower floor. The walls and floor were all marbled, a big mirror above twin basins with lantern-like lights fitted into it giving the room a luxurious feel of a health spa.
She washed her hands and reapplied her lip-gloss, trying to control the slight wobble of her hand as she did so.
Don’t be stupid, she chided herself as she put the cap back on the gloss. You’re not alone with him; his housekeeper is here.
She gave her blonde hair one more quick check to make sure her slanted fringe was over her scar and made her way back to the dining room.
A brown-haired middle-aged woman turned from the table as Gemma came in, her hazel eyes running over her in an unmistakably insolent manner. ‘Hello, Miss Landerstalle. I am Signor Trigliani’s housekeeper, Susanne Vallory. I don’t suppose you remember me? I used to work for your father at the hotel.’
Gemma stared at the woman for a moment, shame rushing through her at how she had treated the cleaning staff back then. Susanne had worked her way up the ranks from the general cleaning roster to head housekeeper of The Landerstalle, but even so she had not escaped Gemma’s unforgivable taunts from time to time.
‘Um…yes, I do remember you,’ she said, offering a hand. ‘How are you, Mrs Vallory? It’s been a long time and I—’
Susanne ignored Gemma’s hand, her eyes glittering with mockery. ‘Congratulations on your impending marriage.’
Gemma moistened her lips and dropped her hand by her side. ‘Thank you.’
‘I was very sorry to hear about your father’s death,’ the housekeeper added. ‘How lucky for you, landing a billionaire just in time to inherit the hotel. Who would have thought it?’
Gemma felt the bruising blow of the housekeeper’s vitriolic statements where it hurt most, but somehow managed to disguise it behind a cool, impersonal mask. ‘Yes, that’s correct,’ she said in a deliberately imperious tone. ‘The money will be mine as of tomorrow. And if you wish to continue working for Signor Trigliani in this house I suggest you keep your comments and opinions to yourself otherwise you might find yourself without employment.’
‘You can’t fire me,’ Susanne stated. ‘You’ve always thought you’re better than the rest of the world, but, let me tell you, you’re not. You’re a hard-nosed little madam if ever there was one.’
‘That will be all for now, thank you, Susanne,’ Andreas said from just behind Gemma as he re-entered the room. ‘I will serve our lunch this time. Thank you for preparing it for us. You can have the rest of the afternoon off. I will see you as usual tomorrow.’
Susanne gave Gemma one last cutting look before brushing past, her head set at a proud, defiant angle.
‘Come and sit down,’ Andreas said as he pulled out a chair for Gemma. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Water will be fine,’ she clipped out, still upset. ‘Although perhaps you’d better check your housekeeper hasn’t laced it with cyanide or something before you give it to me.’
Andreas shifted his lips from side to side in a gesture that suggested he was considering how best to go about pouring oil over troubled waters.
‘Do not take too much notice of Susanne,’ he said. ‘She is a hard worker and does a good job for me. I am sure in time she will soften towards you.’ He took the chair on her right, his long legs brushing against hers under the table.
‘I doubt it.’ Gemma gave him a scowl as she shifted her legs out of the way. ‘Besides, she hinted she knew why I was marrying you. What have you told her?’
He met her flashing blue eyes unwaveringly. ‘I told her I had never forgotten you and that we had fallen deeply in love.’
‘As if she would believe that for a moment,’ she scoffed. ‘Besides, my engagement to Michael wasn’t exactly private information. Everyone will think I’m nothing but a fickle user after all she can get.’
‘I do not think it is necessary to be concerned about what other people think,’ he returned. ‘After all, such things did not concern you in the past, why should you be so upset now?’
‘Because things are different now,’ she said, fighting back tears of frustration.
‘That is only because you cannot remember what you were like back then, which, judging from Susanne’s reaction just now, is perhaps rather fortunate for you.’
She sent him a furious look. ‘If one more person calls me fortunate or lucky I will scream. I am not lucky.’
‘You are indeed fortunate to have the chance to claim your father’s estate,’ he pointed out. ‘You are also indeed very fortunate to have worthwhile charity work to do and reasonable health and some measure of agility. You are much better off than many others. You should be grateful for what you have instead of burning with resentment for what you do not.’
Gemma was furious. ‘Can’t you see how it’s all a stupid sham? Money is not what is important. It doesn’t bring people back to life and it can’t even change the last minute, let alone the last ten years.’
‘And yet here you are agreeing to marry a man who is apparently little more than a stranger to you for the one thing you claim holds no interest to you—money,’ he observed.
Gemma sat silently fuming at his cool control, which she assumed he was only exhibiting to highlight the dismantling of her own.
‘It is rather strange that you remember Susanne and yet do not remember me,’ he said into the humming silence. ‘After all, she worked at the hotel at the same time as I did.’
Gemma felt her heart give a sudden lurch. How much had he overheard of her conversation with Susanne? Had she inadvertently blown her cover?
‘Who knows?’ he added. ‘Perhaps spending time with her will jog your memory.’
She glared at him. ‘Don’t hold your breath. I only remember her because she worked at the hotel for years.’
‘Come now, Gemma,’ he said. ‘Have your lunch and leave your temper back where it belongs—in the past.’
‘I do not have a temper,’ she bit out through clenched teeth.
His soft chuckle of laughter flicked the hair-trigger on her control. She got to her feet and, with a savage grasp of her hand at the edge of the starched white tablecloth, cleared the table with a shattering explosion of glass, cutlery and crockery onto the tiled floor below.
Gemma stared at the seeping mess as water and the red wine Andreas had poured dripped like a fountain of blood to the floor where the remains of their lunch lay in disarray, almost unable to believe she had caused such mayhem.
He slowly got to his feet, his dark eyes smouldering with fury as they locked down on hers.
She took a step backwards, but he had already anticipated it and snared her arm, hauling her away from the mess at their feet. His fingers were like iron bands around her wrists as he counteracted her attempt to pull away.
‘Let me go you…you bastard!’ she flayed him.
His hold tightened, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Go on, you can do better than that, Gemma,’ he goaded her. ‘You can think of much better insults than that, I am sure.’
Gemma k
new she was in unsafe territory, but it seemed as if now her anger and frustration had found an outlet it was going to be impossible to block it back up again. It was banking up inside her like a flood pushing against weakened sandbags; there was no way of holding it back.
‘I hate you!’ she screeched at him. ‘Take your hands off me, you…you…’
‘Can you not remember what you said back then?’ he asked, pulling her up close, so close she could feel every hard ridge of his body against hers. ‘What about the bit about how you wouldn’t sleep with me even if I was the last man on earth?’
Gemma clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t allow her past to sneak up on her and take away this one chance for Isabella.
‘Or how about something equally insulting about my Italian peasant body?’ he continued. ‘How it could not possibly bring pleasure to any woman—was that not how it went?’
She glared at him. ‘How should I know? I told you I don’t remember.’
He doesn’t believe me, she thought in rising panic as he held her gaze, her stomach tightening in fear.
Oh, God! He doesn’t believe me.
She lowered her eyes and stopped resisting his hold, her shoulders slumping, her voice coming out soft and subdued. ‘If I said…terrible things like that I’m sorry…It must have been awful for you. I have no excuse for my behaviour…as you said once before, perhaps it is a mercy I can’t remember…’ She held her breath, mentally counting the seconds, hoping he would buy it, hating herself all over again for lying to him, but with only a matter of less than twenty-four hours until her goal could be achieved she couldn’t back out now. If he were to guess she was feigning amnesia to get what she wanted he would think nothing of calling off the wedding. She was sure of it. It would after all be the perfect revenge.
Andreas gradually relaxed his hold but didn’t release her. His fingers remained around her wrists, though lightly, almost like a caress. ‘I should not have mentioned it, cara,’ he said, his tone now gentle. ‘It is clear it upsets you and it does no good to force things. It is over. Ten years has passed, it is not relevant to us any more.’
Bedded and Wedded for Revenge Page 8