Raul withstood her ministrations for a few torturous minutes before he groaned and captured her hand, his breathing ragged as he fought to regain his self-control.
‘Enough, witch…’ he muttered hoarsely, and eased into her, pausing while her muscles stretched to accommodate him before he thrust deeper, again and again, in an age-old rhythm that quickly drove them to the edge. ‘Tesoro…’
The word was ripped from his throat as they climaxed simultaneously, Libby’s vaginal muscles tightening and rippling around him, giving him the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced.
Afterwards, when they lay still joined, she wondered what the word meant, but she was afraid to ask in case she had imagined the closeness she sensed between them, the feeling that their souls as well as their bodies had merged.
Chapter Ten
AFTER that they went sailing regularly, and always stopped off at the hidden summerhouse. The glorious days of early summer slipped past, and before Libby knew it, it was June, and Gino’s first birthday.
‘I can’t believe he’s walking and saying a few words,’ she said softly, when she and Raul tucked the worn out little boy into his cot that evening.
‘He said Papa quite clearly when we lit the candle on his cake,’ Raul said with undisguised pride in his voice. ‘Did you hear him?’
Libby gave him a mock frown. ‘I still think it sounded more like Mamma. Do you think he enjoyed his party?’
It had only been a small affair; the Vincentis had brought their two daughters, and several of Raul’s other friends whom Libby had met at the dinner parties they had attended had also come with their children.
‘One year old already,’ she murmured, the familiar surge of love flooding through her when she stared down at Gino’s flushed cheeks and silky black curls. ‘I wish Mum could see him,’ she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
Raul pulled her close. ‘She would be very proud of you for being such a wonderful mother to him,’ he assured her gently, conscious of the curious tugging on his heart that had caught him unawares so often recently. ‘Don’t cry, cara.’ It tore him apart when she cried. ‘Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.’
Puzzled, Libby allowed him to lead her out of the nursery and up several flights of stairs. ‘We must be at the top of the tower,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Where are we going, Raul?’
‘In here.’ He pushed open a door and stood back for Libby to enter the room, grinning when her mouth opened in astonishment but no sound emerged. ‘It’s your art studio,’ he explained unnecessarily as she stared around—at the large easel set close to a window which overlooked the lake, the stack of blank canvases, the shelves containing paints and other equipment. The paintings Libby had left behind in Cornwall were arranged around the room, and she felt a little swell of pride as she studied them. They really weren’t bad, she decided.
‘A friend of mine owns a gallery in Rome,’ Raul told her as he joined her in front of a beach scene she had painted just before she had come to Italy. ‘I showed him some of your work and he’s very keen to organise an exhibition. What do you think of the studio?’ he asked, concerned by her lack of response to something that he had taken great pleasure in organising for her. ‘Cara, why are you crying? If you don’t like it…’
‘I do like it—of course I do.’ Libby sniffed inelegantly and gave him a blinding smile as she launched herself into his arms. ‘It’s the nicest, most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me, and I love—’ She stopped herself just in time and changed ‘you’ to ‘it’. ‘Oh, Raul, I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘I’ll show you, cara,’ he promised wolfishly. ‘There is a very good reason why I had a sofa put up here—as I am about to demonstrate.’
Was it tempting fate to admit that she was the happiest she had ever been in her life? Libby mused a few weeks later, as she got ready for a dinner party that she and Raul were to attend that evening. Life couldn’t be more perfect. Gino was a gorgeous, energetic little boy who was happiest toddling around the gardens of the Villa Giulietta. Libby adored being with him, but she appreciated the couple of hours a day when Silvana took charge of him, leaving her free to go up to her studio and paint.
Raul continued to work from the villa, and only drove in to his office in Rome when absolutely necessary. She loved the fact that she could pop in to his study and see him whenever she could think of an excuse, and he often invited her to join him to discuss plans and proposals for Carducci Cosmetics.
But if the days were good, the nights were heaven, she mused, smiling when she stared at her flushed cheeks in the mirror and realised that there was no need to apply blusher. Her fears that the sizzling sexual chemistry between her and Raul would die out had proved unfounded. They could not get enough of one another, and their lovemaking was more passionate and intense than ever. She loved the way he made love to her, Libby thought, feeling her breasts grow heavy at the memory of how he had joined her in the bath the previous night. It had taken ages to mop up the floor after they had caused a small tidal wave with the bathwater, she recalled with a smile.
‘Libby, we have to go.’
She turned as he entered the bedroom, and held her breath when he halted and studied her. ‘I thought I’d tone down the colour scheme for once,’ she said doubtfully when he seemed to be struck dumb. ‘Do you think white is a bit, well…virginal?’ When she’d tried the dress on she had thought that the simple white silk sheath overlaid with chiffon and decorated with tiny crystals on the bodice and narrow shoulder straps suited her, but now she wasn’t so sure.
‘It’s rather too late for virginal, cara.’ His eyes gleamed wickedly, but his voice was curiously rough as he said, ‘You take my breath away.’ He moved towards her and took something from his jacket pocket. ‘My mother often wore this to parties,’ he explained, and Libby gasped when he held up a necklace of shimmering diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the light. ‘The Carducci diamonds are a family heirloom.’
‘I can’t wear it,’ Libby protested in a panicky voice. ‘It must be worth a fortune. Suppose I lose it? Really,’ she insisted, when he ignored her and fastened the necklace around her throat. ‘I’m not a jewellery person.’
‘I know,’ Raul murmured dryly.
The only item of jewellery she wore was the plain gold band he had given her on their wedding day. On a recent trip to Rome he had taken her to an exclusive jewellers and tried to persuade her to choose a bracelet and perhaps matching earrings, but she had refused, saying that there was no point in her having expensive jewellery when she spent most of her time playing in the sandpit with Gino.
Libby was so different from his first wife—from any other woman he had ever met. And to think he had accused her of being a gold-digger. He shuddered at the memory of how he had treated her when she had first arrived at the villa. His divorce from Dana had left him deeply cynical about relationships, but Libby had changed his attitude, changed him, and he wondered what had happened to his much vaunted idea of an emotionless marriage.
‘Wear the necklace tonight and allow me to show off my Carducci bride?’ he requested softly.
And, as usual, Libby found that she could not refuse him.
‘Zia Carmina is looking forward to seeing you tonight,’ Raul told Libby as he swung the Lamborghini onto the driveway of his aunt’s house in a fashionable suburb of Rome.
Privately, Libby doubted that. On the previous two occasions when they had visited his aunt, Carmina had been polite to her in front of Raul, but cold and unfriendly the moment he was out of earshot. He was fond of his mother’s sister, she reminded herself. And for that reason she was determined to try and get on with Carmina.
Raul’s aunt greeted him with a kiss on each cheek, but she stiffened when Libby stepped towards her and her smile slipped. ‘I see you are wearing the Carducci diamonds,’ she commented tightly.
‘Yes…’ Libby hesitated. ‘Raul asked me to wear them.’
Carmina gav
Dinner was an ordeal. Carmina was a patron of numerous charities, and a well-known figure among Rome’s social elite, and Libby was sure she had deliberately invited guests who were either brilliant academics or stunningly beautiful models to emphasise Libby’s lack of education and social graces. She felt hopelessly out of her depth as she struggled to join in the conversation around the table, and jealousy burned like corrosive acid in her stomach every time the gorgeous Italian television presenter sitting next to Raul leaned close to him and said something that made him laugh.
To her relief, coffee was served in the salon. She declined a cup when the waiter brought it round on a tray. For some reason she had gone right off coffee, the smell of it made her feel nauseous. Rather than watch Raul, who was still chatting to Miss Daytime TV, she wandered into the smaller sitting room next door to the salon—but immediately turned on her heel when she saw Carmina sitting on the sofa.
‘I’m sorry…I—’
‘Don’t scurry away.’ Raul’s aunt gave her a cold smile, her eyes fixed on the necklace around Libby’s throat. ‘I wouldn’t read too much into Raul giving you the diamonds,’ she advised harshly. ‘I had always hoped that one day I would wear the symbol of the Carducci bride,’ she went on after a pause. ‘After Eleanora died I thought that Pietro would turn to me. Not immediately, of course, but eventually. I loved him first, you see, before my sister had even met him. But when he saw Eleanora he chose her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Libby said again, not knowing what else she could say.
‘Pietro could have had me, but instead he chose a cheap little tart like you,’ Carmina said bitterly.
‘Actually, he didn’t.’
Clearly Raul had not told his aunt that she was not Gino’s mother, and that she hadn’t been Pietro’s mistress. Libby did not feel that she owed Carmina an explanation, but she’d had enough of the older woman’s foul accusations. She opened her mouth to speak, but Carmina ignored her.
‘And now you are a Carducci bride. I suppose you decided that losing control of your son’s shares in Carducci Cosmetics was a small price to pay for becoming the wife of a billionaire?’
‘Pardon?’ Libby frowned as she tried to make sense of Carmina’s statement. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she mumbled, filled with a sudden sense of foreboding that made her heart thud painfully beneath her ribs.
There was a strangely triumphant expression in Carmina’s eyes. ‘Surely you read Pietro’s will? It quite clearly states that if Gino’s mother were to marry, his fifty percent share of CC would pass to Raul until the boy reaches adulthood. I had forgotten about the clause until I came across a copy of the will a few days ago, when I was tidying my bureau, and then everything made sense. Raul married you to claim full control of the company.’
The room swayed alarmingly, and Libby’s legs suddenly seemed incapable of holding her. She sank down onto a chair. ‘I did read the will,’ she said shakily. But not properly, she thought, feeling sick, remembering how she been holding Gino when Raul had handed her the legal document. She had quickly skimmed down the first page and read the bit about Gino and his mother being able to live at the Villa Giulietta, but Gino had been squirming in her arms and she had handed the papers back because she’d been worried that the baby might tear them. It had all been so astounding and unexpected, and before she’d had time to blink Raul had whisked her off to Italy and she hadn’t given the will another thought.
‘Perhaps you would like to refresh your memory?’ Carmina said softly. ‘I was also a beneficiary of Pietro’s estate—he bequeathed me some small items of jewellery—and I have a copy of the will here.’ She crossed to the bureau, took some papers from the drawer, and dropped them in Libby’s lap. ‘The clause at the bottom of the second page is the one you should be interested in.’
Afterwards, Libby did not know how she managed to keep herself together for the remainder of the evening. Raul found her on the terrace, took one look at her white face and demanded to know what was wrong with her. She mumbled that she had a headache, hating him for playing the role of concerned husband when she knew it was just an act. At the beginning of the evening she would have been fooled by the compassion in his dark eyes, but now she knew what a snake in the grass he was. He had married her to get control of Carducci Cosmetics. The words of the clause in Pietro’s will swirled round and round in her head, and she could not stifle a little moan of pain.
‘Dio! Why didn’t you tell me your headache was so bad?’ he demanded roughly.
‘I didn’t like to interrupt you when you were having so much fun with the queen of the chat show,’ Libby snapped.
‘Gianna Mancini’s son was a year old last week, and we were swapping baby development news,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Her husband is away on business.’ He paused, and then added quietly, ‘You must know I only have eyes for you, piccola.’
Her heart yearned for the tenderness in his voice to be real, but she knew his performance was worthy of an Oscar. She dared not meet his gaze, terrified that he would see the devastation in hers, and to her relief he left her to collect her shawl while he went to bid farewell to his aunt, then hurried her out to the car.
On the journey home she closed her eyes, to convince him that her headache was too severe for her to be able to talk. He could not know that it was not her head but her heart that felt as though it had been ripped open, leaving a raw, agonising wound that she feared was irreparable.
‘I’m going to check on Gino,’ she muttered when they entered the villa, and hurried up the stairs before he had time to reply.
The baby was sleeping peacefully, his arms outstretched and the covers strewn about the cot as usual, where he had flung them off. Her desire to give Gino a father was the reason she had married Raul, she reminded herself—and knew she was lying. For her it had been love at first sight. She had fallen for Raul from the moment he had stormed into her life, had been drawn to him by a force beyond her control.
Gino loved him too, she acknowledged, tears slipping silently down her face when she pictured how the baby’s face lit up whenever he saw Raul. Gullible fool that she was, she had swallowed Raul’s story that he wanted to adopt Pietro’s son and be a devoted father to him, but now she wondered if Raul had lavished attention on Gino as part of his cold-hearted plan to persuade her to marry him and thereby gain full control of the company.
Numb with misery, she crept out of the nursery. Instead of walking down the corridor to the master bedroom she turned and ran up the stairs leading to the tower. Tears were streaming down her face. She hadn’t cried like this since her mother’s funeral—great, tearing sobs that racked her frame and made her chest burn. She couldn’t face Raul tonight, she thought despairingly. If he realised how much his deception had hurt her, he would also realise that she was in love with him.
But it was likely that when she didn’t come to bed he would search for her. She took a ragged breath and glanced wildly around the studio. There was no lock on the door, but maybe she could drag the cupboard across it to prevent him from entering…
‘Here you are. I thought you were going to bed?’
She jerked her head around at the sound of his voice, and her treacherous heart performed its usual somersault at the sight of him lounging in the doorway. His jacket was unfastened, as were the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing several inches of tanned skin and silky dark chest hair. He was so beautiful it was hardly surprising she had lost her heart to him. But he didn’t want her heart—he never had—and to be fair he had not tricked her into marrying him by pretending to love her. It was her own fault that she had hoped and prayed and looked for any tiny sign that she meant something to him. When he had created the studio for her she had thought he had done it because he cared about her, but now she wondered if he had hoped she would become so absorbed in her artwork that she would not realise she was no longer involved in running CC.
Pain ripped through her; and with it a burning, blazing, incandescent rage that she had been so stupid, and he was such a deceitful, lying—
‘Have you taken some painkillers for your headache?’ He took a step towards her, frowning when he saw that she had been crying. ‘Cara…?’
‘Don’t!’ She put up a hand to ward him off. ‘Don’t cara me. Don’t sound concerned when you couldn’t give a damn.’
The tight band around her self-control snapped, unleashing her fiery temper, and driven by hurt and despair she snatched up the tub of orange paint she had blended from powdered pigment earlier that day and hurled it across the room. It hit him squarely on his chest, and he was instantly covered in liquid paint from shoulder to hip, while great splodges spattered both his legs.
For a few simmering seconds he stared at her in utter astonishment before he found his voice. ‘Madre di Dio! What’s the matter with you? You crazy firebrand—have you gone mad?’
‘On the contrary, I’ve finally come to my senses and seen what a sly, conniving, treacherous bastard you are.’ Libby flung the words at him with the same force with which she had thrown the paint. ‘Your aunt showed me the clause in Pietro’s will—the clause on the second page that I didn’t have time to read when you turned up in Pennmar and bullied me into agreeing to bring Gino to Italy.’
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