by Kate Walker
‘All I ask is that you do not bring scandal to my door. That you are discreet. In public we will be seen together—united—the perfect couple. In private it will be different.’
Was he saying that in private he didn’t mind if she took a lover? The pain that came from knowing that not only did he not want her any more for himself but that he didn’t even seem to give a damn if she slept with someone else, just so long as it didn’t get into the papers or create a scandal, was more than she could bear.
‘And what about you? Can you manage to be discreet as well?’ she flung at him, the anguish tearing at her heart making the words cold and harsh in a way that pure anger could never manage.
‘I will manage fine,’ Ricardo tossed back at her. ‘I have already done just that.’
‘You have? Really? I don’t believe…’
‘Why not?’ Ricardo challenged. ‘Have you heard of anything while you were away? Have you seen my name in the gossip magazines—in the gutter press?’
Which was as good as telling her that he had been clever and careful while they had been apart. That there had been other women—because, of course, being Ricardo, how could there not have been other women?—but that no one would ever find out who they had been.
And no one would in the future. Because it was clear that he planned on keeping his mistresses—discreetly—while acting the role of her husband and Marco’s father. Because he wanted those other women in his bed when he did not want her at all.
‘So…’ Ricardo questioned softly. ‘What is your answer? Do you agree to this? Are you prepared to act as my wife?’
Did she have any choice? If she gave up on this then she would have to leave and she would be parted from Marco. But if she stayed…
‘What do I get out of it?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
What was that look in his eyes, the momentary dulling of their glittering blackness? In anyone else she would have called it disappointment—but in Ricardo?
‘You get to be with Marco—to be a mother to your child. And in that time you will live in all the luxury you could want. You will have an allowance that I doubt even you could spend. And when Marco comes of age you will walk away with the full amount—together with all the accruing interest—on that cheque that you so crazily tore to shreds earlier.’
‘All of it?’ Lucy knew that her eyes had widened in stunned surprise. She couldn’t believe the amount that Ricardo was prepared to hand over simply to get his way. ‘You’d do all that?’
A shrug of one shoulder dismissed her question as irrelevant.
‘My son is worth it,’ he said, prowling away to stand staring out of the window at the moonlit lake that surrounded the island. ‘The question is, can you say the same?’
‘And I suppose you think that this is a very…civilised arrangement?’ Lucy managed, the words sounding strangled in the tightness of her throat.
‘You don’t think so?’
‘It doesn’t seem human to me. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to live that way—live a lie.’
Her tone had sharpened on the words and in response she surprised a sudden look in those dark eyes. A flash of something unexpected, as if she had somehow caught him on the raw. It was there and gone again in the space of a heartbeat, leaving her wondering if she had ever really seen it at all.
‘Are you saying that it’s not what you wanted?’ he demanded roughly. ‘That you’ve changed your mind after all?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’
‘You will stay?’
‘I’ll stay,’ Lucy whispered.
He would never know that the reason why she had so much trouble getting the words out was because of the terms on which he demanded that she stay. Having lived in a loveless marriage with Ricardo once before, she knew how badly it had affected her. Given the choice, there was no way she was willing to endure that again.
But she didn’t have a choice. There was Marco to consider and, just as the first time, the only reason Ricardo was considering this marriage was for his son’s sake. Once again, she was going to have to accept the little he was prepared to offer.
And this time he was offering even less than before. At least then they had shared a blazing passion that had warmed their nights and put a spark into their days. Even as she’d grown big with her pregnancy, that fire had been there. It was only when she had given birth to Marco, when Ricardo had his precious legitimate heir, that things had started to change.
If it had stayed that way then she might have been able to bear it. She could at least feel he wanted her in some way. Now it seemed that he didn’t want her at all except to create the façade of a respectable marriage.
‘I’ll stay,’ she said again, putting more strength into the words this time. ‘My son is worth it.’
She couldn’t be in any doubt that he had caught her deliberate echoing of his own words. She had no way of knowing if he understood the very different way she had meant them.
‘I will make sure you won’t regret it.’
The low-voiced response was so unexpected that it rocked her sense of reality.
‘Thank you.’
‘Prego…’
The twist to his mouth was wry and in the now bright light the fine lines around his eyes, the faint shadows underneath them seemed suddenly more pronounced. He actually looked tired. Was it possible that the last twenty-four hours had knocked him off balance, as they had done to her?
‘What made you like this, Ricardo?’ The words just wouldn’t be held back, even though rational thought warned they might not be wise. ‘What made you feel that everything—and everyone—has a price and all you have to do is to pay it to get what you want?’
That twist became more pronounced, turning from sarcasm to out-and-out cynicism. For a moment she thought that he had no intention of answering her but then he shrugged off whatever restraint had been holding him back and started to check off his answers on the fingers of his right hand.
‘A grandfather who believed that his daughter was unfit to inherit because she had a child out of wedlock. A father who wanted nothing to do with his bastard son because he did not want to divide his wealth between two children but to leave all to one. Lovers who saw relationships as a passport to wealth and luxury, bought with their bodies in my bed.’
‘Then they weren’t lovers, were they?’ Lucy put in, taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone, the coldly indifferent expression. ‘Not really?’
‘They called themselves that.’
‘Then they lied. Love isn’t like that.’
‘No? Then tell me—what is it like?’
How did she explain love to a man who didn’t even believe that it existed? Who saw relationships only in terms of trade and deals. Of one person giving only because of what they could get in return.
‘I…’ she began but Ricardo clearly wasn’t prepared to wait for her response.
‘Are you saying that what we had was this elusive “love”?’ Ricardo demanded and the raw edge to his voice caught on something jagged and vulnerable in her heart, twisting brutally. ‘Are you saying that what we had was something so very special that nothing could come between us? That we would have each other—hold each other till death us do part?’
‘No.’ Lucy answered him softly, sadly, because she couldn’t say that. Not when it wasn’t true, on Ricardo’s part at least. ‘No, I’m not saying that.’
It was only when she saw the flash of something dark and desolate in his eyes that she had to wonder whether that might have been, after all, what he had been looking for. What he had been trying to find all his life and had never succeeded, with rejection and greed twisting his heart, turning him bitterly cynical, as he was now. The ache inside at the thought was almost unbearable. A terrible sense of what might have been and what they had both lost in the mess they had made of their marriage.
On an impulse, as unexpected to her as it obviously was to Ricardo, suddenly somethin
g was pushing her forward, lifting her hands to grasp his arms, pressing her lips against the lean hardness of his cheek.
Immediately everything changed. The scent of his skin was in her nostrils, the taste of him on her tongue, and the rough growth of a day’s beard scraped against her cheek, scouring the tender flesh. It was all so wonderfully familiar, so shockingly sensually appealing that her heart kicked once, high up in her chest, then lurched into an uneven rhythm that had her breath escaping on a shaken little gasp.
A gasp that met and blended with the heat and moisture of Ricardo’s mouth as he turned and reached for her. Reacting blindly, his eyes half closed, his arms enfolded her as a sharp twist of his body brought him to a position where he was hard against her as his mouth came down on hers in a harsh, possessive kiss. In the space of a single heartbeat it was as if they had both gone up in flames, with the heat and the hunger that built between them taking over their senses, melting their bones and driving them into a burning delirium where nothing existed but each other.
‘Lucia…’
Her name was rough and raw against her lips, the taste of his breath as she caught it and blended it with her own inside her mouth was as fiercely intoxicating as any potent spirit, sending her senses spinning out of control. She felt as if the earth were shifting beneath her feet, flinging up her arms to fasten them around Ricardo’s neck to steady herself. The action drew his head down to hers to deepen and prolong the kiss in the same moment that it brought their yearning bodies even closer together, clamped tight from breast to hip and thigh, so that she felt the heated evidence of his need, hard and hot against her stomach.
‘Rico…’
She couldn’t hold back on the once familiar name. The only name she had ever used for him in the intimacy of their bed, in the heat of their lovemaking. She was incapable of getting the full number of syllables out, too greedy for his kisses to separate their mouths for long enough to do so. She didn’t even want to snatch a chance to breathe, even though her consciousness threatened to leave her under the sensual assault that ravaged through her senses.
Ricardo’s hands were hot on her body, smoothing, caressing, sliding over her hips and cupping the curve of her buttocks, pulling her closer against him. Her breasts were aching and heavy where they crushed against the wall of his chest and the burn of his body heat through the cotton of his shirt combined with the blaze of her own need to make her almost wonder if the night had somehow passed in a flash and the cool light of the moon had been replaced by the scorching heat of the day.
‘Yes…’ she muttered roughly against his demanding mouth. ‘Oh, yes…’
She’d made a terrible mistake and she knew it by the way he froze, his long body going completely still, his mouth wrenching away from her.
‘No!’ he declared roughly, breathing as hard as if he had just run a marathon. ‘Maledizione, no!’
With a violent movement he flung himself away from her, his hands out as if he felt that he needed to hold her at bay, keep her distant from him.
‘This is not how it’s going to be. We got caught this way once before. It is not going to happen again.’
‘Caught?’ Lucy questioned, fighting a losing battle with the quaver in her voice.
The look Ricardo turned on her drained all the lingering warmth from her body, shocking her from heat to freezing cold in the space of a single devastated heartbeat.
‘Trapped into a marriage that neither of us wanted. That isn’t going to happen again. I will not go there again. Just to look at you, kiss you, might drive me to the edge of madness but I do not have to jump right over the edge. I will not!’
And who was that last declaration directed at? Lucy wondered. At her or at himself? But she didn’t have the strength to form the question.
And she didn’t have time even to consider an answer because the words had barely died away before Ricardo had raked both hands roughly through his hair, smoothing it back from his face in the same moment that, by some amazingly brutal effort, he brought his breathing and obviously his mind back under total control once more.
‘Marissa showed you to the wrong room,’ he said, shocking her with the way that he seemed to have taken up the conversation again from the moment that he had first come into the room, as if all the time, all that had happened in between had never existed at all. ‘Your suite is down the corridor.’
He clearly expected that she would follow him from the way that he didn’t spare a look back but just strode down the corridor to a door that he flung wide open and then stood back to let her in.
With a terrible sense of inevitability, Lucy recognised the room she was in. Ricardo had taken her back to the other bedroom. The one where she had woken—was it really only that morning? The one where he had moved all her clothes, all her belongings, eradicating every trace of her as his wife from his personal space, filing them—and her—away like discarded paperwork.
Finished with. Done.
She had barely stepped inside the room when Ricardo was moving again, turning back towards the room they had just left, dismissing her totally from his thoughts.
‘Goodnight, Lucia, dorme bene,’ he said as the door swung to behind him, cutting him off from her.
Dorme bene. Sleep well.
How could she ever sleep well? How would she manage to sleep at all with all that had happened whirling round and round in her head?
And how was she going to be able to face the first day—and every one after—of this new form of ‘marriage’ that Ricardo had decreed they would have?
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE was no way he could sleep. Not now. Not ever, it felt like.
Ricardo’s mind was so wired, his whole body burning with the electric aftershock of fierce arousal that he knew there was no way he could lie in a bed and even think about sleep. He couldn’t even keep still, pacing around his room again and again, wishing to hell that he could get out of here—head for the lake and swim himself into exhaustion. Or work off some of his frustration in the gym, lifting weights and pounding the punchbag until he had managed some form of mental calm.
Calm—hah! That was a joke. A very, very bad joke.
He hadn’t had a moment’s calm since the day that Lucy Mottram had first walked into his life not quite two years before. He’d been knocked off balance by the wild, heated passion that had rushed them into bed so soon after meeting and he wasn’t sure if he’d had a sane thought since then. At least not where she was concerned.
So this time he had decided it would be different. If she came back to the marriage for Marco’s sake then he was going to take it so much more slowly. He was going to act with his head and not with the more primitive parts of his anatomy.
It should have made him feel so much more in control, but the truth was that it had had the exact opposite effect. When Lucy had kissed him he had almost lost it completely. Imposing control for both of them had been a far harder struggle than he had ever imagined. He could fight himself, but fighting Lucy, when she had made it plain how much she wanted him, had been damn near impossible.
He’d even resorted to lying—by implication at least—and letting her think that there had been a stream of women warming his bed in the months they had been apart. Of course there hadn’t been. How could there be? He hadn’t been able to spare another woman a single glance from the moment that Lucy had walked into his life, and to his total consternation, it had been exactly the same even after she had walked out of it again. It seemed that she had taken his libido with her, and memories of how it had been had been all that he’d been left with.
How many times had he scorned, even laughed at the idea when a friend had said that there was only one woman for him? Now he was having to face up to the fact that the damn idea might be true after all. And that Lucy Emiliani, plague of his life, bane of his existence, had turned out to be the one for him. Even when he’d believed that she was only after him for his money, he hadn’t cared. Just so long as she staye
d in his home, in his bed.
And he still wasn’t sure that he’d made the right decision. Padreterno—he knew that he hadn’t. Not for himself—and not for Lucy, if the look in her eyes when he had walked away from her, leaving her in that other bedroom had been anything to go by.
She hadn’t wanted him to leave and he was damn sure that he hadn’t wanted to go either. So what the hell was he doing here, fighting with his need for a woman who could affect him like no other female in his life before, when she…?
When she…? What the devil was she doing?
He didn’t know—didn’t care—because he knew what he was doing. There was no going back, no other way out of this. His hand was on the door before he had even realised that he had crossed the room.
In a history of making bad decisions where Lucy Mottram Emiliani was concerned, he was about to make another one. Very possibly the worst he had ever made.
And the truth was that he really didn’t give a single damn. He didn’t care at all what the consequences might be. He only knew that if he didn’t have Lucy in his bed tonight then he would go slowly but surely out of his mind.
He flung the door open, stepped outside.
And stopped dead at the sight of Lucy just emerging from her own room, heading in the direction of his.
Her hair was tumbled about her face and she had made no effort to prepare for bed, still wearing the pink top and skirt that she had worn all day. But her feet were bare, pale and silent on the wooden floor. She froze into stillness in the exact same moment as he did, staring, huge-eyed, straight at him. He only needed one glance at her face, looking deep into her eyes, to know why she was there.
‘Rico…’ she said and the use of that once intimate, once affectionate form of his name was all he needed to push him right over the edge and into action.