Behind the Castello Doors

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Behind the Castello Doors Page 13

by Chantelle Shaw


  ‘I don’t think anyone could blame you for drinking too much when you were grieving for your little boy,’ Beth said gently. ‘Sometimes the only way to cope with painful memories is to try to block them out.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I think Mel would have understood.’ Just as she understood, she thought with fierce compassion. Cesario hadn’t behaved with deliberate disregard for Mel. He had been suffering that night in London, tortured with grief for the son he had adored.

  Her heart clenched when she saw the betraying dampness on his eyelashes. It hurt her to see this formidable, strong man suddenly so vulnerable, and she felt guilty that she was intruding on his privacy. ‘I’ll go,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure you must want to be alone.’

  Cesario looked into Beth’s soft green eyes and felt the hard knot in his chest loosen a little. He had been alone for the past four years and had mourned his son the only way he knew how—by ignoring his pain and never revealing his emotions. He couldn’t explain why he had opened up to a woman he barely knew, but in a strange way he felt he had known Beth for ever, and he trusted her more than he had ever trusted another human being.

  Dio! Where had that thought come from? he wondered.

  Her silky hair felt soft against his cheek and smelled of lemons. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He could still taste the acrid burn of tears in his throat, but talking about Nicolo had given him a curious sense of release.

  He pulled Beth closer. ‘Stay a while?’ he said gruffly. And a sense of peace settled over him as she rested her head on his shoulder and they sat in silence, sharing an empathy that went deeper than words.

  Cesario had returned to the castle. Beth heard the sound of the helicopter as she watched the first pink streaks of dawn spread across the sky. Her heart lifted at the prospect of seeing him again, but she also felt apprehensive.

  It was three days since she had woken at the apartment in Rome and discovered that she had slept in the red evening dress she had worn to the ballet. She’d realised she must have fallen asleep on the sofa in Cesario’s study and he had carried her to her room. The maid had informed her that he had already gone to the Piras-Cossu Bank, and that he had arranged for her to fly back to the Castello del Falco with Sophie and Luisa Moretti.

  She’d wondered if he had been deliberately avoiding her—if perhaps he regretted revealing his emotions to her. After all, he had been brought up to hide his feelings, and had been taught by his father that for Piras men, emotions were a sign of weakness.

  Too restless to remain in bed, she jumped up and pulled open her wardrobe. The new clothes she had discovered hanging there when she had returned from Rome were definitely something she would bring up with Cesario. The red dress had been necessary for her to wear to the theatre, but she could not accept all these beautiful designer outfits, she thought wistfully as she ran her hand over the silk and satin and softest cashmere, in pretty rainbow colours that were such a contrast to the dull clothes she had brought to Sardinia.

  For now, she had to choose something from the extensive selection. Her own clothes had disappeared and the maid Carlotta looked blank every time Beth asked her what had happened to them. Taking a pale blue wraparound dress from its hanger, she walked into the bathroom and emerged fifteen minutes later, having showered and dressed and blasted her hair with the drier.

  Sophie had fed at 5:00 a.m. and would sleep soundly for several hours. The early-morning sunshine beckoned as Beth crept out of the nursery and walked quickly through the silent castle, crossing the entrance hall to the front door that opened onto the courtyard.

  The sky was a clear forget-me-not blue, promising another warm spring day, although the mountain peaks on the horizon were hidden by clouds. Beth had intended to sit in the gardens at the rear of the castle, but the sound of horse’s hooves on cobblestones made her glance over her shoulder, and her breath snagged in her throat when she saw Cesario riding across the courtyard.

  Dressed entirely in black, his long, tousled hair gleaming like a raven’s wing in the sunlight, he looked as she imagined his medieval ancestors must have done—especially with his falcon, Gratia, perched on his shoulder. His hard-boned face was inscrutable, and the scar running down his cheek pulled at the corner of his eye, giving him a narrowed gaze that hid his thoughts.

  He halted in front of her, and she wondered despairingly if she would ever break free from the spell he had cast on her. ‘You’re back,’ she greeted him, flushing when she realised the inanity of the statement. ‘I meant. I didn’t know how long you would be in Rome.’

  Cesario took pity on her, intrigued that she had clearly felt the same rush of pleasure that had swept like wildfire through his veins when he had caught sight of her poised like a slender wraith on the castle steps.

  ‘Thanks to technology I am able to work mainly from the castle, but it was necessary for me to stay in the city for the last couple of days to deal with matters that required my personal attention.’ He studied her speculatively. ‘I’ve just been up to the chapel. I’m guessing it was you who put flowers on Nicolo’s grave?’

  ‘Yes. I hope you don’t mind that I put them on Raffaella’s too?’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I can’t help but feel sad for her. She died so young and in such tragic circumstances.’

  ‘Why should I mind?’ he said quietly. ‘I know all about your soft heart, Beth Granger. I hear that in my absence your stray dog has made himself at home in the castle and follows you around like a faithful shadow.’

  Despite his stern tone, Cesario did not seem annoyed. There was something different about him, Beth mused. He seemed more relaxed and at peace with himself. He smiled, causing her heart to miss a beat. It was the first time she had seen him smile with his eyes as well as his mouth, and the frank sensuality in his gaze filled her with a yearning so intense that it felt like a clawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Come with me?’ he said, stretching his hand down to her. ‘There is no place more beautiful in the world than the mountains on a clear morning.’

  ‘I’m not dressed for riding,’ she whispered, catching her breath when he lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the saddle in front of him.

  ‘Perhaps not, but you look very beautiful, cara mia. The dress suits you.’

  Beth found it hard to think of anything but the feel of his big, hard body pressed up against hers as they rode out of the courtyard—but she could not allow herself to be overwhelmed by him, she told herself firmly.

  ‘About the clothes that have magically appeared in my wardrobe—I can’t allow you to pay for them so I’m afraid you must send them back.’

  ‘Well, I certainly have no objection to you walking around the castle naked,’ he murmured, lowering his head so that his warm breath tickled her ear.

  Heat flooded through her, and the sweet, urgent throb in her pelvis grew more insistent. ‘Of course I won’t be naked. I’ll wear my own clothes.’

  ‘Ah—that could be difficult, since I asked the gardener to burn them.’

  She half twisted round on the saddle so that she could glare at him. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

  ‘Because you are too exquisite to dress like a drab sparrow.’ He smiled at her startled expression. ‘Now, stop arguing and tell me what you think of the view.’

  His horse had carried them along a winding path up the mountainside, and now they had reached a flat grassy plateau bordered by a crystal clear stream that babbled and chattered over the rocks. The falcon had been sitting patiently on his shoulder, but at his command she spread her wings and rose into the air with incredible grace and speed. Within seconds she was a speck high in the sky.

  ‘It’s incredible,’ Beth murmured, turning her head to scan the panoramic view of the mountains, whose pale limestone peaks emerged from the lush green woodland which covered their lower slopes. Far below was the town of Oliena, with its square white-brick houses looking like toy building blocks and their terracotta roofs glinting in
the sunshine.

  Cesario dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle. ‘I feel closest to Nicolo here,’ he admitted. He spread a rug on the ground and invited her to sit beside him. ‘He would be six years old now. I imagine him riding up here with me on his own pony, or kicking a football around the castle courtyard.’ He stared into the distance, seemingly lost in his thoughts, but then he turned to her.

  ‘Since we spoke the other night I’ve been thinking about my son, and for the first time since the accident I’ve been able to look at photographs of him and remember him with joy. The sadness is still there,’ he said huskily. ‘I’ll always miss him. But I have so many happy memories of him and I don’t want to push them away any more. I want to share them.’

  Instinctively Beth placed her hand over his. ‘Tell me about Nicolo,’ she said softly.

  She lost track of time as they talked. He recounted tender memories of Nicolo, and at his prompting she told him about Sophie’s premature birth and her anxious vigil while the baby had been in the special care unit. She revealed her pain and shock at Mel’s death, and spoke of their friendship which had started at the children’s home.

  A cool breeze ruffling her hair reminded her of where they were, and she glanced around, startled to see that the sun had disappeared behind dark clouds.

  ‘Do you think it’s going to rain?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ Cesario looked behind him to the mountain peaks, and Beth gasped as she followed his gaze and saw an ominous black mass rolling across the sky. A thunderclap as loud as cannon-fire made her flinch and then the heavens opened: raindrops the size of pennies falling with such ferocity that they were soaked within seconds.

  ‘Come.’ He lifted her onto the horse and swung up onto the saddle behind her.

  ‘What about Gratia?’ Beth asked anxiously.

  As she spoke, Cesario blew on a whistle, and moments later the bird of prey flew down and landed on his shoulder.

  He urged his horse forward, but instead of heading down the path he took them higher, skirting the forest until they came to a clearing where a wooden cabin stood, half hidden among the trees.

  ‘Get inside.’ He had to shout to be heard above the torrential rain, but Beth—drenched and shivering—needed no second bidding, and ran for shelter while he took the horse and the falcon into the adjoining stable.

  The cabin was basic—just one main room housing a cooking stove, a table and a couple of chairs, and in the far corner an old-fashioned wrought-iron bedstead. Efforts had been made to give the place a homely feel, with brightly coloured rugs on the floor and crisp white cotton sheets on the bed.

  ‘Dio, what a deluge.’ Cesario followed her inside, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes.

  He disappeared through a door, returning moments later to throw her a towel. He had already stripped off his shirt, and Beth’s eyes were drawn to the beads of moisture clinging to his dark chest hairs. He frowned when she made no attempt to dry herself. Water was dripping from her dress and her teeth were chattering.

  ‘Come, cara, you need to get out of your wet clothes.’ He strode over to her, his hands reaching for the belt that secured her dress, and began to tug the knot loose.

  ‘Don’t …’ she said jerkily. The abrupt transition from warm sunshine to freezing rain had been such a shock to her body that she was shivering violently and could barely speak. She tried to push his hands away, but he ignored her and untied the belt. Desperate to halt him, she muttered, ‘I’m not wearing.’ Her words faded as he pushed the edges of the dress apart and released his breath in a slow hiss. ‘A bra.’

  ‘So I see.’ Eyes locked on her body, he peeled the wet fabric from her shoulders and allowed the dress to fall at her feet. ‘Santa Madonna,’ he said harshly. ‘You are exquisite.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE primitive hunger in Cesario’s voice sent a tremor through Beth. The rain was hammering down on the roof of the cabin, but the prickling silence between them was so profound that she was sure he could hear the erratic thud of her heart. He lifted his hand and very lightly traced her collarbone, and then slowly, delicately, almost as if he was afraid she would break, he skimmed his fingers down to her breast.

  She caught her breath as he explored the small rounded contour, his tanned fingers contrasting starkly with her creamy flesh. His eyes were hooded but she glimpsed the feral gleam beneath his heavy lids and could not restrain a little gasp when he stroked her nipple. It tautened instantly at his touch, and the sensation of his fingers gently squeezing her tender flesh was so acute that a quiver of intense heat shot from her breast to her pelvis.

  ‘Sei bella, Beth,’ he growled in a thick, sexually charged tone that caressed her senses like the sumptuous feel of velvet against her skin. With his free hand he cupped her other breast and she made a little choked sound when he rolled its dusky peak between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘I want you.’ His voice cracked. ‘Dio mio, you are like a fever in my blood. And you want me too. Your body does not lie, cara,’ he said fiercely. ‘The attraction burned between us from the moment we first met and neither of us can ignore it any longer.’

  It was true, Beth acknowledged helplessly. She had felt an intense awareness, an inexplicable connection with him when she had first seen him on the night she had arrived at the castle. She remembered she had felt a curious sensation, like an arrow piercing her heart, and she felt it again now. But now she knew what it was.

  Love, she thought shakily. She had looked into Cesario’s granite grey eyes and she had been lost for ever.

  Of course she had denied it to herself. Love at first sight only happened in fairy tales, and Cesario was no Prince Charming; he was a heartless playboy who had been too drunk to remember sleeping with Mel. She had told herself she despised him, but as she had learned more about his past her heart had softened and she had understood how his grief for his son had caused him to behave in a way that he regretted.

  ‘Beth?’

  He said her name raggedly, as if he feared her silence meant he had been mistaken to think she shared his desire. She saw the tension in his jaw and lifted a trembling hand to his face, gently tracing the livid scar down to the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Was I wrong to think, to hope, that the fire inside me burns in you too?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘you weren’t wrong.’ And, standing on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed him.

  With a savage groan he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hard against him, so that the tips of her breasts brushed the wiry hairs that covered his broad chest. The sensation was so exquisitely erotic that she gasped; the sound was muffled by his lips as he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her with a feverish hunger that warned her there could be no going back. He meant to possess her, and she welcomed his passionate urgency, parting her lips so that he could thrust his tongue between them to explore the moistness within.

  She snatched a breath when at last he lifted his mouth from hers and trailed a line of kisses down her throat, to capture the pulse jerking erratically at its base. His hands caressed her breasts once more, and then, to her startled delight, he lowered his head and closed his lips around one nipple to suckle the rosy peak until the pleasure was almost unbearable.

  She moaned softly and clung to him while he transferred his attention to her other nipple, lashing it with his tongue until it was pebble-hard. She shivered—not with cold, but with a heated desire that was growing ever more frantic. Molten warmth pooled between her thighs and she ached there, ached for him to touch her and give her the sweet release her body craved.

  The room tilted as Cesario swept her into his arms and carried her over to the bed. He laid her down on the cool sheets and held her gaze as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers.

  There was something incredibly sexy about Beth’s simple plain cotton underwear, Cesario brooded. His already hardened shaft strained uncomfortably against his trousers as he pulled her knickers down to
reveal the neat triangle of curls that hid her femininity.

  He wanted her to undress him, for her to stroke his throbbing length with her soft white hands. But the mere thought of her caressing him brought him to the edge of no return, and with more haste than grace he stripped and lowered himself onto the bed.

  Her hair felt like silk. He ran his fingers through its length and then cupped her face, bringing his mouth down on hers once more in a sensual kiss, seeking a response that she gave with such sweet eagerness that his heart clenched.

  But although she kissed him with a fervour that made him ache she seemed curiously shy, and did not boldly explore his body as an experienced mistress would do. He sensed her faint wariness, and instinct warned him she had not had many other lovers.

  His jaw tensed when he recalled her telling him how her ex-employer had assaulted her. No wonder she seemed tentative. There was a need for restraint, for him to slow the pace and arouse her with gentle care. It would take all his will-power, he acknowledged ruefully. He could not remember ever being so turned on. But from the outset Beth had cast a spell on him with her slanting green eyes and he was utterly lost to her magic.

  Beth’s heart thudded when Cesario trailed his hands slowly down her body. He seemed in no rush, and the realisation that he was controlling his urgent desire helped her to relax. The unpleasant memories of Hugo Devington’s clumsy attempts to touch her body faded from her mind. She trusted Cesario completely. He treated her as his equal and she knew he would make love to her with consideration and respect.

  Excitement fluttered inside her when he skimmed his fingertips lightly over her stomach and traced the indent of her waist, before moving lower to carefully ease her legs apart. It was new and wondrous, and she held her breath as he brushed his fingers in a gossamer-soft caress up and down her moist opening. She felt no shyness, just a fierce need that made her spread her legs wider and lift her hips as he parted her and slid an exploratory finger between her slick folds.

 

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