He stopped moving, caressing her face and tilting it down so that their gazes met. “Don’t you?” he asked, his voice so soft she could barely hear him. “I know you. I know exactly who you are now, and I’m not letting you go.”
He surged up in her, burying himself deep as she stifled her cries against his neck. She clenched her legs against his hips and rode him to velvety oblivion, finally shuddering to a climax as the first gray light of dawn crept over the Via Orlandi.
Afterward, he brushed her hair to one side and kissed her neck. “Amanda,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
She straightened and peered into those stunning blue eyes.
“A man could quite easily learn to love you.”
***
What else was there to say after that? The look of sheer terror in her eyes made it clear Eric had overstepped his bounds. So many women had wanted his heart, but he’d never had any interest in sharing that part of himself. Now he wanted to give it, but he didn’t even know how. Nor whether she would want it if he offered it to her. No entanglements, she’d said—his own philosophy thrown back in his face. Did she still feel that way?
“Eric. Wow. Thank you.”
She climbed off of his lap and tied her robe shut, ran her hands through her hair nervously. She fidgeted when she was upset; he’d seen it in his room and at other times. She was doing it now. Wordlessly, she turned away and walked back into the hotel room. Eric followed, buttoning his fly and feeling quite ridiculous.
Amanda ducked into the bathroom and he began to wonder if he should leave. He went to the door and tapped.
“Look,” he called out. “I got a bit carried away. Don’t pay any attention to what I said. I didn’t—”
She threw open the bathroom door and glared at him. “You what? You didn’t mean it?”
His heart hurt again. And his head. She eyed him with such blatant suspicion and skepticism. “I meant it,” he insisted. “But I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Her expression softened. “Oh. Then what does that mean, exactly?”
Eric massaged his neck, not wanting to contemplate the answer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It means—I suppose it means you’ve entangled me. And I want to keep seeing you and listening to your laugh and arguing with you and generally keep getting more entangled with you.”
Amanda put her head down. Her blonde hair fell forward like a veil, cloaking her face from his eyes. He chucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. Those luscious lips were turned up in a magnificent smile.
“You’re such a flatterer.”
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t mere flattery, that he meant every word. Yet he could see he was making her uncomfortable. Better to back down now, before she became even more skittish. Time would prove his sincerity. There would be so much time for her, once he got past the board meeting and the festival.
Outside, the gray dawn was turning to the full blue of morning. Today was the first day of the festival, and he and Stacey had about a dozen interviews scheduled, plus the sound check to attend. In a minute, he’d have to walk out of here and focus on the business again. And on pretending to be Stacey’s devoted lover.
“I really don’t want to go,” he told her.
“But you will.”
“I have to. The festival. My brother’s festival, you know?”
Amanda nodded that she understood.
“Do you have a backstage pass?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? I work for that bastard Peter Tate, Eric. You didn’t give any of his people backstage passes.”
“I’ll leave one for you at the front gate.” Eric didn’t mean to frighten her again, but he wanted to share his whole world with her.
“Are you sure?”
“I’d like to introduce you to my friend Franco. He’ll probably have about two hundred of his closest family members with him as well. They’re overwhelming, but harmless.”
He saw the hesitation in her eyes again. Yet he couldn’t believe it was due to a lack of interest on her part. The way her body answered his, the sounds she made when he was inside her, that crying business. She had to feel as he did, that they’d unwittingly stumbled onto something with the potential for greatness.
“I did already meet him at the party, Eric.”
“Right.” He nodded, chastened, and drew away from her. “I should be getting back to the hotel. There’s a lot to do to get ready for the concert. And I have a rather important board meeting on Monday. I need to talk with my assistant about that.”
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and moved towards the door of her hotel room. He needed to distance himself, refocus his energy on the business. This was only a bit of fun. He’d planned to teach her how to let loose the pent up passion he’d seen in her eyes. He’d succeeded, better than he’d intended. No sense getting emotional about the woman.
Amanda followed him to the door, tying and retying her robe. The sight drove him insane. He grabbed her hands in his and held onto them. “Will you please stop fidgeting? It’s all right. We had a lovely night together and it doesn’t have to be anymore than that.”
Amanda swallowed hard. “Is that all it was?”
Eric’s temper flared and he gripped her hands more tightly than necessary. She whimpered and he released her. “I don’t know what it was. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced. I thought you felt the same thing. I thought you were entangled too.”
Amanda wrung her hands together. “I was,” she said. “I am. But introducing me to your big Italian surrogate family—that’s scary, Eric. That’s one step away from introducing me to—”
“To my real family,” Eric finished for her. “Yes, I know.”
“So what are you saying? Are you saying this isn’t just a little island fling?”
“You know bloody well that’s what I’m trying to say.” Eric hated being pinned down by anyone, hated being backed into a corner. Yet he couldn’t deny his own feelings.
“I want to tell you something. Something very important.” As she spoke, she twisted and untwisted the belt of her robe. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Eric smiled indulgently and held his arms out to her. “I know you’ve had other lovers. I don’t think you’re some virginal angel.”
“No, I’m definitely not that. But—Eric, I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Hate you?” Eric cupped her face in his hands. “Good Lord, woman. I’m about as far from hating you as a man can get.”
He pulled her close and kissed her again, savoring the salty taste of sweat on her skin, as well as the sweet fruity residual flavor of the champagne on her tongue. Before he could stop himself, he was pushing her back towards the bed and she was laughing, like a queen in exultation. He made love to her again, even though he was sore in muscles he didn’t even know he had, even though she admitted she was sore too. Neither of them seemed able to stop it. When she came for him, she cried again, a whole host of tears this time. He kissed every one of them away and promised to return later that night and do it all over again.
***
After Eric left Amanda, he walked back along the Phoenician steps. The world seemed brand new, and every good thing possible. In her own way, Amanda was as bold as he was. They could be partners in life. His parents were like that; they made every decision together and shared every pain.
Too soon, his nagging inner voice said. How much do you really know about this woman?
That voice sounded so much like his brother’s. Exactly like it, in fact.
If you were still alive, I’d just tell you to shut the hell up, he told Antony.
But would I? The ghost in his head demanded.
No, Eric admitted. But I would ignore you anyway and do what I want.
Yes, you would, Antony agreed. You would indeed.
This is big, Eric told his dead brother. It was the first time he’d spoken
to this phantom in his head as if it were a friend. This might have been the biggest night of my life. The stock buyout, now Amanda.
Amanda made him laugh and yet satisfied his deepest urges. To find a friend and a lover in one package—that was quite a prize, and he’d be a fool to let it slip through his fingers. He wouldn’t become his brother, pushing everyone away out of misguided devotion to Greyford Publishing. He wanted balance in his life. He wanted Amanda.
Once, as he made his way back to his hotel, Eric tripped on a broken stair and laughed out loud at his own unaccustomed clumsiness.
A native woman walking in the other direction eyed him knowingly and nodded her head. “Amore, si?”
Eric smiled. “Non so, signora.” I don’t know.
Not yet anyway.
ELEVEN
Stacey’s show was a triumph. The girl sang and danced her heart out and the audience went wild.
“Wow, she’s pretty good when she sobers up,” Judy, the Australian reporter said to Amanda after the show.
“Yeah, she is.” Amanda’s mind was a million miles away—or at any rate, it was already backstage. Eric had left the pass for her as promised, and her heart fluttered as she contemplated seeing him again.
“How’d you wrangle that backstage pass, Jackson?” Zeke demanded.
“I’ve been trying to get one of those for weeks,” Judy said. “They told me Greyford Publishing staff only.”
Zeke arched an eyebrow. “Learning to use some of those assets to your advantage?”
Amanda shrugged. “I think it was a mistake, but I might as well use it, you know?”
“Right.” Zeke shook his head and walked away.
Amanda bade Judy farewell and headed for the entrance behind the stage. A guard checked her pass and nodded her through. “Mr. Greyford’s in Stacey Dakota’s dressing room. He said you could go right back.”
Amanda’s stomach churned as she approached the room. The door stood ajar, and she poked her head in timidly.
An imposing woman in red threw the door wide. “Hello, darling, I’m here to help the children plan their wedding! Artemisia Nash. And you are?”
Amanda blinked in surprise and confusion. “I’m Amanda Jackson. From Fame magazine.”
“Delighted! I spoke to your editor Danielle. She told me to expect you. I’d be happy to do an interview with you any time. Here’s my card.”
Amanda took the proffered card, dumbstruck by the onslaught of personality from Artemisia. She heard the steady tap of footsteps across the dressing room floor and then Eric’s face loomed up behind Artemisia.
“Miss Nash, I believe Miss Jackson is here to see me.” He gave the wedding planner a smooth, hollow smile, like a tiger eying its dinner. “Why don’t you run along and find Stacey’s mother for me?”
Artemisia sniffed, clearly put out by the dismissal. “Fine. We’ll speak later, dear.”
“Yes, that’d be great.” Amanda nodded.
The woman flitted out of the room and disappeared around a corner.
Eric slammed the dressing room door shut and took Amanda’s hand. “We can’t seem to get rid of her,” he explained.
He gestured into the room. Stacey was seated at a dressing table, talking to a small group of people that included Franco Battali and a little boy. She leapt up and approached Amanda with the eagerness of a child. “Did you like the show?” she asked.
“You were great, and the audience loved you. Three encores.”
Stacey nodded. “So Eric’s been telling us all about you.”
“Has he?” Amanda found herself a little frightened by the prospect.
“No, not really,” Stacey admitted. “But he’s been very distracted this week, and I know it’s not my doing.”
Franco rose and approached Amanda. “He is right about your eyes. They are quite remarkable.”
Amanda looked down at the floor, speechless with embarrassment.
The phone rang on Stacey’s dressing table, and she picked it up. After a brief pause, she spoke. “Cool. Send them back. I can’t wait to meet them.”
Eric pulled Amanda off to one side of the dressing room. “I was going to leave in a little while. Shall I come back to your room?”
“Yes, please.” Amanda wanted to plant a sloppy kiss on him as he beamed down at her, but the surrounding audience made her shy.
A knock on the door indicated that soon the dressing room would be getting even more crowded.
Eric cast a glance in that direction and released Amanda’s hands. “I’ll be right back.”
As he moved away from Amanda, she heard Stacey speak. “Hello, Senator Harkness!”
Amanda froze. Her back was to the dressing room door, and she intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
“These must be your very beautiful daughters,” she heard Eric say.
Maybe they wouldn’t come into the room. Maybe he and his daughters would say a quick hello and go away. This was no way for Eric to find out who she was. She should have told him sooner. She’d tried this morning, but he’d stopped her mouth with kisses and tumbled her back onto the bed, and then all coherent thought had vanished under his magic touch.
She heard Eric introducing the senator and his daughters around the room, even to the little boy.
“This is Franco’s nephew, Giulio.”
He would get to her any second.
“And this is Amanda Jackson, a reporter from one of our rival publications.”
Amanda issued a short, silent prayer and then spun on her heel. “Senator Harkness. Hello.”
“Amanda!” The senator’s florid face split into a wide smile. He caught her in a big bear hug—she’d forgotten what a touchy-feely sort he was—and then he shuffled his daughters towards her. “Tiffany, Amber, this is Amanda Jackson. Peter Tate’s daughter. You remember Mr. Tate? We were all on his yacht earlier this year when we were at Martha’s Vineyard. Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here, my dear!”
The girls nodded disinterestedly at Amanda. They only had eyes for Eric, both of them batting their long lashes up at the handsome, dashing figure standing beside her. At first, she thought maybe he hadn’t been paying attention. His demeanor hardly changed at all. He chatted with the Senator and the two girls, and Stacey joined in on the conversation. The girls were too starstruck to say much to her, although one finally managed to ask for an autograph. Stacey cheerfully obliged and then the Senator and his family said their good-byes.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by about twenty degrees. Stacey sidled away, her head down, and huddled on the small couch between Franco and the little boy. Franco made a painfully deliberate effort to start up a conversation in Italian with his family members.
“That was a revelation.” Eric didn’t look at Amanda when he spoke.
“I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can. Did you call him when I was in the bathroom last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father. You must have been eager to let him know about my plan to buy back all the publicly traded shares of Greyford stock.”
“I did no such thing,” Amanda insisted. She’d expected him to be annoyed at discovering she was related to Peter Tate. She hadn’t expected to be accused of being his spy.
“My agent’s acquired better than seventy-five percent of the outstanding stock, you know.” He finally looked down at her, his blue eyes hard and glassy with contempt. “Obviously, your father didn’t move quickly enough on your information.”
“What information? I didn’t give him any information!” Amanda exclaimed. “I barely speak to him.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Eric nodded. “I forgot your sorrowful tale of being abandoned and cruelly mistreated by your father. Horrendous mistreatment that included being introduced to senators at yachting parties. I suppose that could qualify as abuse, since most of them are crashing bores. Still, not quite the image you painted for me, is it?”
&n
bsp; “He’s invited me to a few of his parties since I came to New York. I hardly had any contact with him prior to that.”
“Do you know, I don’t want to hear the rest of this,” Eric said. “I think you need to leave.”
Stacey leapt to her feet. “Eric!”
Amanda didn’t know where to look. Being dumped by a guy was awkward enough. Being dumped in front of his best friends—that was impossible to bear with any dignity.
“Stacey, stay out of this, please.” Eric’s voice oozed with silky menace.
“Look,” Amanda said. “I get that you’re upset. You have every right. I tried to tell you this morning—”
His jaw twitched, as if he would speak, but then he said nothing.
Amanda forged ahead. “We can talk about it later tonight, when you come to the hotel. It’s not my fault who my father is. Believe me, I’d change it if I could.”
She walked towards the door, fully expecting him to call her back. It didn’t happen. Heart heavy with despair, she made her way back to the Loreley and waited for him to come to her. After the passion they’d shared last night, he would want to give her a chance to clear the air.
Amanda waited up all night, but this time when the dawn came up over the Via Orlandi, she greeted it alone.
***
“I can’t believe you’re holding this against that girl.”
Eric sat on the rear terrace of Villa Battali, gazing up at Monte Solaro. He peered at Stacey through the dark tint of his sunglasses.
“You have a good heart, Stacey. In fact, I’ve often thought you are too sensitive to last in show business. I appreciate you trying to put a positive spin on the situation, but the fact is, I’ve been taken for a ride.”
He went back to staring at the mountain. Franco had cautioned him about getting too serious. Here was the price for ignoring that advice. It didn’t matter. He’d get over it. At least he hadn’t blurted the details of his plan too soon, or she might have tipped her father off even earlier. Tate might have decided to alter his own strategy and buy out the shareholders, rather than merely working to turn them against Eric. Water under the bridge now.
Franco strolled onto the terrace and dropped into a chair beside Eric. “I’ve directed my broker to sell all my family’s shares to you, my friend. With your own and your father’s, that should give you a total of nearly sixty percent of the total stock. Even if this Tate fellow controls the remaining shareholders, he won’t be able to do much to you now.”
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