The Italian's Bold Reckoning (Hot Italian Nights Book 4)

by Annie West

  Instantly Matteo stilled, his expression freezing.

  Angela supposed she should feel triumph, seeing he knew the game was up. He couldn’t play the innocent, deserted husband any longer. But instead it was a terrible sense of despair she experienced, turning her insides into a vast, empty space.

  Had she hoped, even now, that he’d deny it? That she hadn’t seen what she had?

  ‘Go on.’ He bit the words out so sharply Angela flinched.

  He was angry.

  But Angela had come a long way. It had taken twenty-six years to find the nerve, but she refused to back down now just because she confronted an angry male. She lifted her chin and stared straight back at the man she’d once loved. The man who even now—

  ‘Her hair was mussed and her mouth was swollen. Her lipstick was smeared as if she’d been kissed to within an inch of her life—’

  ‘No!’ The word stopped her mid flow. When he spoke again disdain dripped from each word. ‘As if she’d kissed someone.’

  Angela shrugged. She didn’t care about semantics.

  ‘She wore a flimsy silk robe and absolutely nothing under it, as I’m sure you know.’ Her tone was every bit as contemptuous as his. ‘And before you ask, I know that for a fact. She made sure of it.’

  Angela shuddered, remembering the sharp flare in the other woman’s eyes and the curl of her lips as she’d accidentally on purpose let her robe gape.

  ‘And?’ His eyebrows rose, for all the world as if none of that made a difference.

  How dare he?

  ‘And she looked me square in the eye and told me to give you at least another half hour, because even a man of your vigour and strong libido needed time to regroup after your private…celebration.’

  Angela’s face pinched as a sour taste filled her mouth. Blood rushed in her ears, blocking out all sound but the heavy thud of her pulse. Her clenched hands shook and her eyesight tunnel-visioned. All she saw was Matteo, staring back at her, his expression arrested.

  ‘And?’ he said again.

  ‘What?’ Angela blinked back hot tears of fury.

  ‘You believed her?’ His gaze was as keen as a knife. Angela felt it like a blade scraping her flesh.

  She refused to flinch away. She’d done nothing wrong.

  ‘It was pretty hard not to. I saw her with my own eyes.’ And heard that syrupy satisfaction, that purr of pleasure with its dark undercurrent of malice. The woman had been brazen about being caught with Angela’s husband, flaunting her bountiful beauty. She was a screen siren, famous for her lovers as much as her incredible curves and intensity on the screen.

  Angela had looked at her and seen everything she, Angela wasn’t. Vittoria fitted Matteo’s world in ways Angela never could.

  ‘It never crossed your mind to ask me what had happened?’

  Angela blinked. There was something in his voice she couldn’t identify. Something she’d never heard from Matteo.

  She sat back, arching her eyebrows. ‘So you could lie to me?’

  ‘So I could tell you the truth!’ His features drew hard and taut, each line and curve honed blade-sharp.

  He shot to his feet, the movement so abrupt his chair toppled back and Angela flinched, half-primed for violence, one arm shooting up instinctively to protect her face.

  Matteo had never hurt her but her father had back-handed her if she didn’t instantly obey. It was why she’d run away from home so early, refusing to let herself be a victim any longer. Old instinct was slow to die.

  Matteo registered her involuntary cringe and froze.

  Then he let loose a stream of words under his breath. Hard, angry words that weren’t Italian. She guessed they might be Ladin, the native tongue from his home region in the north of Italy. It was rare, a sign of intense emotion.

  Matteo spun away, across the room, as if he couldn’t bear to be near her. He slammed to a stop when he reached the window and propped a hand on the sill, leaning against it. His other hand raked his glossy, immaculate hair.

  When he turned his dark eyes looked febrile. With anger? Regret?

  ‘You should have come to me. I was never unfaithful to you, Angela.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  Matteo couldn’t get a grip on his emotions. They seesawed between disbelief, compassion and blinding white-hot fury.

  ‘How could you believe that of me?’

  He was far from perfect but he’d believed Angela brought out the best in him. He loved her! How could she doubt him?

  Still she sat, staring up at him with wide eyes, frozen in the spot. Not only had she believed he’d been unfaithful, but the way she’d cringed from him said she feared he might lash out her physically!

  He shook his head, vision blurring, not wanting to believe it. Yet there’d been no mistake about her instantaneous reaction. Nausea cramped his stomach and bile rose, at the realisation she actually feared him.

  He’d thought a year apart from Angela the worst torture he could endure. Now he found it was nothing to discovering what she believed him capable of.

  ‘You thought I was going to hit you.’ The words ground from him.

  Immediately she shook her head. ‘No! Not that. I…’ She got to her feet, her movements stiff, and grabbed the back of the chair as if for balance. ‘It was an instinctive reaction. My father…’ She spread out one hand in an imploring gesture. ‘He used to hit me. If I didn’t do what he wanted or if I disagreed with him.’

  Shock slammed into Matteo. Shock and anger, and a rush of protectiveness. The need to gather Angela close and reassure her, and himself, was so strong he actually trembled with the effort it took not to reach for her. But probably that would be the worst thing to do.

  Suddenly, with appalling clarity, so many things about Angela and her past made sense.

  Matteo gritted his teeth. He hadn’t liked what he’d heard of the late unlamented Signor Rossi before this, but now…

  On his divorce he’d split the family, bringing Angela back to Italy and breaking off all contact with his wife and other daughter in Australia. Angela hadn’t spoken about him much but Matteo had gleaned enough to suspect her father had tried to trample any show of spirit and destroy her self-confidence. It was a testament to her strength of character that Angela had succeeded so well in her chosen career.

  Now Matteo had some inkling of how difficult that must have been and the emotional scars she hid.

  Her core of inner strength, that unyielding honesty, had drawn him to her in the first place.

  At the back of his mind a voice whispered that her lack of confidence might be part of the reason she’d believed he’d slept with Vittoria.

  He understood that. Intellectually it made sense, but still Matteo couldn’t be calm. He was too furious. With Angela for believing him a man who’d lie and betray her. More, who’d beat her!

  Furious with her father for what he’d done to her, and for the fact he was dead and beyond Matteo’s reach.

  Furious with himself too, for not following his instinct and forcing Angela to talk to him properly when he’d been in Australia for the funeral.

  His feelings for her had always been bigger, stronger, more than anything he’d experienced before. Those feelings were so new and foreign he’d wondered sometimes if his very intensity might make her nervous. So when her sister had pleaded for his patience, he’d let himself be persuaded to back off.

  He should have followed his instinct.

  But as well as the anger, there was hurt. The anguish tearing at him made it impossible to stand still.

  He pivoted on his heel and stormed to the far end of the room, then back again, as if physical action might assuage the roaring wave of emotions threatening to engulf him. But the room wasn’t big enough to contain his feelings. He needed to throw himself off a cliff on an abseiling rope, or race a car through the mountains, or do something truly punishing. Even then, he doubted his anger would subside. He strode back to the window, but the scen
e of the busy canal did nothing to calm him. He turned to survey her, crossing his arms over his pumping chest.

  ‘In the name of all that’s holy, why didn’t you tell me? We could have sorted this out, instead of spending twelve months on opposite sides of the globe.’ His voice reverberated around the room.

  Angela anchored herself with both hands on the chair back and leaned towards him. ‘Because of this.’ Her voice was earnest yet oddly triumphant, her chin high in the air. ‘Because I didn’t want to face your bluster.’

  ‘Bluster?’

  He stalked the width of the room to stand before her, hands on hips and chest heaving. Her eyes widened but she stood her ground. Only a frantic pulse at the base of her throat betrayed her.

  For a second Matteo felt a pang of pride at the way she held her own against him. Till he remembered. But while his soul wept at the pain she’d endured at her father’s hands, her past didn’t excuse her readiness to believe such outrageous untruths about her own husband. The man she’d promised to love and cherish. The man who’d put her at the centre of his world.

  ‘This isn’t blustering.’ His voice dropped to a silky thread of distaste and disgust. ‘You impugn my honour. Accuse me of dishonesty and breaking my vows! Don’t I have the right to respond?’

  She blinked but stood still, her expression as taut as a soldier in an execution squad. She really believed he’d betrayed her. That pierced him to the heart.

  Was there no breaking through to her?

  Matteo shook his head. ‘What about the promises we made? Do you think I made them lightly?’

  ‘I think you meant them at the time. But you’d become disenchanted with me. I couldn’t be the sort of wife—’

  ‘Hold it right there! I never, by word or deed, implied you were anything other than the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I loved you, Angela.’

  God help him. He still did. Though how they could move past this to any sort of understanding, Matteo had no idea.

  For the first time he saw a chink in that austere expression. Her smooth brow wrinkled into a frown. Had he said something she’d misinterpreted? It didn’t seem possible, but this whole scenario was unbelievable.

  Matteo curved his hands around the back of the chair she held in front of her like a protective barrier. Again that rapid blink of shining eyes and her chin notched up a fraction more. But she didn’t retreat, probably because he was careful not to touch her.

  ‘I haven’t made love to another woman since I met you.’ He said it slowly, letting her absorb every word. ‘Vittoria tried, probably because I was one of the few men to say no to her. She came to my trailer and kissed me, plastered herself over me and I kicked her out. Obviously she didn’t accept rejection well, since she took out her anger on you.’ He grimaced, remembering the sordid scene. He’d never liked that co-star. It had been a trial from the first working with her. But he’d never expected…

  ‘I haven’t wanted another woman since I met you. I’ve been celibate the whole time you’ve been away.’

  At that Angela did react. Her mouth rounded in a perfect O of astonishment.

  Matteo wished he hadn’t noticed. She had the sexiest mouth. Its natural pout was enough to make him hard at the best of times and right now, despite his fury, he couldn’t banish the surge of hunger that reminded him his wife had become the only woman who could satisfy him. Standing this close and not having her was one of the most difficult things he’d done. He could all but feel those soft lips trailing across his skin, heading for—

  ‘This separation, the separation you caused because you didn’t trust me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt, or even to talk with me, has been driving me insane.’ He saw the words hit home but he couldn’t pull back. The anger inside him incinerated all caution. After a year of pulling back, giving her space and time as her sister kept urging, of playing nice, he’d reached his limit.

  ‘How would you feel, Angela, if the situation were reversed?’ Matteo thrust his head forward, right into her space. Once more he inhaled that fruit spice scent of her soap and more, the underlying fragrance of warm woman that was innate to her. He still woke in the night with the smell of her in his nostrils, his hands shaking from trying to hold her to him even as the dreams ended and the illusion faded.

  His need for her even now, only stoked his ire.

  ‘If I saw a guy coming on to you, should I just assume you were complicit? That you’d betrayed me? For all I know you’ve been sleeping with some man in Austral—’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head so forcefully a swathe of gilt hair swung forward, the tips brushing his chin.

  Matteo reared back, unprepared for the surge of lust that shook him to the core from that gossamer fine caress.

  How could he be so irate and still want the woman who believed he’d betrayed her? Who mocked his honour and his love?

  ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else.’ Toffee brown eyes with those distinctive shards of amber stared up into his.

  ‘I’m supposed to take your word for that, am I? To trust you? As you didn’t trust me?’

  She swallowed convulsively. ‘It’s true. I would never…’ Another shake of her head. ‘Besides, no man would ever—’

  ‘What? No man would ever want you? Is that the lie you’re trying to feed me?’

  ‘I don’t lie. I—’

  ‘And nor do I, Angela. I’ve never lied to you.’ His stare challenged her to argue and this time she remained silent, her fine eyes shadowed. ‘As for other men wanting you, your precious Davide does.’

  ‘Davide is just a friend. He has no interest in—’

  ‘Have you seen yourself, Angela? I can’t believe you look in the mirror and don’t realise you’re beautiful.’ Though it struck him now that his wife never preened in front of mirrors. It was rare for her even to wear lipstick. The makeup she wore now signified a major change.

  Why had she done it? The makeup, the new hair colour, the sexy clothes? They couldn’t be for him. He’d had to drag her here kicking and screaming under threat of breach of contract.

  So who was she dressing up for?

  Jealousy was a juddering avalanche, blasting his body with icy needles of pain that burned right through him. Matteo squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the adrenaline rush abruptly subside.

  He was tired, more tired than he’d ever felt in his life. It was an effort to hold in the turmoil of feelings churning through his gut and making nausea rise.

  He snapped his eyes open.

  Angela hadn’t moved. But her face had paled from delicate cream to a parchment white that even makeup couldn’t hide.

  ‘I loved and trusted you, Angela.’ He drew a heavy breath, ignoring the lance of pain jabbing right through his cramped lungs. ‘I thought you loved and trusted me too. But now I wonder if I was mistaken.’

  How he wanted to reach for her! Kiss her into softening in his arms. Kiss her till her head spun and she offered herself willingly to him. He could do it, he had no doubt. Always, they’d shared a special closeness in bed.

  His grand scheme in bringing her to Venice had revolved around him seducing her back into intimacy, because in the past that part of their relationship had been sheer perfection. He’d assumed that once they were together again they’d be able to work through any issues. Because they loved each other.

  Now Matteo saw the glaring flaw in his plan.

  He loved his wife. Even now, after she’d hurt, offended and outraged.

  But he wasn’t sure she loved him.

  The knowledge threatened to crush him.

  Maybe she’d believed the worst about him because secretly she no longer loved him and subconsciously sought a way out of their marriage.

  The testosterone pumping through his body urged him to sweep her off her feet. To overwhelm her with passion, to make her want him again. His instinct was to fight for her, win her over by whatever means he could.

  Except now he knew her early years had
been shadowed by coercion and violence.

  Matteo wouldn’t, couldn’t, force her to behave or feel in the way he wanted. He refused to follow in her bullying father’s footsteps. Honour and love demanded better of him.

  He needed a new strategy. He needed to give her time to absorb the truth about what had happened with Vittoria. In the meantime there was nothing more he could do here.

  Heart heavy, he strode from the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  ‘Thanks, Angela. This dialogue works much better now.’

  From beside her at the table Gina smiled and Angela couldn’t help but curve her lips in response. Gina was so genuinely lovely, inside and out, that smiling back was automatic. Despite the raw ache of desolation engulfing Angela.

  Three days it had been and nothing had been resolved between her and Matteo. Instead of forcing her to renew their conversation, he’d surprised her by giving her space. He sat across from her now, silently frowning as he marked another section of the screenplay with a slashing stroke.

  His plain gold wedding band caught the light and Angela’s stomach cramped. Did he still wear it because, like her, he couldn’t quite bring himself to remove it?

  Or because removing it now, mid shoot, would draw attention that would be sure to attract the ravenous press?

  He treated her with the distant politeness he would a stranger. Yet there was a tension in him, a sense of tightly curbed energy, that unsettled. There were no more private discussions, in fact he went out of his way to ensure they were never alone. Every script meeting had at least one other person present, most often Gina, his co-star.

  Were they lovers?

  Angela’s chest squeezed at the thought. After what had passed between her and her husband, she assumed the ties that bound them were now completely unravelled, though obtaining a divorce would take some time yet. What could be more natural than that he’d seek solace in the arms of the gorgeous, Titian-haired actress, after his wife had shunned him?