‘I can’t really picture you as a golfer.’
‘I’m not.’ Lazzaro gave a small unworried shrug.
‘You can’t just bluff your way through a game of golf.’
‘Bluff?’ Lazzaro frowned.
‘Pretend you’re good …’ Caitlyn attempted.
‘Ahh, but I’m very good,’ Lazzaro said, standing up. ‘I just hate the bloody game—it’s not my fault I’m excellent at it.’
There certainly were perks to being Lazzaro Ranaldi’s assistant, Caitlyn thought as she lay down on the massage table. Having been exfoliated practically to the bone, and peeled, tweezed and waxed till there wasn’t a superfluous hair or skin cell left on her body, it was time for the skilled hands of the masseur to massage away all her tension. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax, tried to close her mind to the jumble of thoughts—and it did help. But only for a little while. Because just as she was almost relaxed, just as she was about to sink into mindless oblivion, it was as if two hands dived in and pulled her up, forcing her to the surface, back to the constant whirl of her thoughts.
When finally she was wrapped in a fluffy robe, sipping a ginger, camomile and lemon tea in her room, Caitlyn honestly wondered if she had the strength to face Lazzaro at dinner tonight. The man whose company she had craved for two years was just too exhausting, too bewildering for her today.
Maybe she could ring in sick?
No such luck. Her phone trilled and, glancing at the caller ID, Caitlyn knew she was going to have to face him.
‘Hi, Antonia!’ Caitlyn said warmly. ‘How are you?’
‘Great … though I really wanted to talk with Lazzaro. I’m having no luck getting him on his mobile, and his room phone just keeps ringing out.’
‘He’s playing golf,’ Caitlyn said helpfully. ‘He probably didn’t take his phone …’ Hearing the sigh on the other end of the line, imagining how she’d feel if she had such a massive piece of news to share, Caitlyn relented. ‘I’ll go and knock on his door, and if he’s not there I’ll pop a note under.’
As she opened her door to do just that, Caitlyn jumped with nerves. The man himself was striding past, frowning as she called out to him—’It’s Antonia …’ Slinking back into her room, embarrassed and awkward, Caitlyn sat down and sipped at her disgusting tea as Lazzaro took the call—the call he’d clearly been dreading.
‘Fantastic …’ For once Lazzaro’s usually clipped voice was effusive. ‘You’ve already told her? She must be thrilled!’
If Caitlyn closed her eyes, if she just listened to his words, she’d believe him—could almost envision him pumping a fist into the air at the joyous news. Only Caitlyn’s eyes weren’t closed, and she could see Lazzaro—leaning against the wall, his shoulders hunched, his forehead resting in the palm of his hand, his profile rigid, a muscle flickering in his cheek as he took in the ‘happy’ news.
‘I’m sorry, Antonia—it’s just one thing after another. We’re stuck here tonight and most of tomorrow. You should be with Malvolio anyway … Well, I am buying this golf course—it seems prudent that I at least give it a go. But I’ll be there as soon as I can, and I’ll let …’
Caitlyn watched as his free hand bunched into a fist, saw the little bit of colour that was left in him literally drain away. His Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times before he managed to carry on. ‘How was Mum?’ He closed his eyes on the excited chatter, raked his hand through his hair and dragged in vital oxygen.
‘Of course I hope to see them. It just depends on when we go to Rome … I’m glad you’re calling him that—no, really. I’m fine with it now …’
Just for a second his voice broke, and so evident was his pain, so abject his misery, Caitlyn had to force herself not to go over—had to literally stop herself from walking over and taking the phone from his hand, telling Antonia he would call back later.
But Lazzaro recovered quickly, nodding blindly and forcing himself to go on, his cheery voice absolutely belying his hopeless stance. ‘Luca would be very proud.’
‘A boy?’ He didn’t look over, just clicked off the phone and stared out of the window into the darkening night. She rued answering the phone—rued that he had taken the call in front of her. She knew, just knew, that this was a side to Lazzaro that he had never wanted her to see.
‘They’ve called him Luca.’
Normally congratulations would be in order. Everything told her they weren’t here.
‘After my brother … my twin …’ He turned just enough to look at her, his eyes holding hers, accusing, almost, and suddenly Caitlyn was nervous. ‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘How would I have met Luca?’ Caitlyn croaked, with no idea why she was blushing guiltily when she hadn’t done anything wrong, why he was staring at her as if she had.
‘When you were doing work experience, of course.’
Lazzaro’s eyes narrowed. ‘When did you think I was referring to?’
Did he know Roxanne was her cousin? Caitlyn could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, and despite the massage that had practically rendered her unconscious, and despite a scalp soaked with lavender oil, every muscle in her body was taut with tension.
‘I don’t know …’ She attempted a shrug. ‘But, no, I never ran into him. Look, do you want me to book transport?’ She was attempting normal, attempting professional, trying to do what a good personal assistant would in these circumstances. ‘If we get the helicopter—’
‘Tomorrow.’ Luca shook his head. ‘There is too much to do here.’
He didn’t elaborate—because, Caitlyn realised, he couldn’t. The lies he’d told Antonia didn’t match with the truth—and now she knew for sure that today wasn’t about sampling the delicacies that would be on offer to his elite patrons. Today served one purpose and one purpose only.
Escape.
And that was reinforced when Lazzaro snapped back into business mode, demanding that she pull out her planner and, despite her rather inappropriate attire, proceeded to go through his schedule.
‘We are supposed to be flying to Rome next week. Rearrange things—tomorrow would be better.’
‘But what about your sister?’ Caitlyn asked. ‘Don’t you want to arrange some time so that you can see—’
‘I do not need you to organise my private life—that I can take care of myself,’ Lazzaro interrupted. ‘Could you arrange a gift for the baby—and of course flowers …’
‘You want me to buy your nephew’s gift?’ Caitlyn tried to keep the slightly ironic note from her voice. This from a man who almost in the same breath had told her he could handle his own private life? ‘Do you have any idea what you’d like to get him?’
‘None,’ Lazzaro snapped. ‘That will be all.’
As he stood to go, she halted him. ‘Lazzaro, can I—?’
‘Make a suggestion?’ he sneered. ‘Are you going to suggest that perhaps I should shop for my own nephew? Or that I should delay going to Rome so that I can spend some time with my family? You know, I really do not need to hear your advice, Caitlyn.’
‘I wasn’t about to give it,’ Caitlyn said evenly. ‘I was just going to ask if I could have my phone.’
Every question that had flashed into her mind, every question she would never have considered voicing, Lazzaro had just answered—and seeing this proud, strong man look awkward, even for a moment, seeing embarrassment actually taint his features as he offered her her phone, Caitlyn wished she knew him well enough to ask them—wished somehow she could help him.
‘I know it must seem …’ His voice trailed off, his voluntary attempt at explanation fading before it began. ‘You just don’t understand.’
‘I know I don’t.’ They were both holding the phone, both holding onto this inanimate object, both staring at it, both looking at it—neither letting go. Behind the strength of his voice she could hear the pain. Behind the terseness she could hear fear. ‘I wish I could say the right thing.’
‘You can’t.’ Letting go of the
phone, he dragged his fingers through his hair. She half expected him to walk out without another word—could feel the tension in him, the indecision, and nodded when he asked if he could use her bathroom.
He felt sick as he went over and over the conversation with Antonia. He hoped to God he’d sounded happy enough about the news. His mother would soon be on her way—with her latest boyfriend on her arm, no doubt. Running the tap, he splashed water on his face, then did it again, taking in the lipsticks and perfumes that adorned the surfaces. It was easier to focus on nothing than what was in his head. Contraceptive pills, toothpaste—ordinary things, just so out of place in this strange, strange moment.
Baby Luca was here, bearing the name that drenched him in sweat each night, filled his nightmares. The name that he choked on was one he’d have to say daily now … He could see the beads of sweat on his grey complexion—could feel the bile rising within him, no matter how many times he washed his face. God, should he cancel dinner? For the first time he truly didn’t know if he could manage normal for an evening—yet at the same time he didn’t want to be alone.
‘I wish I could help.’ She was standing at the open bathroom door, walking in behind him, staring at his reflection in the mirror. And he stared back at her—infinitely better than staring at his own face—so much easier to focus on her beauty than deal with his own demons.
For a moment she’d seemed bold—but as he turned around to her, suddenly she was shy. Lazzaro lifted her chin with his fingers—staring down at her when, as if opening the lid on a velvet box, her eyelashes lifted to show two brilliant sapphires … entrancing, dazzling … bewitching.
The same eyes as Roxanne’s. The shade of blue identical.
Hell, sometimes he forgot, actually forgot that she was using him—actually forgot his conversation with Malvolio, actually forgot that she’d lied and schemed her way into his life. She was probably lying and scheming right now—right now, at this very minute—trying to worm her way into his heart, trying to get inside his head. Right now, when it was so hard, so very hard to be alone.
When Luca had died he’d sworn never to let a woman get close—never to let a woman under his skin in the way his brother had. But, staring at Caitlyn, blinded by her beauty, it was scarily easy to renegotiate with himself, so very tempting to take the comfort he needed now, to lose himself in the urges he had been resisting since the moment she’d stepped back into his life.
They were the same shade of blue—only he could see a swirl of black around each iris that intrigued him. He’d never stared into Roxanne’s eyes like this—had never been lulled into the dizzy whirlpool of attraction with Roxanne, never wanted to lower his head to hers the way he did now, towards Caitlyn’s …
Only he’d sworn that he wouldn’t.
Supremely focussed, incredibly driven, self-control was something he had never had to knowingly exert. He worked hard and, when time allowed, he had the funds and the stamina to play equally hard. His dark good-looks ensured an endless smorgasbord of suitable playmates, and his conscience was rarely if ever pricked.
He never promised anything of himself.
So why the dilemma? Why, when never had he craved oblivion more, was he hesitating?
She did something to him—altered his usually direct thought processes until they were scattered to the wind. Her image darted into his mind’s eye over and over throughout the day, and her scent reached him even when she wasn’t present—overwhelming him, just as Roxanne had Luca.
This was a woman who could get under his skin.
His lips were so close that if she moved a mere inch they would be touching. Only still he hesitated. Still he wrestled with something deep inside. And if life was a series of choices, in that split second Lazzaro’s was made: he would lose himself in her, would drown in the balmy oblivion of lovemaking, would bathe in the warmth of her body—only on his terms. He knew he was strong enough to hold back, to take only what he needed tonight and nothing more.
‘I don’t bite.’
Foolish words, perhaps, but they actually made things easier for him, reminded him of the woman he was dealing with. No matter how sweet her exterior, inside she was as hard as nails—would use him as a means to an end.
Just as he would now use her.
‘Oh, but you do!’ A smudge of a smile relaxed his lips, but it didn’t soften his eyes.
His mouth moved that last delicious fraction, and it was Caitlyn’s eyes closing. The bliss of flesh on flesh, of his lips finally on hers—the moment she had dreamed of for so, so long was actually eventuating … His hands were on her shoulders, his mouth moving with hers, and if ever there was a textbook kiss then this was one. His lips were tender, measured, skilled, his tongue sliding around hers … Only as perfect as it might be, even if there wasn’t one single thing she could fault, the best Caitlyn could come up with as his mouth moved over hers was that it wasn’t her perfect.
Dreams were dangerous. Dreams let you inhabit a world that didn’t exist—let you savour and taste what you’d never had, what didn’t or couldn’t exist. Because, as adept and as proficient as his kiss was, no matter how she tried to go with it, no matter how she closed her eyes and attempted to relish this moment, the reality of it didn’t match up to her dreams.
‘Lazzaro …’ She pulled back, shook her head, knowing perhaps she would appear a tease—might in that contrary moment be giving credence to Malvolio’s vile accusations—only she couldn’t pretend. Couldn’t just go along with something that wasn’t okay. ‘This isn’t …’
He felt her detachment before she pulled back. Knew he had lost her before she had gone. But just the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, had him hungry—hungry for all of her. A fierce need was coursing through him, every nerve in his body shrilling demands that their master must not deny them now. And he could do it, Lazzaro said to himself, as he pulled her back in and lowered his head again. He was strong enough, Lazzaro told himself—he could give just a little bit more of himself and then detach.
One hand snaked around her waist, finding the small of her back and wrenching her in as the other knotted into her thick blonde hair, holding her head till there was nowhere else she could go. Kissing her, kissing her as she should be kissed, as he’d wanted to kiss her from the second he’d laid eyes on her, his tongue devoured her, tasted her, drank from her.
His chin was hard on hers, scratching at her skin, his body not just warm but hot through her bathrobe. She could feel herself sink into him, melt into him. His kiss, this kiss, was all she had ever imagined—all it should be.
He smothered her—smothered her with rough, urgent, hot kisses that burnt somewhere deep inside, that offered only temporary satisfaction. Every taste made her hungry for more. His hands were on her bottom, wedging her groin into his in an almost needless gesture because she was pressing herself against him too. She closed her eyes as his mouth kissed her hairline, her eyelids, almost bleating with pleasure, with fear, as his tongue explored the hollows of her neck. This time when she pulled back it was for a very different reason—stupidity and inexperience were two different things entirely, and Caitlyn knew exactly where this was going. Knew because her body was telling her—knew that for the first time it felt absolutely right—that this was what to date her lovers’ kisses had been missing. And she knew he needed to know.
‘I haven’t done this before …’
His mouth was still on her neck, kissing her deeply and making her head roll.
‘Done what?’
She could feel the warmth of his words on her neck, and the warmth of her blush spread down to greet them as she told him her truth.
‘This.’
‘What?’
He wasn’t kissing her now. Standing to his full height, he was staring down at her, taking in the blonde dishevelled hair. The oil from the massage made it look wet—as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. Her face was flushed, as if the water had been too warm, and her gown had parted
just enough to reveal one soft bosom that he wanted so badly to taste.
‘I’ve never made love before.’
Did she think he was that stupid?
China-blue eyes stared up at him. That full mouth was quivering with nerves, waiting to be kissed some more, and he was tempted to silence her with just that. What the hell was she playing at? He’d seen her pills in the bathroom, for God’s sake, and she’d told him that she’d just broken up with her boyfriend of six months—now she was telling him she was a virgin?
Please!
A very scathing remark was on the tip of his tongue—whatever game she was playing with him was about to be abruptly concluded. The muscles in his arms tensed as he prepared to push her away—only he didn’t.
If she wanted to play virgin, if she wanted to pretend that he was her first, then who was he to stop her? In fact, somehow it made it easier to just block out the whys and hows—easier to lower his mouth to hers, to play whatever game it was that she was playing and lose himself.
Pulling her back towards him, Lazzaro kissed the shell of her ear as he spoke. ‘Then we’d better take things slowly!’
So slowly. The weight of his mouth on hers was less urgent now, more a slow, languorous kiss, as intimate as it was passionate, exciting her even while simultaneously calming her, telling Caitlyn there was no hurry, no rush on this journey. So she took the time he allowed to explore him—inhaling him, inhaling the undertones of his cologne that couldn’t mask the masculine smell of want, feeling the scratch of his face against her skin, coarse, bruising, delicious, and then, because she knew where it was going, because there was nothing to stop her now, allowing herself to concentrate on the blissful feel of his tongue against hers. It toyed with hers, stroking not just where flesh met flesh, but somewhere deeper inside, stirring her slowly, and the weighty band of arousal around her groin danced to the puppet strings he pulled with his mouth.
Lazzaro’s hands slipped inside her gown, emitting a groan in their entwined mouths as he encountered the silken smooth, heavily oiled weight of her breasts. He held them in the palms of his hands like ripe fruit, then rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her robe fell in a puddle as he lowered her on the bed, his mouth working its way steadily downwards, and Caitlyn felt her heart still in her throat with nervousness, then trip back into life as she momentarily relaxed, remembering that she had her panties on.
Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress Page 7