She shouldn’t be feeling like this. Guilt should be flaying her with its many tails, not leaving her body awakened and craving more of his touch. She could even still smell him, the musky spice of his cologne, the underlying heat of him.
She wanted him with a force that shocked her to her core. Was it only a knee-jerk reaction to Kyle’s infidelity—to the proof that she wasn’t woman enough for him, and obviously hadn’t been for some time? Thoughts cascaded through her mind, one after the other, like pebbles tumbling in a fast flowing stream.
Lana crawled beneath the sheets on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin staring unseeingly into the dark. What had her life come to and, more importantly, what came next?
A gentle knock at her door dragged her from sleep the next morning—sleep that had been fractured with dreams of herself entwined in Raffaele Rossellini’s arms. She sat up and pushed her hair from her eyes. God, she felt a total mess. The towel she’d wrapped around her last night had twisted and slipped around her body and she grasped at its edges, pulling them up to cover herself as her door swung open.
Raffaele stood in the doorway, a towering dark presence, dressed in what she realised was his trademark black business attire. Cool grey eyes, flicked over her tumbled hair, her bare shoulders and lower to the shadowed valley of her breasts, accentuated by the way she clutched at the towel. Heat bloomed through her body, her skin suddenly ultra sensitive to the texture of the towelling beneath her. She flicked her tongue across suddenly dry lips, her eyes captured by the answering flare of heat in his as he watched the automatic action.
“Buon giorno, Mrs Whittaker. I trust you slept well?” There was a steely tone to his voice, almost as if he was angry.
Lana fought to regain her poise. “Please, don’t call me that. I don’t…I’m not—” she broke off mid-sentence.
It sounded all wrong hearing “Mrs Whittaker” from his lips, it sounded all wrong altogether. She had been Kyle’s wife, but it had meant nothing to him. Nothing whatsoever. As she’d lain tangled in the sheets of her bed last night thinking about anything and everything but how she’d wantonly thrown herself at Raffaele Rossellini it had finally dawned on her that she’d been no more than another achievement to him. Something to flaunt before his colleagues. Something to boast about when he’d talked about how far he’d come from the kid who’d dropped out of school at fifteen to panhandle the streets and run odd jobs.
Raffaele’s eyebrows drew together in a stark line and his grey eyes grew cool. “You want me to call you Lana.”
She shivered slightly as her name rolled off his tongue, his accent lending an entirely new pronunciation to the two simple syllables. “Please, let’s not stand on formalities.”
“As you wish. Housekeeping has not yet returned your clothing. I took the liberty of ordering some items for you from the hotel boutique. I trust they will be suitable. I’ve also contacted Tom Munroe’s office. They’re expecting us at ten-thirty.”
“Tom’s office?”
“You need to find out what is to happen next, don’t you? Where you stand financially.”
“Of course. Thank you. You surprised me, that’s all. I’ll be out in a minute.” She’d forgotten for an instant that she owed this man money. A great deal of money. Of course he wanted to know how soon she would repay him.
Raffaele lifted two large shopping bags, embossed with the hotel boutique’s insignia on the side, onto her bed. “Let me know if these are not suitable. We can have them changed.”
“Thank you. Yes. I will.” With each time her words of thanks passed her lips Lana was reminded of how he’d accepted her thanks last night, of how she’d reacted under his touch and how her body flared to life in his presence. It was as if he exuded a drug that intoxicated her senses and drove all thought of her precarious position from her mind.
He was dangerous.
The thought flashed through her mind, identifying the subtle power he already held over her. She’d do better to focus on each tiny step she would have to take to get through today and each subsequent one after that, in an effort to get through the mess Kyle had left of their lives.
When Raffaele closed the door, Lana carefully tipped the contents of the bags onto her bed. She gasped in surprise at the items that spilled onto the covers, her fingers reaching for the lingerie that slid from its tissue wrapping. The briefs were the sheerest scrap of lace, their colour the shimmering turquoise of a tropical sea, and the matching demi-bra more enticing than anything she’d ever worn before. Something was caught in the tissue and she plucked it from the delicate paper—a suspender belt.
She clutched the items in her suddenly fisted hand and examined the sizes. Perfect. A disquieting thought sprang to mind. Had he chosen these himself, his long fingers caressing the sensuous slide of fabric? A heated flood of desire pooled at her core. Had he imagined her in them when he’d bought them?No! She had to stop thinking like this, tormenting herself like this. He’d been thoughtful enough to arrange for a change of clothing. That was all. It was no more than anyone would have done for her under the circumstances, surely.
But there was no-one else, the insidious voice at the back of her head reminded her. Not a single other person for her to turn to. Raffaele Rossellini was it, and who knew how much longer she’d be in a position to rely upon his generosity. No. She was indulging in temporary insanity if she thought there was more to this than met the eye. She had to pull herself together. To remind herself of where she was and what she had to do next.
After a quick shower and brushing her hair, Lana slid into the exquisite lingerie, forcing herself to ignore the delight of sensation as the fabric caressed and cupped her skin. The deep golden-coloured wool skirt and matching jacket in the bag were tailored to nip in at her waist, accentuating her figure and bolstering her flailing femininity like armour did a marauding knight. Dressed like this, she felt invincible. And to all the world, that was exactly how she’d appear, despite the way her skin reacted to the silk lining of the suit where her stockings left her upper thighs bare.
There was no top to wear under the jacket, so Lana buttoned up to the deep V at the front, noticing in the mirror how the gentle creamy swell of her breasts was exposed. A small frown wrinkled her forehead. A camisole or blouse wouldn’t have gone astray right now.
“Are you ready? We have time for some breakfast before we go.”
Lana wheeled at the sound of Raffaele Rossellini’s voice right behind her. She hadn’t heard him open the door, or come into the room.
“Bella. The suit looks well on you.”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit too…” Lana’s hand fluttered at chest height and she faltered, lost for words.
“You look wonderful. Come, eat. Then we’ll visit Tom Munroe.”
Lana had no other option than to do as he suggested. She slid her feet into her shoes, thankful the patent black pumps hadn’t been irrevocably damaged by the walk in the rain, and hitched up her bag from beside the bed.
In the sitting room of the suite Raffaele fought to bring his breathing back under control. When he’d insisted the boutique manager open the store at seven this morning so he could choose Lana some clothing he’d never imagined how stunning she’d look when she wore it. Imagined? No, that was the wrong word. He’d done nothing but imagine what she’d look like in the sexily soft lingerie he’d chosen for her, or what it would be like to undo each button down the front of her jacket to expose her creamy skin beneath.
He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the picture of his sister into his mind. No matter how beautiful and enticing Kyle Whittaker’s widow and no matter his body’s clamouring demands, the fact remained she had prevented his sister’s happiness. Prevented his niece or nephew the joy of two loving parents. His hands clenched into tight fists as he remembered her denial of her legal name, a name Maria had wanted to bear as her own. Lana Whittaker was more craven than he had imagined.
&nb
sp; He heard a small noise behind him as she left her room, and turned to face her, his face deliberately schooled in friendly lines he knew showed nothing of the grief that tore at him daily. For every minute he spent with her was another minute away from Maria’s side.
“There are fruit and cereals or, if you prefer, a dish of smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. Please, help yourself.” He gestured towards the white linen-draped catering trolley.
“Have you eaten?” She gracefully picked up a plate and lifted the lid on the chafing dish, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as the aroma of smoked salmon in dill dressing wafted upwards.
“Not yet.” He shouldn’t be hungry. Food should be the last thing on his mind, yet from the minute he’d met Lana Whittaker two days ago, every sense in his body had heightened. His appetites stronger. All of them.
“Would you like me to dish up for you?”
Why not? Why not have her wait on him hand and foot if that’s what she wanted? He noticed she barely made eye contact with him, it made him all the more determined to ensure she did. A slight blush stained her cheeks, the colour a complete giveaway that she was not quite as composed as she led him to believe.
“Yes, please do. I’ll have some of the salmon and egg, thank you.”
He watched as she served a generous portion onto one of the warmed plates, then a smaller one for herself and carried them over to the dining table. Almost as if it were she who was the hostess here—as if it were her right. He ground his teeth together firmly. He would let her dwell a little longer in her field of dreams, but only because it served no purpose to reveal his position just yet. He hadn’t rebuilt his father’s dying business into a name recognised on almost everyone’s lips by acting in haste. No, he would bide his time—and when the time was right, he would strike to her heart.
Raffaele’s driver pulled up outside Tom Munroe’s office. Before he could come around to the passenger side Raffaele had alighted and whipped around the side of the car to open Lana’s door and offer his arm. Slightly discomforted by his obvious intention to accompany her to the appointment, she tried to protest.
“I’m sure you have more important business to attend to. I’ll be fine.”
“No, I’ll hear nothing of the sort. Yesterday was very trying for you, I am here for you today. Do not attempt to think otherwise.”
Lana wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of his hand on the small of her back as they entered the building or the absolute confidence of his voice, but she couldn’t think of a single other reason to object—other than Tom’s admonition yesterday to stay clear of Raffaele Rossellini. Back then, no less than twenty four hours ago, she had agreed thoroughly. But she couldn’t have foreseen the situation she was now in nor the commanding, and strangely reassuring, presence of the man now at her side.
Tom Munroe’s expression of surprise was swiftly masked as they were ushered into his office. He rushed forward, taking both Lana’s hands in his.
“My dear, you should have called me yesterday.”
“Oh, Tom.” Sudden tears filled her eyes at his uninhibited concern. “I couldn’t impose on you and Helen. You two have enough on your plate without my worries. Besides, Raffaele has been a mountain of support.” She couldn’t tell him about the reactions of the people she’d thought she could count among her friends. It would take her to a new low to have to admit that she’d been a trophy to them as much as to Kyle. A trophy that, once tarnished, was to be shoved in the trash and disposed of ignominiously.
“Raffaele.” The name fell flatly from Tom’s lips as he extended his hand to the younger man. A look passed between them, setting Lana’s nerves on edge, challenge clear in Tom Munroe’s eyes. Lana couldn’t see Raffaele’s face but she saw the determination on Tom’s face soften ever so slightly. “Well, then, we’d best get to business.” Tom settled himself behind his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers before putting them back down again. He leaned forward, his hands cupped in front of him on his desk, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Lana, your situation is far more dire than I expected. Kyle had been in financial trouble for some time and had been approached several times by the bank and other creditors. Are you sure you had no idea this was going on?”
A sick sense of shame flooded through her, and left a bitter taste in her mouth. No, she’d had no idea. She’d blithely imagined the life she’d always wanted with a husband she believed had loved her was real. Was that so hard to comprehend? She’d trusted Kyle implicitly. Sure, if she looked back, there was the occasional strange message left on the message bank, or hiccup with their credit cards, but the problems had never been serious. Or at least they’d never appeared so. She shook her head slightly, not daring to speak.
“I thought as much. There is more, I’m sorry to say.” Tom sighed deeply and picked up the papers again.
“More?” Lana clenched her fingers tightly together.
“The woman he was with at the time of the accident, you know she’s on life support, don’t you?”
Raffaele stiffened in the chair at her side.
“Yes, the police told me when they notified me about Kyle. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Mr Munroe, surely you don’t need to distress Lana further with this information,” Raffaele interrupted, an unexpected thread of anger in his voice.
“I’m afraid I must, Mr Rossellini. You see, the woman Kyle had been having an affair with is expecting his child. According to this information, she’s thirty-two weeks along and the doctors are doing what they can to keep them both alive until the baby is a little stronger. It’s not anticipated that she will live beyond the birth. It appears there is no record with any solicitors in the Wellington district, or even further afield, of her having made provision for guardianship in a will.” Tom paused and took another deep breath before continuing. “Lana, under the terms of Kyle’s will,you are the child’s testamentary guardian.”
Five
Expecting his child?
Kyle’s mistress was pregnant? Lana froze in her seat, her eyes burned with unshed tears and a tight band squeezed excruciatingly tight about her chest as she tried to draw breath into her lungs. But nothing in her body functioned, nothing except her hearing and the awful, unbelievable echo of the words Tom had uttered.
She thought she’d borne the worst, knowing Kyle had cheated on their marriage and destroyed the vows they’d shared. Knowing Kyle had lied and deceived her in every way possible and left her without a roof over her head. But this. No, this was far, far worse. This pain sliced through her like a guillotine.
A baby?
After all the years of tests and infertility treatments, the discomfort, the indignity, the hopes that had blossomed only to be crushed when she’d failed to conceive once again. He’d reassured her, over and over, that it hadn’t mattered that they couldn’t have children. That they’d grow old and cranky together while living out every other dream they’d shared.
This final betrayal couldn’t have cut more deeply.
Finally, Lana managed to drag a searing breath into her lungs, to find the strength to get to her feet, to find her voice and say the one word that repeatedly bounced around inside her head with the velocity of an accelerated atom.
“No!”
“Lana, please, I know this has come as a shock.”
“No. No. No! I willnot do this. I can’t. I just can’t!” She levelled a tear filled gaze at Tom. “You know why.”
“My dear.” The older man swallowed, clearly lost for words.
“I, however, do not.” Raffaele’s voice cut through the air like hail stones. “I fail to understand why you would ignore your own dead husband’s direction in his will, a man you profess to have loved, or why you would ignore the desperate need of a helpless child.”
“You don’t understand.” Lana swallowed against the pain in her throat.
“What is there to understand?” Raffaele’s voice, usually only lightly accented, thickened with his anger. �
��You are denying a child a home. What kind of woman are you?”
“Now hold on a minute, Rossellini. You have no idea what Lana forfeited when she married Kyle, nor what she’s borne since. You’ve no call to speak to her like that,” Tom blustered.
“Have I not? I believe I have every right, sir. Maria is my sister.”
“Maria?” Lana’s voice wavered.
“Maria Rossellini. The woman your husband loved. It is no matter now to you. I will take the child. As its nearest blood relative I have the right.”
“The right? And who had the right to take my husband from me?” She shot him an angry glare, watching his features settle into an implacable mask of determination. “There’s more isn’t there. How did you meet Kyle? How did Kyle meether? Tell me!”
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