But she heard the whir of his helicopter as it lifted off the pad. The blades created a washboard of waves that sent the dinghy bobbing and her insides quaking.
In moments he was gone, leaving her life with the same drama as he’d stormed into it.
With one exception.
This time he was taking her heart with him.
“You’re an ass, you know,” Jean Paul said before he swilled down his fourth martini, not that Stefano was counting his friend’s or his own alcohol consumption! “She is a desirable woman. I am tempted to return to her quaint inn in Manarolo if only to seduce her.”
“Be my guest,” Stefano said, but the shattering of the stemmed glass in his hand ruined his cavalier response.
Jean Paul merely smiled and shifted his lazy pose on the upper deck chaise. He had declared that he and Stefano needed a few days away from the hectic pace and the launch of his new superyacht seemed the perfect excuse to get away.
Unfortunately Stefano had yet to relax. For one, he hadn’t expected his friend to continually steer the conversation back to one flaxen-haired beauty who was never far from Stefano’s mind.
Four months had gone by without him seeing Gemma. Four months in which he was certain she’d call him for some reason that required his immediate attention. Four months of silence when he’d been certain he’d planted his seed in her belly that last night on his yacht.
She would have the decency to let him know. Except she hadn’t phoned him. If Jean Paul could be believed, she was still a slender beauty with all her curves in just the right places.
Her silence infuriated him. He wanted to know how miserable she was stuck in Manarolo. He needed to know that she missed him dreadfully and that she was sorry as hell for turning down his offer of marriage.
He couldn’t go there of course, nor would he phone her to assess her mood. So he’d done the next best thing. He’d prevailed on his friend to visit the inn for much needed R & R after crashing his Peugeot at Le Mans.
He had not expected Jean Paul to fall in love with Gemma!
Since she was Stefano’s former lover, he couldn’t fault her if she found favor with another man. But did it have to be his best friend?
“I regret that I didn’t buy Cardone’s shares of the inn for myself,” Jean Paul said after the bartender replenished his empty martini glass.
Stefano set his teeth, well aware his friend was determined to bait him again. “You are a Formula 1 driver who thrives on speed and power. What the hell would you want with half ownership of an antiquated inn in Cinque Terre?”
Jean Paul let out a long, satisfied sigh and smiled. “You have to ask?”
“No.”
He knew what his friend would want with the inn and the woman running it. It was the same fantasy that kept him awake night after night, only he had lurid memories of him and Gemma tangled in the throes of passion that made it all the more tormenting to his peace of mind.
Not that he was likely to forget her with his sister asking about Gemma at every visit. She’d badger him twice as much after he moved her to Viareggio next month.
For now those jaunts tormented him more than enough. They reminded him of Gemma and her insistence that he move Rachel into the Marinetti mansion. That family was something to be cherished. Every damned thing reminded him of Gemma!
She was everything he despised and everything he desired. She was his bane and his salvation.
There was no way to rectify the two opposites.
Which wasn’t far from the truth. Between the launch of his new superyacht and seeing that his father’s needs were met, he’d had little time for anything.
Stefano squinted toward the east where the faint haze of the rugged Ligurian coast was just barely discernible. He’d never given Cinque Terre much thought before he met Gemma. Now he couldn’t get the five tiny lands and one enticing woman out of his mind.
Jean Paul swung his feet over the edge of his chaise and sat up, staring at Stefano with cool blue eyes that were far too perceptive. “You must know that Gemma is nothing like your sister-in-law.”
“I know, but I can’t abide deceit.”
Jean Paul frowned. “Apparently she can’t, either. She was protecting her family, too, or at least trying to.”
“That changes nothing.”
He’d gone over it countless times and his anger still flared out of control when he thought how her family had used her. They’d still be using her if he hadn’t interfered.
“You haven’t forgiven her then?”
“No.”
There was a long beat of silence that scraped over his nerves. “You are an ass,” Jean Paul repeated, having come full circle in their conversation yet again.
Like she had done every morning since she’d returned to Manarolo, Gemma stepped out onto the balcony of her inn. At this hour before dawn, the lights from the settlement spilled over the fishing boats pulled to shore and spread out onto the tranquil bay in splotches of yellow and green.
There was nothing quite to compare with the beauty of a village coming awake. The night fishermen were just coming ashore while others that made their living by the light of day ambled down the winding lanes and steps toward their boats. Sounds of activity in the market intruded on the hush of morning as dawn slowly welcomed the new day.
The artificial lights of the night would fade as the sun rose, like a heavy wash on a watercolor painting. Her gaze swept over the village with a tumble of houses painted in salmon, dusty blue and old gold.
They clung to the deep crevice above the tiny cove as they had for generations. It was these moments where time seemed to stand still. It was then old memories returned and that she allowed herself to cry.
She could imagine that one of the fishing boats was her papa heading out to begin his day’s work. Whenever a yacht dropped anchor near Manarolo for the night, her heart would race with anticipation that Stefano had finally decided to visit her.
She missed him dreadfully.
She missed all those she’d held close to her heart. Mamma and Papa had their lives taken from them too soon. Emilio and his wife had left Italy and she hadn’t heard from them in months.
Dear Cesare had cheated death and, according to Rachel, was learning to walk again. The young girl phoned her weekly to update her with news about her papa, herself and Stefano. Always Stefano, who according to Rachel was far too busy with his businesses to enjoy life.
Up until one month ago Gemma had continued her weekly visits to Milan to see Rachel, too, being careful to go well before Stefano arrived.
But she would be denied that for Stefano had decided to remove his half sister to the Marinetti mansion in Viareggio. Wonderful news for Rachel, but it was just another person she’d loved who’d been removed from her life.
Gemma wiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her face to the rising sun. The rattle of pots and pans echoing from the kitchen far below was a sign that Nonna was up as well.
The routine rarely changed. Even at times like now when they didn’t have a boarder, her grandmother busied herself in a kitchen that was woefully outdated.
If only her brother had used the money Gemma had sent Nonna for the much needed restoration of the inn. If only she’d realized that giving him that much money was a powerful temptation to try his luck at the big casinos.
Gemma shook her head, saddened that she hadn’t opened her eyes to the truth long ago. Stefano had been right—her brother had to learn to sink or swim. She couldn’t continue to support him and his addiction.
Gold and pink bands of sunlight kissed the rooftops and stretched into the water, pushing back the last remnants of night. The azure sea glistened like a mirror, the tranquil expanse broken by the occasional fishing boat and the presence of one very large ship.
Her heart raced as she squinted at the superyacht anchored offshore. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she chided herself.
It was likely just one of the wealthy that came to play in the M
editerranean. Or perhaps it was Jean Paul who’d promised to return once his new yacht was completed.
She liked him, but she couldn’t tolerate another visit where he outrageously flirted with her while extolling Stefano’s virtues.
Stefano. If she could just get him from her mind.
Gemma tightened her shawl and headed downstairs. The restless energy pulsing inside her was driving her crazy.
In Viareggio she’d taken a long walk to work every morning. That habit was too ingrained to give up now.
She stepped from the inn and walked down the twisting lanes of the village to the main path to Riomaggiore. The entire walk took twenty minutes, but most days Gemma worked off the bulk of her excess energy midway.
Not so for today. Even with the sea crashing onto the cliffs at her right and the tidy vineyards and fragrant herbs growing profusely up the mountain on her left, her thoughts kept straying back to that huge yacht anchored offshore.
How long would she pine for Stefano? When would this intense longing leave her?
She reached the outcropping much sooner than usual, but she was still too keyed-up to stop and rest. But the second she stepped into the tiny cleared niche she came to a dead stop.
Gemma blinked but he was still there standing tall and unyielding and oh so handsome. “Stefano?”
“You’re early, bella.”
For a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe. How would he know that?
Jean Paul, of course. He’d been privy to Gemma’s morning walks to clear her mind. He would’ve told his good friend about her odd schedule.
But why he’d kept Stefano updated didn’t matter. A greater question begged to be asked.
“What are you doing in Manarolo?” On Via dell’Amore?
His smile came slowly, warming her more than the rising sun. “Waiting for you.”
She absorbed that admission slowly and tried like hell not to read anything personal into it. Why was he waiting for her on the lover’s walk instead of the inn?
She met his gaze and her mouth went dry. He looked at her with an intensity that made her knees go weak. His dark, sultry eyes caressed her and promised more.
And God, she ached to fall into his arms. But she wouldn’t play the part of his convenient lover. She wasn’t about to let any man use her—even though she couldn’t imagine living without him. Even though she loved him with all her heart. Even though saying no to his cold proposal of marriage had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done.
Just being this close to him now was wreaking havoc on her emotions. She couldn’t put herself through the pain of hoping for more from him than her occasional lover.
“Enjoy your stay on Manarolo,” she said, and set off toward the path that wound to Riomaggiore with as much dignity as she could.
He stepped in front of her and grabbed her arms. “Bella.”
Heat and longing exploded in her and she struggled to keep from leaning into his strength, into the promise sizzling in his eyes. Mio Dio, rejecting this man was nearly impossible to do when she longed to wrap her arms around him and hold on for dear life. But she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t be hurt again for the next time she may never recover.
“Don’t,” she said, brushing off his hold and then instantly mourning the loss.
She didn’t have long to grieve.
He crowded her against the railing and slid his hands up her arms. Heat flares snapped the air in their wake as he bunched her shawl to her upper arms and made her burn for him, made her remember how very good they were together. Cool morning air whispered over her backside while an inferno of sensual masculinity blasted her from head to toe.
“Don’t what?” he asked, his voice pitched to a velvet purr. “Don’t touch you? Kiss you? Desire you?”
The last two words ribboned around her and held her fast to him, an invisible thread of need that couldn’t be broken. Don’t hurt me, she almost said. But that would be a waste of breath. Just standing in the shadow of his power was tearing her apart inside.
“Why are you here?” she asked again, hugging her shawl around her when what she really wanted was to press her palms against his chest and feel his heart beat just for her.
“Jean Paul repeatedly tells me that I am an ass, and I have finally realized that he is right.”
She bit back a smile. So Jean Paul had been badgering Stefano just as he had her.
“You are lucky to have such a good friend,” she said.
“So he tells me.”
They shared a laugh, and the tension needling her spine eased. She still was wary, but she couldn’t abide idle chitchat with him, not when there was still so much unsaid between them.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you with my problems regarding Emilio,” she said. “I wasn’t used to sharing that burden with anyone, much less with a man who clearly disliked and disapproved of my brother.”
There, she’d said it. The burden was off her now, but she still ached inside for what they’d had and lost.
He shook his head and mumbled under his breath. “Sharing. We have both failed in that regard. But that is in the past. Tell me, bella, are you happy? Is this where you want to be?”
“Some days I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“And others?”
“I miss the fast pace of my job. The people. The sense of being needed.” She met his steady gaze. “I miss you.”
Again that slow smile that made her toes curl. “Then come back to me.”
She’d waited forever to hear him say that, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more assurance from him. She deserved more.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. And you will.”
Such pride. Such arrogance. Such insight to know that was exactly what she wanted to do.
But she was afraid of trusting him. Of trusting her emotions around him. Of trusting that he’d somehow changed.
“Why should I, Stefano? Give me one good reason to return to you.”
“Because we are good together.” He cupped her face and this time she leaned into it and welcomed the heat and power of the man as it sank into her. “Because you love me, bella.” He nudged her face up and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Because I love you.”
“Do you? Or are you telling me what I want to hear?”
“It is the truth, mio caro. It took losing you to realize just how much I love you.” His fingers twined with hers and he lifted her left hand, kissing each finger while his dark gaze adored her. “You are my sun. My reason to breathe.”
“As you are mine,” she said. “I love you so.”
He slowly bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. “Mio amore.”
She clutched his hand and felt his blood pounding in tandem with her own, felt tears sting her eyes. “Say it again.”
“My love.” He covered her mouth with his and kissed her with more heat and passion than she thought possible.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked when they pulled apart a fraction.
“No. This is real. What we feel for each other is real. I love you, Gemma Cardone. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you in Marinetti Shipyard looking prim yet so desirable that you took my breath away.”
There was no doubt he wanted her. But while she thrilled over the fact he loved her, she was afraid to guess what her role would be in his life.
“So you’re giving me back my old job?” she asked after screwing up her courage.
“Job? No.” He pulled something from his pocket and held it up. “Forgive me for not giving you this sooner.”
She caught a glimpse of a gold band clutched between his long, tanned fingers. “You found my ring?”
“Bella! Don’t you see?”
She shook her head, confused and scared to believe what was before her eyes.
He took her left hand and slid the ring on her finger. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the huge diamond that sparked an aura of fire to mir
ror the explosion of love going off inside her.
“Marry me, bella.”
That brought her gaze flying to his. Marriage? Love? Could it all be true?
He stroked his fingers along her cheek and she shivered as much from passion as his tenderness that touched her heart. “I want you to be my wife. My partner in life. The mother of my children. I want to share everything I have with you, now and forever.”
“You’re sure?” she asked.
Desire blazed in his dark eyes to chase away her last remaining chill of uncertainty. He lifted her left hand and placed a kiss on each finger and his warm breath fanned flames that were already raging out of control.
“Without a doubt. Marry me, bella.”
“Yes,” she said through her tears, twining her fingers with his. “Yes.”
“We can live anywhere you want. Travel anywhere you wish,” he said, his eyes glittering with love. “I will arrange for your nonna to have help here as well, if she wishes.”
She pressed two fingers over his perfectly sculpted lips. “Stefano, what are you doing? We are on the path of lovers. This isn’t the place to waste time talking.”
“No?” he asked, affecting a perfectly shocked expression that she didn’t believe for a moment.
She shook her head, loving him more with each breath she took. “Kiss me,” she said and lifted her mouth to his.
She didn’t have to ask him twice.
So with the fragrant wild herbs scenting the air and the sea crashing on the cliffs below them, they sealed their avowal of love with all the passion in their hearts.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5633-4
INNOCENT IN THE ITALIAN’S POSSESSION
First North American Publication 2010.
Copyright © 2010 by Janette Kenny.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
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