Sweet Seduction

by Jennifer St George

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, obviously surprised by the harshness of his tone. She put more distance between them. ‘We have a long drive, don’t we? Shouldn’t we get going?’

  He closed the distance between them and grabbed her hand. ‘We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the problem is.’ Just touching her sent his pulse racing.

  She pulled her hand from his grasp. ‘Where were you this morning?’

  ‘I had a meeting,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘What was so important?’ she demanded.

  ‘Amy insisted we meet to discuss our . . . situation.’

  Sienna’s eyes widened. ‘Amy? You were with Amy. This morning?’

  He frowned. ‘I had to see her before we left for Lake Como. I didn’t want her turning up there to talk things through.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ Sienna turned her back on him and walked away to the terrace.

  He watched her move to the balustrade and gaze out over to St Mark’s. Her dress became slightly see-through in the bright sunshine, her long lean legs silhouetted against the green fabric. Damn it if he would allow this icy atmosphere to continue. All he could think about while talking to Amy was getting back to Sienna.

  He cursed under his breath. How had he allowed this situation with Amy to occur? The baby couldn’t be his. He’d insisted on a paternity test, but Amy had just talked about how they needed to be together – for the sake of the baby.

  Thoughts of his little brother laughing and playing invaded his mind. The image crumbled into a horrible tangle of smashed timber and frothing water. His brother’s screams echoed in his ears. Acute pain stabbed his heart as though he’d been stabbed with splinters of wood.

  He slammed his hand into the doorjamb. No way was that child his.

  Sienna jumped at the sound. ‘Antonio?’ She stared at him. Alarm shadowed her beautiful face.

  Her concern stirred feelings he thought he’d buried years ago. He wanted to tell her everything. Share the pain, the shame and guilt. He clenched his hands into fists and slammed the door on his heart.

  ‘We’ll leave in five minutes.’ He turned away from the beautiful face that threatened to unravel everything.

  He walked to the bathroom and shut the door. He leant on the basin and stared into his eyes in the mirror. Sienna made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. She kept drawing him back to the world he’d held at a distance for years. A world of family, relationships . . .

  He straightened. He’d go to Lake Como, secure the hotel and then Sienna had to go.

  Forever.

  Sienna stared out at the countryside as the road wended its way towards Lake Como. The magnificent scenery should have secured her undivided attention. What could be more wonderful than driving through vineyards and historic Italian towns in a convertible with the wind in her hair? But the man next to her invaded every synapse in her mind.

  They’d barely spoken since leaving the hotel. She should be furious. He’d left her alone after what could only be described as the best night of her life. Why? To see his pregnant ex-lover. She’d tried to work herself up into an angry fury, but she couldn’t. The tortured look on Antonio’s face back at the hotel had seared her heart. If someone had died he couldn’t have looked more anguished.

  It mustn’t just be the situation with Amy. He’d spoken about that in such a matter-of-fact way. Such an Antonio way. Without emotions, without feeling. It had to be something else.

  ‘We’ll stop at Verona for lunch,’ Antonio said suddenly.

  She whipped her gaze to his face, hoping to read his mood. What was he thinking? ‘Sounds lovely,’ she said.

  ‘We won’t stay long as we need to get to the Villa Paradiso for dinner.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she knew he wouldn’t answer. Saying the man played his cards close to his chest was a ridiculous understatement. ‘Verona has some wonderful Roman architecture.’ She knew the comment sounded lame, but she couldn’t sit in silence any more.

  ‘Medieval as well,’ he said.

  ‘Well, well. You do know some history after all,’ she said, amused. ‘I thought you were just a rich philistine.’

  ‘I’m not completely devoid of the ability to appreciate culture,’ he said, flicking her a glance before concentrating again on the road. ‘I just don’t have time to indulge in frivolous pursuits.’

  They entered the town of Verona. The burnt orange-coloured buildings with their tiled roofs blazed in the afternoon sun.

  ‘Work really does dominate your life, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And yours,’ he countered.

  ‘Yes, but I’m forced into that position. You have the luxury of choice. You choose to work instead of enjoying all the world has to offer.’

  ‘Typical man. I like to focus on one thing at a time,’ he said, navigating the winding streets.

  ‘But your focus is work all the time.’ How was that possible when he could visit all the wonders of Italy? Europe? The world?

  ‘Work is simple and straightforward. No complications,’ he said, parking the car.

  He walked around and opened the passenger door. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet.

  ‘But don’t you ever yearn to just let go? Immerse yourself in the culture, the beauty and the history that’s all around you,’ she asked, gazing at the lovely buildings surrounding them. Everywhere she looked she felt overwhelmed by what she saw. Antonio seemed not to notice any of it. He took her arm and led her down the picturesque cobblestone street.

  ‘I think you’ll like the restaurant we’re going to,’ he said, clearly changing the subject. ‘It’s one of the oldest in Verona and is regarded as having one of the best wine cellars in Italy.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘They’ve opened especially for us.’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘Your influence knows no bounds.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true, but I can usually book a good table,’ he said.

  She smiled, glad Antonio’s desolate mood of the morning seemed to have lifted.

  Antonio led her into a small square and knocked on a green door. A man dressed in smart black and white opened the door.

  ‘Buongiorno, Signor Moretti.’ The man bobbed his head towards her. ‘And Signora Moretti.’ He led them to a small candle-lit table in a private area of the dining room. It was dark but cosy.

  ‘I hope this is satisfactory, signor,’ he said, holding a chair for Sienna.

  ‘Yes,’ Antonio said, seating himself across from her.

  The maitre d’ waited until they were settled. ‘Today I would recommend starting with the sea bream ravioli, with a mint-pesto sauce, followed by medium baked loin of lamb aromatised with three peppers,’ he said.

  Antonio looked at her questioningly.

  ‘Sounds delicious,’ Sienna said.

  ‘For two,’ Antonio said.

  As Antonio and the maitre d’ discussed wine, Sienna glanced about the room. Leadlight lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a low glow. The wooden tables were covered in starched white linen. Bottles of Italian red wine lined the muted-gold walls, which were punctuated by faded prints. So typically Italian.

  ‘Good choice,’ the maitre d’ said as Antonio named a wine, then left them alone.

  ‘I should have been the one angry this morning,’ Sienna said.

  Antonio frowned. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘On the first day of our marriage you leave to see another woman.’ She injected a forced lightness into her tone.

  ‘Amy sent an urgent text. I needed to deal with her before we left.’

  ‘A little dangerous, don’t you think? What if the press caught you?’

  ‘They didn’t. Let’s talk about something else,’ he muttered.

  The waiter arrived with the wine and poured for Antonio to taste. Antonio nodded and the waiter filled a glass for each of them.

  ‘This complication with Amy affects me too,’ Sienna said
in a low voice.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s very simple. The baby can’t be mine. It’s impossible.’

  ‘Mistakes happen.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I always insist on double protection.’

  ‘You didn’t with me.’

  He took a sip of wine and leant back in his chair. ‘You’re on the pill.’

  Sienna sat rigid in her chair. ‘And how do you know that?’ she asked accusingly. She’d been on the pill since she was a teenager to help with painful periods.

  ‘You left your toiletries bag open in the bathroom.’

  ‘You went through my things?’ Her voice rose louder than she intended.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said calmly. ‘The packet was there in open view.’

  She scooped up her wine and took a generous gulp. She wanted to be angry, but he hadn’t really done anything wrong.

  ‘Two types of protection,’ she said finally. ‘That’s very careful of you.’

  ‘Don’t want any mistakes.’

  ‘Looks like things haven’t worked out as planned with Amy.’

  ‘It’s not my child.’

  ‘But what if it is?’

  Antonio lifted his wine glass slowly to his mouth, took a draught and set the glass carefully back on the table.

  ‘Amy is quite capable of providing for the child financially,’ he said. ‘If required, I’ll assist in that regard.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Sienna said, aghast.

  Antonio set his mouth in a fixed line. ‘I’ve always been very clear with the women I date.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I’m clear up-front that I don’t want any commitments. Any complications.’

  ‘Wow. Such a romantic.’

  ‘It’s honest.’

  ‘It’s pathetic.’

  Antonio’s eyes grew dark as they bore into her. ‘Relationships, family, children, commitment. It’s not for everyone,’ he said dangerously.

  ‘No, just okay for ninety-nine per cent of the human race,’ Sienna muttered as a waiter placed a plate of sumptuous scallops in front of her.

  Antonio didn’t answer. He skewered a square of ravioli and slid it into his mouth. His expression told her in no uncertain terms that this line of conversation was over. The restaurant’s muted interior that had at first seemed so romantic now felt suffocating.

  Each time Sienna thought she’d glimpsed something more than the hard, cold businessman in Antonio she ended up disappointed. There’d been moments when she’d been sure she’d seen – what? She stabbed some food onto her fork. Those fleeting moments were clearly aberrations. Looking after the lost boy. His relationship with his staff. The way he’d made love to her last night.

  The ravioli stuck in her throat. She grabbed her wine and gulped it down.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Antonio said, reaching across the table and laying his hand on hers.

  Her body responded instantly to his tenderness. She swallowed hard, and slipped her hand back into her lap. Why did he have to be incapable of real feelings?

  ‘Something stuck in my throat,’ she said. ‘It’s gone now.’

  ‘Can’t let anything happen to you,’ he said, his gorgeous eyes glittering in the candlelight.

  There it was again, a glimpse of a different man. There had to be more to Antonio than he presented to the world – to her.

  ‘Not when we are so close to getting what we want,’ he continued.

  Disappointment flooded her veins. His concern for her welfare was only to ensure she delivered on their contract. She wanted to stab the fork into his hand – then he’d feel something.

  ‘How long do you think we need to spend at Villa Paradiso?’ she asked, trying to keep the tension from her voice.

  ‘Depends on how well we play our parts.’

  She picked up her wine and matched his unwavering gaze.

  By the time I’m done, I’ll be nominated for an Oscar.

  Chapter Nine

  Antonio slowed the car as he climbed the last hill before their descent into Cernobbio. He hadn’t been back to the lakeside town since —

  As the car crested the hill, the lake spread out before him. His heart froze, needles of pain slicing through him. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He’d forgotten how to drive. Yanking the steering wheel, he pulled off the road.

  ‘Wow,’ Sienna exclaimed, opening the car door. ‘It’s so —’

  ‘Get back in the car.’ His heart slammed against his ribs. He couldn’t drag enough air in his lungs.

  He couldn’t be alone.

  He couldn’t go back to that place.

  Sienna stared at him, frozen in position half out of the car. ‘What is it?’ she said, glancing around as if something were poised to attack.

  ‘Get back in,’ he repeated, his voice numb. The ability to find words failed him. His seatbelt felt as though it had turned to lead. He yanked it off, throwing it aside.

  Sienna quickly slipped back into her seat. ‘You’re white,’ she said touching the back of her hand to his cheek. Fear leapt into her eyes. ‘You’re burning up,’ she said. She pressed his neck. ‘Your heart’s racing.’ She laced her arm about his shoulders. ‘Take deep breaths,’ she said calmly, as she rubbed her hand gently down his arm. ‘I think you’re having a panic attack.’

  Panic? He never panicked.

  He hauled in a deep breath. The world came back into focus and the pain in his heart eased. Sienna’s skin felt cool and comforting against his own. Turning in his seat, he clasped her face in his hands. He didn’t want to think, he wanted to blot out the world.

  Work. Wine. Sex.

  One of them always did the trick.

  He kissed her hard, pressing her back into her seat. She tasted sweet, of dark chocolate and coffee. He forced her lips apart, delved deep with his tongue.

  Sliding his hand up her chest, he felt her nipples peak under his fingers. Heat pulsed through his body. His hardness strained against his trousers. He wanted to own her, possess her – have her scream out his name. A car screeched past them. A long horn blast exploded around them.

  She tensed. Her hands came up against his chest. Her lips left his. ‘Stop,’ she said.

  He pulled her hands aside and used the weight of his body to pin her in her seat. He kissed her again, his lips brutal.

  She shoved him off. ‘Stop now.’

  The sharpness of her voice snapped his mind back from the lust that consumed him.

  She buckled her seatbelt and fixed her gaze ahead.

  He stared at her beautiful face. She blinked hard. He slumped back in his seat. What had he become? Forcing himself on a woman, on Sienna, in an open-topped car in broad daylight. Self-loathing crushed him viciously as he slammed back in his seat.

  He was fit for no woman. Definitely not a woman like Sienna: beautiful, principled, undamaged.

  Slamming the car into drive, he accelerated down the hill. He would always be alone and that’s how it should be. He had nothing to give but a black, hollow soul. Sienna deserved more than that. But as he thought about her leaving, a darkness fell over him even more frightening than the dull aching pain he carried with him always.

  Sienna sat stunned in her seat. What had happened? She stole a glance at Antonio as he manoeuvred the car expertly through the narrow streets of the little lakeside town. His tightly clenched jaw betrayed a man under severe stress. His eyes never left the road.

  Although the wind whipped past, the atmosphere in the car felt heavy, smothered with unspoken words. The man who had just kissed her was not the same man who had made love to her on her wedding night. Then, Antonio had been passionate, attentive, had made her feel as though she were the only woman in the world. Who was this man who wanted to have her quickly in the front seat of the car?

  ‘Villa Paradiso,’ he said, indicating ahead with a nod.

  Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer b
efore she turned to look. She gasped. She hadn’t expected anything so grand. How on earth did Sergio and Rosa manage such a huge, opulent hotel?

  Set back from the lake, the ivory and gold building was surrounded by lush, manicured gardens. Bursts of colour from bougainvillea-covered trestles and jasmine-laden rock walls punctuated the greenery. A stone fountain sprayed water high into the air, a rainbow shining in its mist.

  ‘Wow,’ she whispered. No wonder Antonio wanted this so badly. She’d never seen such a magnificent hotel.

  ‘It was built in the seventeenth century for a cardinal,’ Antonio said. ‘It’s been in the Moretti family for nearly two hundred years.’

  Antonio parked in front of the reception. A bellboy raced to open Sienna’s door as Rosa rushed out to greet them. Rosa hugged Antonio then pulled Sienna into her arms.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Rosa’s face glowed. ‘Thank you for bringing him,’ she whispered in Sienna’s ear and gave her arm a squeeze. The woman put her arm about Sienna’s waist and urged her into the hotel lobby. Antonio strode ahead. Sienna watched Sergio and Antonio shake hands. Both men stood stiffly, waiting for the women to join them.

  ‘We’ve put you in the honeymoon suite,’ Rosa said, pressing the lift button.

  ‘Welcome,’ Sergio said, kissing Sienna on both cheeks.

  ‘Your hotel is just magnificent,’ Sienna said. ‘I’ve never seen such a magical place. Thank you so much for having us.’

  Sergio pressed his lips together as though preventing himself from speaking.

  The lift doors opened and the four of them walked into the splendid nineteenth-century lift. Sienna saw disdain cross Antonio’s face, as Rosa had to push the heavy buttons a number of times before the doors closed. It seemed an age before the lift shuddered into an ascent.

  ‘Antonio said this was built in the seventeenth century,’ Sienna said, desperate to break the awkwardness made worse by their close proximity.

  ‘Yes,’ Sergio answered. ‘It was a cardinal’s summer residence. My family converted it into a hotel in 1873.’ There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.

  ‘Lord Byron, Puccini and Mark Twain have all stayed here.’ Rosa could hardly contain herself. ‘Elizabeth Taylor stayed in your room.’