Seduced by the Italian

by Fraser, Diana

  He winced at her uncharacteristic choice of words and didn’t move for several long moments as his eyes searched her face—what for, she didn’t know. Whatever it was, he obviously didn’t find it and he shook his head. “No.” His voice was as soft as her words had been hard.

  “No. Well I can’t do more than that.” She shook her head, suddenly defeated, picked up her bag that had fallen to the floor and looked helplessly around at the mess. She shook her head as she tried to smooth back the hair that had tumbled from its clips under his fevered embrace. She couldn’t stay to pick up the pieces. She just couldn’t. She turned and walked toward the door.

  “Don’t go, Isabella.” There was no pleading tone in his voice but equally no command. She stopped but didn’t turn to face him.

  “I have to.”

  “Look, ask me again, if I want you here and now. My ‘no’ was probably hasty, more than probably, inaccurate.”

  She heard the shift in tone, the underlying humor as he tried to break the tension between them. She turned to him and shook her head.

  “Stupid question for a man, I guess.”

  “Stay.”

  “I have to go. Don’t you understand?”

  “I understand more than you know.”

  “Then let me be.” He didn’t reply and she didn’t face him. “Please.”

  “Of course.” Too quickly stated, too curtly uttered. Another pause. “Although, it was you who made the first move. Perhaps I should be asking you to let me be.”

  “Perhaps you should.” She shook her head in confusion. “Look, a few months and then I’ll be gone. It’s not long. We can do this.”

  She took one last look around the room and opened the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  “It’s not over. You know that.”

  She stopped and turned round slowly feeling the truth and yet the falsehood of his words at the same time. It wasn’t over but it had to be over, for both their sakes. “Yes, Luca, it is. It was over long ago, when my father sent you away.” Her heart broke a little. “When I let you go.”

  “You didn’t know what you were doing. You wanted me…” All humor had vanished now as his voice trailed away into the labyrinth of his own deep-seated insecurity.

  Her heart seemed to stop then and she realized, as if from a distance, that she couldn’t afford to feel any more. Ice spread slowly, cauterizing the ache.

  She shook her head. “I wanted you to go then, just as I want you to go now. Unfortunately you are my boss and I need the money. So, if you can find a way to make these few months as painless as possible for the two of us, that would be appreciated.”

  He swept his hands wide in disbelief. “How can you stand there and speak so coldly after what just happened?”

  “That was our bodies talking. That was sex. That’s nothing to do with true feelings. Don’t get the two things confused.”

  “Cara, I don’t. I’d be crazy to feel anything for someone as cold as you. And I’m not crazy. You’re right. There’s no future for us.”

  “And no present either.”

  She didn’t look back as she strode down the hot, dark passage, just heard the scrape of the chair as he picked it up off the floor.

  Isabella returned immediately to the road, back to the path that led to the castello. She walked without stopping, without noticing the people smile and call out greetings, oblivious to the heat of the sun that scarcely registered above the inferno that raged within.

  Why the hell didn’t Luca just leave things alone? There was no way anything would change now. Too much had happened. Only a heavy lust existed where once love had been. It was all too complicated to resurrect.

  She focused on placing one elegantly shod foot in front of the other on the uneven cobbled path to the castello. She knew, by experience, where to place her feet. She knew the uneven places, the broken places and she knew to avoid them. So when her ankle twisted on one of the ancient stones, split where a cart had shed its load decades before, she could have cried with frustration. She knew, and yet she’d fallen.

  She gripped the stone wall for support as she rotated her ankle—dimly grateful it wasn’t painful—and looked out across the valley. She couldn’t see the river from here, hidden as it was by rocky outcrops and the village but she knew it was there. She could hear its roar as it passed out of the valley, through a narrow gully and plunged hundreds of meters into the valley below. She’d lived with the sound as a background witness to her life for years. But now she drew her hands to her ears, unable to stand it and walked away.

  Once inside the guest suite, she pulled the door shut behind her and closed her eyes. It was quiet here. Thank heaven. This part of the castello was scheduled for redecoration later. Even so, she didn’t feel quiet. There was enough noise going on in her head, in her heart, to deafen the sharpest of hearing.

  Wearily she sat down at her desk. Her hand reached for the electronic pen and computer pad and the screen flicked into life before her.

  This was real: the regular lines on the grid, the flashing cursor awaiting her command. This was her reality, the future she could control. She opened the design of the room she was currently working on and picked up the pen. She hesitated only for a moment, before the pen descended driven by something other than feeling and she exhaled her frustration.

  The pen became an extension of her hand and she was soon engrossed in the intricacies of making something beautiful. Difficult minutes flowed into absorbed hours as she forced herself to focus, to retreat once more from the world of feeling into the world of form.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The castello was silent except for Luca’s impatient footsteps, pacing back and forth on the terrazza. Fireworks burst into the night sky marking the beginning of the Ferragosto celebrations. Whoops and shrieks of laughter drifted up to him from the village where everyone gathered: everyone except for him and Isabella. For what did they have to celebrate?

  He turned and paced again.

  Dio! What had he done?

  One minute she was hot against his mouth and he’d felt, for a split second, not that time had rolled back, but that he’d pushed forward beyond the barriers into the world that had haunted his dreams for so long. The next? The past had replayed and he was back where he started.

  Except for the longing for her deep in his body. Except for the frustration and anger that ground into the pit of his gut.

  She’d retreated once more.

  He was angry with himself for allowing his need for her to surface. God knows why he did it. Pure impulse, he supposed. The reason he did everything. He’d always been ruled by impulse, acted on instinct. It had served him well in business. And had failed him abysmally in his private life.

  The massive hall clock struck eleven, the sound echoing through the empty rooms, emphasizing the days that had elapsed since he’d last seen her. She’d somehow managed to avoid him and he’d not sought her out.

  He pushed his hands through his hair. Why should he let her affect him? He was here for one reason only. To follow his grandmother’s wishes to make sure Isabella was cared for. She’d do the work, he’d sell the castello. They’d both achieve what they’d come here to do. And then they’d go their own separate ways again.

  A burst of fireworks—brilliant golds, reds and greens—filled the night sky and the smell of sulphur drifted across to him.

  He couldn’t begin to be the boy he’d once been. That person was long gone. The hope and trust and love that had filled that young boy’s heart had disintegrated into nothing, just like the fireworks. The time for love was past.

  He needed to move on. Energy jolted through his veins. He hadn’t settled since they’d last seen each other. He needed to do something. Progress was moving well on all areas of the house, except one: the conversion of the turret room into a nursery. Nothing had been done there yet.

  He turned suddenly to the guest wing where a single light
indicated Isabella’s presence. It was next door to the turret room.

  He needed to move on and he knew where to start.

  Concentrating on the technical drawings was difficult enough for Isabella, without the rhythmic thud that had just begun somewhere close by. She frowned, her hand clutching, too tightly, the pen above the design pad. Whatever the source of the noise it was nothing to do with her.

  She focused once more on the free-hand strokes but her concentration broke when an almighty thump vibrated through the solid walls.

  What the hell was going on?

  She glanced at her watch. It was nearly midnight. Everyone was down in the village celebrating Ferragosto. No-one should be working.

  She walked down the deserted corridor following the noise until she reached the turret room. She opened the door and saw Luca, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, dismantling the bookshelves.

  It took a minute to find her voice. With the noise he was making, he was unaware of her and she couldn’t take shift her gaze from the muscles that bunched in his arm. Her eyes traveled up and around the broad shoulders, following the line of his muscles as they tightened across his back as he inserted the crow bar against the wall and prized the end of the bookshelf away from the wall. With one almighty splitting sound the side of the bookshelf flew out. He dropped the crow bar, picked up a sledgehammer, and turned. She noticed he didn’t look surprised to see her.

  “Interesting way to refurbish. Destroy first.”

  “Just carrying out orders, contessa. Get rid of the graffiti. The carving was too deep to plane back so I was going to replace it but the top’s split.”

  “Get rid of it then.”

  He let the sledgehammer fall to the floor with a thud and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

  “You’ve no feeling for any of this, have you?”

  “They’re bookshelves. And mine no longer. There’s no room for sentiment in business. There’s nothing personal about this.”

  He pushed himself away and walked up to her. She stood motionless. Isabella watched, fascinated as a muscle in Luca’s jaw moved, just as his eyes narrowed.

  “Is that so?” He brought his head close to her, his eyes never straying from her own. His eyes were filled with anger and frustration. Their honey brown was darkened as if the sugar had been burned off leaving a gray charcoal gloss. “What makes it personal, cara, is how you react to me. The chemistry between us is what makes this personal.”

  “Chemistry! Chemistry isn’t of any use to me. I don’t want chemistry.” She raised her face to his in defiance, her nose almost touching his cheek. “I don’t need chemistry.” The tension in his body released in a shudder of warm breath upon her face.

  “You may not want it but it’s there. Deny it all you like, but it’s there all right.”

  “And what the hell good would it do, if I did open up old wounds, to examine them, to expose them, only to find—”

  “What, cara. Only to find what?”

  “Nothing. Only to find, nothing.”

  She moved away and smoothed her hair that was tied tightly on top of her head in a sleek ponytail.

  “And what if you do see something there?”

  “There is nothing to see, Luca.” She ostentatiously flicked a look at her wrist watch. “It’s late and I’d appreciate it if you left this until tomorrow. I’ve work to do and you’re disturbing me.”

  “I think I need to remind you of something, contessa.” Again he drew near but this time his face had softened, his lips quirked in amusement.

  “And what is it that you find so amusing?”

  “You. You’re my employee. You work for me. You do as I say, not the other way round.”

  “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Work.” She pushed her hand against his chest in an effort to move him out of her way. But he was immovable. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do, money to earn.”

  “Sure.” He stepped aside. “How long can you keep up this cold façade?”

  She turned at the door. “Indefinitely. It’s who I am. I’m here for business only. I don’t care about anything else. No sentiment.” She pointed to the bookcases. “Those? They hold no affection for me. No memories I wish to recall. Get rid of them if you can’t fix them properly.”

  As the door closed behind her there was an almighty crash as the sledgehammer hit the wood, followed by loud swearing. She winced. He’d taken her at her word. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand. She hadn’t meant it. Hadn’t meant any of it. And it tore her up that he’d believe her to be so unfeeling as to want to destroy something that had given her such comfort of the years. Just prosaic items, but the shelves brought back the memories of times spent together. Intimate times. Times she was desperate to forget but couldn’t. She wanted to go inside and tell him. She leaned her forehead shakily against the door.

  Suddenly the door opened and Isabella fell against him, her hands slapping against his tightly muscled, shirtless body. She jumped back.

  “I was just about to come in. I heard what you did.”

  “What I did was nearly cut my finger off. You make me hasty, Isabella.”

  She looked down and saw that his t-shirt was tightly wrapped around his hand. Despite that, blood had soaked through it and was dripping down onto the floor.

  “Dio! Show me.”

  “No. It needs stitches. I know that much.”

  “Hospital. I’ll get someone to drive you there.”

  “You can drive me there.”

  “No. It’s the hospital. I can’t. I’ll have someone drive you.”

  “There is no-one, Isabella. They’re all in the village.”

  “OK.” She gulped down the rising panic. “Where are the keys?”

  She had to keep a clear head. She had to get help. Even if it meant going to the one place she still had nightmares about.

  “In my pocket.”

  She stared him in the eye while she plunged her hand in his jeans’ pocket and felt for the keys. The pockets were deep and Isabella closed her eyes, knowing that a blush swept her face. “You’re not losing that much blood then.”

  “It would take a lot for me not to react to such a touch, Isabella.” She hooked the ring through her finger and dragged the key ring out. “I could have used my left hand you know.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” she snapped.

  “Seemed like too good an opportunity.” He smiled. “For both of us.”

  “Watch it, Luca, otherwise you’ll be bleeding to death here. And let me tell you blood is impossible to get out of unstained wood.”

  “Ever the designer.”

  He put his arm lightly around her and pulled her to him briefly in a hug designed to reassure. And it did. She shook the car keys in her hands. “Let’s go.”

  Isabella looked up from the gear stick she was studying and glanced across to Luca’s hand.

  “Wrap it up more tightly, the blood’s coming through.”

  He grunted as he tied another swathe of cloth tightly around it. “Don’t worry about me, just drive.” He tied the knot with his teeth and left hand and frowned. “First gear is here.” Isabella stuck her foot on the clutch and he moved it into gear for her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you know the way?”

  “Believe me, I know where the hospital is.”

  They lurched around the driveway and sped suddenly down the steep drive.

  “Perhaps I should have asked if you know how to drive.”

  Isabella glared at him. “Of course I do. But in my Fiat. Not this thing. If the Fiat weren’t in the village garage now, I’d be driving it.”

  Isabella slammed her foot on the clutch as she approached a tight bend, bashing the gear stick with the heel of her fist, trying to find the higher gear.

  “This thing is a Lamborghini.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s stupid.” She bashed again, the car made a graunching sound.

  He placed his han
d over hers and maneuvered the stick into position. “Now release the clutch before we take out the wall of that house.”

  She did and the car bounced over the edge of the pavement.

  “Stop. I’ll get someone in the village to drive me.”

  Isabella kept on driving.

  “I said ‘stop.’”

  “No. We can’t afford the time. You’re beginning to look pale.”

  Silence fell between them as Isabella sped down the mountain pass and joined the main road into Montepulciano.

  As they entered the outskirts of the town the tension increased in line with the traffic. Buildings grew taller, hemming them in, higher on either side of the narrow streets as the traffic speed slowed. The traffic slowed further and stopped.

  A clammy chill swept her body. She looked into the rear-view mirror and saw nothing out of place except a light sheen on her pale face. It should have reassured her. If she could keep the panic in then all would be well.

  “I can’t think why you always need to drive, when you drive so badly.”

  His very calmness infuriated her further. “I don’t drive badly.” She checked her rear view mirror again for reassurance.

  “Of course not. Checking your make-up is exactly what rear-view mirrors are for.”

  She gripped the wheel. “I know that. And I am a good driver. Just not today. Not with you.” She muttered under her breath.

  He turned to her, not looking in the least perturbed by the fact the engine was straining now in the lower gear. Isabella didn’t want to risk changing gears again.

  “Of course, it’s my fault. Like so many things.”

  “Well if you’d have kept your eyes on what you were doing, we’d never have to be speeding to casualty.”