Seduced by the Italian

by Fraser, Diana

  “Thank you.” She lowered her gaze to his lips on which a slight smile rested. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know what he was thinking—his mouth was just as expressive. It was now resigned but receptive. The thought encouraged her. “It wasn’t easy for me, Luca.” His lips parted as if to speak but no words were uttered immediately. She swallowed.

  ”Go on.”

  “When you entered my life I thought ‘this is it’. I thought ‘this is my opportunity to break free.’”

  His lips hardened then as if dealt a blow. “That was all I was for you? An opportunity to get away from your family?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not. I,” she hesitated as she groped for the right word, “I felt so much for you—I’d never had a proper boyfriend. You were so gentle, so loving, so different…” Isabella hadn’t known that someone could frown with their lips. She drew in a deep breath. “So different. You showed me what was possible between a man and a woman.”

  “I should have been more responsible and looked after you better. You should never have fallen pregnant.”

  “You did look after me, after that first time. But that was all it took. And I had no regrets.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, how could you think it? I’d always wanted children. Always. I love my sisters and care for them now as my mother would have done if she were still alive. And I would have cared for our own, Luca—with or without you—if the baby had lived.”

  He jumped up, paced away from her before stopping abruptly and turning to face her. “You see, Isabella. This is what you should have told me. Seven years ago. Why didn’t you?”

  She sucked in a long, deep breath. “They couldn’t get me out of the car immediately because of the way the door had buckled and I was trapped. But they saw my father was more seriously injured than me and they tried to get him out while I watched. They didn’t know he’d died and I couldn’t tell them because I couldn’t speak. So I watched as they tried to raise his head from the steering wheel. But the wheel was too deeply embedded. I…”

  She broke off and his arm was around her shoulders. “Don’t go into details.”

  “No, I must. I want you to know how I felt when I watched all this. I knew that my child had died because it came away from me while I was trapped in the car. And I knew my father had died. Only I was alive. And only I was responsible.”

  “You weren’t responsible.”

  “Oh, but I was.” She looked calmly at him. “You see my father was jealous of you. If he couldn’t have me then no-one else could. And I was too ashamed to tell you.”

  The hand on her shoulder froze. “What did he do to you?” His words too, sounded frozen solid, as if they emerged in perfect chunks, devoid of emotion, each one separated from the other.

  “The details are unimportant and not so salacious as to attract tabloid attention. But there was enough touching, enough innuendoes, enough inappropriate behavior to make a very young girl know, right from before she should have known about such things, that her father thought of her in a different way.” She cleared her throat. "Whether it was the whisky to blame, or… I don't know… But I'd smell the alcohol fumes and know that…”

  She pressed her lips together in a grimace of pain, trying to suppress the feelings that threatened to bubble forth. The pain felt unending and bottomless and she feared that if she ever gave way to it she wouldn’t be able to stop. She turned away from him then and pressed her fingers between her eyes, rubbing them as if to expunge the pain. She gulped a shallow breath of air and slowly let her hand drop. Then she turned, reassured that her features were schooled into an impassive mask once more.

  “Dio!” His hand dragged away from her just as she’d feared it might. But she couldn’t stop it. She’d feared he might feel repugnance toward her and she understood. After all that was exactly how she felt.

  “I felt guilt, Luca, not just because I felt responsible for the death of my father. I felt guilt because I was glad he was dead.”

  He pulled her to him. She batted away his hand but he held her close. She hit him again. “Did you hear what I said? I was glad. It meant I wouldn’t have to live with it any longer. Glad.” She sobbed and squeezed her eyes shut. She was scared that once she started to cry she’d never stop. She pushed him away again and this time he left her. The strength she needed returned as he moved away.

  She opened her eyes and was relieved to find them dry. “Of course my mother hated me for the attention my father gave me.”

  “She knew? The bitch knew about this?” She’d never seen Luca this angry before and she flinched under the attack, even though it wasn’t directed at her.

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t know. She must have known something but we were a family who kept things quiet, who made sure they appeared to be doing the right thing.”

  “When all along your father was—” Luca turned and thumped the wall with his fist. “Bastard. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  “There was no need, Luca. I killed him. I knew he was on a knife’s edge and I goaded him about you. For the first time I’d defeated him. I had the power and I used it. You can’t believe the number of times I’d wished him dead.”

  He came and knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. “I think I can.” His voice was gentle.

  “Don’t you see? I killed him. I knew he couldn’t bear it and I went on and on at him until he saw the railings and swerved into them. I lived. But I also died.”

  He looked up at her suddenly, his eyes so close to hers, they seemed to look directly into her soul.

  “You wanted me to hate you. You wanted me to reject you. You wanted to be punished.”

  She nodded jerkily. “I suppose so. Something like that. Some kind of bargain with God. A penance: if I leave Luca then I’ll pay for my sins. Whatever, I certainly didn’t feel I deserved to live. I’d killed a man. If he hadn’t been a good father to me, he’d been a good father to my sisters and husband to my mother. I’d deprived them of their life, of their security.”

  “Your father was in debt. To my father. You know that now. Your family’s lifestyle was on borrowed time. It always had to end.”

  “I know. And I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Buying the castello when I had to put it up for sale.”

  “My grandmother.”

  “Ah…”

  “It’s all over now. You’ve a chance for a new life.”

  “It’ll never be over, Luca. Don’t you understand? Some things are permanent.”

  She saw he was puzzled, his brows drawn close. He shook his head once, mutely asking her to explain but she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “The penance is paid. You no longer have to avoid me.” He strode across to her. “Don’t you understand, Isabella?” He held her shoulders too tightly. “It’s over. I’m here now. Look at me. Really look. There is nothing to be gained by avoiding me any longer.”

  She felt ancient—as if she were a generation older than him—looking at him from the perspective of pain and experience. She had to push him away. He would have no future with her. She had nothing to give him.

  “You seem to be working on the assumption that I’m avoiding you to hurt myself. You’re wrong.” He felt the depth of cold and hurt in her eyes. “I’m avoiding you because I don’t wish to be with you.”

  He pushed her away, stepping back as if struck.

  “Then what the hell was this all about? Why tell me?” He came close and she saw the sharp taste of hurt in his mouth, the way his lip curled, the way his eyes flamed in defense.

  “You deserved an explanation. That’s all.”

  She stood up but his hands stopped her from walking away.

  “That’s not all. Not by a long way. You’re still holding back on me. I will get through to you Isabella. If it’s the last thing I do.”

  “It was the last thing my father did.”

  She walked quickly out the door, much to the surprise of the c
lerk, before Luca could see her tears.

  Isabella was reluctant to leave the quiet of her room where she’d spent the rest of the day. Here she could hide from the world, hide from Luca. She’d spoken the truth. She didn’t wish to be with him. He embodied everything that she’d once wanted and everything that she now knew was out of her reach. She would never be that happily married woman with a large family. It would never happen and she owed Luca enough to not hold out any empty promises to him.

  It seemed Luca had anticipated her reluctance and he’d sent a maid to her with an invitation.

  “Signore Vittori would like you to join him on the terrazza for a drink.”

  Isabella glanced at her watch. Early for a drink but she had to face him some time.

  When Isabella saw him she stepped back instinctively. He had his back to her and had just emerged from the swimming pool. Water ran down his tanned back, slickly outlining the muscles, taut from recent use. His legs were long and lean and his shorts clung to his bottom. He turned suddenly as if somehow aware of her, although she hadn’t made a sound.

  Their eyes met and he smiled. Isabella had to use all her powers to keep her gaze on his face and not lower.

  “Swim first? Or drink?”

  “I rarely swim.”

  “A drink then.” He turned to pour her a glass of champagne.

  “Juice please.”

  He continued to pour the wine.

  “Shame you don’t swim. It’s a good pool now I’ve had it refitted. You should try it some time.”

  Isabella shrugged. “I don’t have time. I’m always too busy for such things.”

  “So what do you do for pleasure?”

  “Luca, remember yesterday? What bit of ‘I don’t want to be with you’ don’t you understand?”

  He grinned. “All of it. Now answer my question. What do you do for pleasure?”

  She shook her head in defeat, charmed despite her best intentions. “My work is my pleasure.”

  “And that, cara, is why I wanted to see you.”

  He handed her a glass of champagne.

  "I also rarely drink alcohol."

  "So many things you don't do. Perhaps now is the time to try a few things?"

  She looked down at the effervescent liquid and realized that the residual flutter of fear she'd always felt at the sight and smell of alcohol—the trigger for her father's unwanted attentions—was there no longer. She accepted the glass.

  “After you have drunk this glass of champagne I want you to return to your room and pack a bag. We have some traveling to do.”

  “You may. But I have work to do. And, in case you haven’t noticed, that work is here.”

  He touched her under the chin and smiled. “Cara, I don’t wish to pull rank but I am the one paying your wages.”

  She took a sip of champagne to hide her confusion and coughed a little as the bubbles caught in her throat. “At the moment you don’t look much like a boss.”

  “Is that right? And why is that?” What was it about his smile, the way it seemed to work from her insides out, teasing and melting?

  “You’re hardly dressed.”

  “I’m glad that you are not accustomed to bosses in a state of undress. I find that very reassuring.”

  He snaked an arm around her and drew her closer to him. She shivered under his wet embrace.

  “And for another, you are very wet.”

  The lowering sun skimmed over his bronzed skin. She closed her eyes at the smell of him and breathed deeply. Then she got a grip on herself and pulled away.

  “And now you are wet too, I think.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his innuendo and she took another sip. The champagne seemed to slip down easier now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d drunk any. She sat down facing the setting sun and watched as he roughly dried himself and beckoned for the maid to bring some food.

  He passed her a piece of crostini. Her mouth watered. She took it and ate it, washing it down with another sip of champagne. She sighed and sat back, letting her sunglasses slip down onto her nose. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  His shadow fell on her as he sat opposite. “Now where would the fun be in that?”

  She sighed and opened her eyes. “You and your fun. I thought you said this was business.”

  “So it is. But we both need to get away from here for a bit. Away from the memories.”

  “There’s no point in running. They’re part of both of us. We can’t run from them.”

  “Then you should address them.”

  “That will do nothing. We just need to carry on.”

  “And tomorrow we will carry on elsewhere. I want to show you a very different kind of house. I think you’ll appreciate its beauty, its modernity. Are you ready to go?”

  She looked down at herself, frowning. “I’m not prepared. I had not anticipated—”

  “‘Prepared’, ‘anticipated’, come Isabella when was the last time you did something spontaneous?”

  “I need to plan to do something spontaneous.”

  “I rest my case. Call it a business trip to provide inspiration.”

  “I don’t need inspiration. You don’t think I’m up to the job?”

  He laughed. “I love it when you’re angry. Your face is flushed and your eyes are darkened. Just like—”

  “I can leave now if you like. Leave the castello, leave the job.” She stood up. “You’ve done what your grandmother asked of you. No doubt there are plenty of other people with the required inspiration.”

  “Sit down. Finish your drink and stop acting like a child.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he’d robbed her not only of words, but of any coherent thought whatsoever. She’d always been the responsible adult: the one who gave structure to her family’s life. She wasn’t used to being talked down to but, as she replayed her words in her head, she couldn’t help but see his point. She sat down.

  “We both need to move out from the shadows of the castello.” He looked up at its façade. “It’s a beautiful building and will be a beautiful home. But we need a perspective that can only be gained from a distance.”

  “Perspective.” She mused, setting down her champagne flute. She didn’t usually muse, but the champagne seemed to be taking effect. “Perspective isn’t something I’ve been able to achieve in a while.”

  “You’ve been too involved, unable to look at things clearly. Will you come?”

  He leaned forward and picked up both her hands in his, studying them rather than her, his thumbs rubbing her fists as if deep in thought. Then he pulled them to his lips and kissed them gently, raising his eyes to hers as he did so.

  The words she was going to say literally melted away under the touch of his lips. Her heart pounded and sensations skittered chaotically through her body. Although he dropped her hands from his lips, he continued to hold them within his own, his fingers massaging the tendons with a firmness and repetition that betrayed his doubts. Instead of the planned remonstrations she heard herself say “OK.”

  The stroking of her hand stopped and it was his turn to look disconcerted. “OK? Isabella. You’ve just agreed with me!”

  She grinned. “Yes. Now all you have to do is tell me where we’re going.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Of course he didn’t tell her.

  But, with the distant brilliance of the white-topped waves that spiked the electric blue of the Atlantic Ocean spread out far below her, she had a good idea. She sat back in her seat to face Luca who immediately leaned forward, his eyes searching hers with a smile that made the missing years between them melt away.

  Since she’d told him about her father she’d felt much closer to him. She hadn’t imagined that. She’d assumed she was only telling him the truth because she owed him. Because she regretted the pain she’d caused him. She’d not imagined for one moment that it would make her feel any different. But holding a secret—a humiliating secret—close to yo
u for so many years, letting it eat into your soul, was as corrosive as rust on steel. It devoured you from the inside. And yet, now, it was as if the rust had fallen away, leaving something fresh, new and tender: something alive that she hadn’t even known to still exist.

  “Worked it out yet?” His voice was low and teasing.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  But she couldn’t contain the grin that slowly spread across her face in response to his challenge. And she couldn’t prevent the shift in awareness created by his move toward her. His knees were close to hers; his hands, that were clasped lightly together, were a whisper away from her own.

  She saw the same awareness in his eyes that narrowed on hers. Without moving his hands he extended his finger and stroked hers. Such a light touch, barely any effort on his part, but its effect on her was anything but light.

  “So tell me where you think we’re going.”

  She swallowed hard in a vain effort to control the sensations that sang through her body, finding their home deep inside her. “I think I’ve just stopped thinking.”

  “Interesting.” He moved his hand a little so his finger could explore the inside of her wrist. While the touch was gentle, barely there, it felt as intimate as if he’d kissed her. Her gaze instantly dropped to his lips, which curled into a knowing smile.

  “Why interesting?”

  “Because I usually like a woman to think. But somehow, watching you ‘not think’, watching your reaction as I touch you so lightly, makes me want to touch you more.” His finger moved firmly up the centre of her arm until it nudged under the tight edge of the sleeve of her top where she clamped it with her hand and took a deep breath.

  “The States?”

  The curl to his lips straightened out into a wide grin as he sat back, taking away his touch, depriving her of its heat.

  “Correct. I want to show you some of the houses I’ve worked on. One in particular. Have you meet some people too.”

  “Who?”

  He turned away abruptly, but not before she caught a glimpse of the smile in his eyes suddenly change, lose its flirtatious humor and shift into something deeper and warmer. “You’ll find out soon enough.”