Seduced by the Italian

by Fraser, Diana

  “So many secrets, Luca.”

  He looked at her again, the smile now replaced by a frown.

  “Just unknowns, Isabella. Something unknown can only be called a ‘secret’ if the other person cares. If not, then it’s simply something not known. Which would it be to you?”

  She shrugged, trying to convey an indifference she didn’t feel out of habit. But she was anything but indifferent as the impact of his words destroyed the mood, like an unseen object dropping onto the surface of calm water: radiating out waves of alarm across its surface and triggering something much deeper below the surface.

  He sighed, rose and left the cabin.

  She turned back to the window and gazed across the intense blue to the distant dark-edged land feeling numb once more.

  He had secrets.

  She’d revealed her worst secret to him. She’d laid herself bare to him. But she knew little of what he’d been doing since he’d left Italy. He’d become extremely wealthy, married and divorced, that much she knew. But, despite his wealth and charisma, he’d somehow managed to avoid the gossip columns and she knew little else. And there was a look in his eyes just then: a flood of warmth that alerted her to something that he held close, that he held dear. Something she knew nothing about.

  It was a “secret” all right and yes, she did care.

  The helicopter circled around the top of the building, revealing giddying glimpses of the giant grey slick of the Hudson, the buildings, staggered in size and unreal, like some giant 3-D model, all interspersed, far below, with criss-cross streets, swarming with cars and people.

  Once they landed, the door was swept open and Isabella was assailed by noise: from the rushing of the helicopter blades, to the roar of the traffic far below and the sirens whose wails seemed to fill the skies. Luca jumped out first, took her hand and she hesitated to jump down into this world that she could hardly believe was real. But before she knew it he’d taken her by the waist and swung her out of the helicopter and into his arms.

  For one giddying moment Isabella felt the wind whip around her and the world tipped and spun and she staggered. But she was quickly grounded as he pulled her to him in a quick hug and brought his lips to her ear.

  “You’re safe. I have you.”

  She leaned into his body and knew he was right, whatever secrets he might hold.

  It was only an hour’s drive out of New York but it had shed some of the hustle. But not all. Sleek cars cruised the highway and behind high walls she glimpsed grand houses that opened directly onto the beach.

  The Hamptons. She’d heard about it—a playground for the rich and famous—and now here she was. She glanced at Luca.

  “A jet pilot, a helicopter pilot, why not a chauffeur?”

  He glanced at her in mock seriousness. “I’ve had one recent bad experience of being driven around. It reminded me why I always drive myself. I don’t intend to make the same error again.”

  “I only crunched the gears a little.”

  “A lot. And whether the engine will ever recover from your reluctance to move out of third gear, is anyone’s guess.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I had other things on my mind. I’ll pay for the damage.”

  “I am teasing, mia tresuro.”

  “Well don’t,” she pouted as she swiped his arm with the back of her hand. But her playful gesture turned into something else when he caught it with his free hand, his eyes never leaving the road and brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “But I like to tease you.” He brought her closed hand and rubbed it against his faintly stubbly chin, the roughness resonating through her body.

  “Why?”

  He turned off the highway toward the beach and stopped briefly to allow some gates to slide back before pulling up before a huge glass building, that seemed to hover over sand dunes. Only then did he look at her.

  “I tease you because I love to see you as you are now. Your face flushed, your mouth slightly open and your eyes wide as if waiting in delicious anticipation.”

  He pulled on the handbrake and then leaned over and brought her face to his. “Isabella, mia cara.” His words felt like a caress against her skin. “We’ve arrived.”

  It was only when his face, still close to hers, broke out in a wide smile that she realized his words weren’t some kind of recognition that their relationship had shifted to another level but were simply a straightforward matter of fact.

  She looked up at the wall of windows and blinked. “Where exactly?”

  “My home.”

  He jumped out of the car and opened the door for her. The morning sun lit the whole house, reflecting its brilliance so that it shone like a multi-faceted gemstone.

  “This is yours?”

  He unlocked the front door and indicated she should enter.

  “I bought it some time ago to help a friend out. I’ll sell it back to him when he’s ready. But I use it from time to time. Come on I want to show you around; I want to show you a home that has no history.”

  “I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “And that is why, cara, I’ve brought you here.”

  “To turn my back on my history? That’s impossible.”

  “The fact is it’s been a hell of a few weeks and I think we could both do with a break. Let’s pretend, just for today, that we’re old friends with no history. A clean slate; a new beginning.”

  “I’ll try.” She looked around the cool white interior that reflected only light, no shadows, no places for memories of any kind to hide. “A place where darkness doesn’t linger. Interesting.”

  “Nowhere to hide. I thought you might like it.” He placed a hand on the small of her back. “Shall we?”

  The interior was sleek and minimal with all the focus on the modernist lines of the rooms and the views across the slim patch of grass-covered dunes down to the ocean that roared at their feet. It gave the impression the house was a boat on the ocean. She walked over to the window.

  “That view is the decor in this house.”

  He walked up behind her. “It was. But you’re here now. I thought this house would suit you and it does.”

  She turned to him. “You think the castello doesn’t suit me?”

  “I think it’s a burden.”

  “It was my home.”

  “It was an albatross around your neck.”

  She smiled. “Such a strange expression.”

  “After years of living in Australia, I have many stranger ones at my disposal. Would you like to hear them?”

  She laughed and raised her hand. “No, really. I can imagine.”

  “That’s better. You’ve been too tightly coiled. Come, I’ve arranged lunch on the deck.”

  There were no staff around but people had obviously arrived, set out a feast of local delicacies and left again. She sat down and accepted the glass of champagne. It felt like years since she’d been entertained like this.

  “To you, Isabella,” he held up the glass in a toast. “Thank you for being with my grandmother, thank you for loving her and caring for her.”

  His words slipped into her unawares and stirred her sadness with the soft touch of tenderness. With deliberate movements she sipped the champagne, focusing on the dry, effervescent liquid as it lay on her tongue, before slipping down her throat; focusing on the physical in an attempt to stave off the tears that sprang in response to his words.

  “No need for thanks. I owed everything to her. She was the only person who ever showed me love.”

  “The only one?”

  She hid her confusion by taking another sip before answering. “You know what I mean.”

  He sat down opposite her and leaned forward as if observing her. “I’m beginning to think I hardly know you at all.”

  “We were together for such a brief time.”

  He didn’t reply but looked away as if her words had touched him. But how could they? It had been Luca who’d left her. If he’d really loved her like he’d s
aid, he’d have waited for her to recover from the accident.

  When he turned to her again she saw the warmth in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Isabella. Sorry for not waiting and not understanding. I was too young, too hot-headed.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a finger to her lips. “And I’m sorry for bringing our past up. Today isn’t about past. It’s about now.”

  She closed her eyes against the mid afternoon sun and allowed herself to succumb to the deep relaxation that came from good food, good wine and seductive company. Not only seductive but magical. Because somehow, in the course of lunch, Luca had managed to make her forget her past and grief. All there was, was him and now.

  “Luca, you’re a bad influence. I should be working.”

  “You should be doing whatever I ask you to do.”

  She opened her eyes to meet his and suddenly realized she’d drunk more champagne than she’d intended. Either that or something had shifted subtly in their relationship. Before her was a man who promised everything in his eyes.

  “You wish.”

  He sat back, his eyes hooded, his lips, that curled into the suggestion of a kiss, looked indecently sexual. “Yes, I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Luca, this,” she waved her hand around the intimate setting, “all of this, flirtation with me. What’s it all about? Our relationship ended a long time ago. You bought the castello from me. And now you want me is that it? Just admit what it is you want.”

  “What I’ve always wanted. You.”

  She swallowed nervously, afraid to probe further to find out if it was a brief affair he was after, or something more. Because if it was something more he wanted, she had nothing to give him. She sucked in a long breath of salty air and exhaled slowly.

  “Yes, right. That must be why you got married.” She wished she hadn’t said the words as she watched the brightness in his eyes fade. “Your grandmother told me.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing. What else was there to tell?”

  “Not now. Come, I’ll show you round the rest of the house.” Secrets again. But they could wait. She owed him that.

  They walked slowly through the huge house, one room melting into another. It seemed to go on forever, but it was the outside that drew Isabella. She lingered on one of the decks while Luca took a phone call. The sea crashed—white and sparkling, onto the sandy shore, dragging the tiny grains into itself, pounding them until they grew smaller still—mesmerizing her.

  “Cara,” Luca smiled as he watched her. “I have some phone calls to make. I’ll leave you to it. Look around, relax and experience what it feels like to live somewhere like this. I want to give you some inspiration.”

  Leaning back against the railings, his curling hair blowing in the soft breeze, he looked impossibly young, handsome and carefree.

  “You have.” But probably not how he thought.

  He stepped in front of her, tilted her chin and kissed her gently on the lips. “We’ll meet up later. I have some things I need to attend to.”

  “Sure.” She watched him walk away before she returned to the main living area. She pulled her camera out of her bag and began doing as he’d suggested, wandering from room to room, awed despite herself.

  It was palatial: rooms that appeared to have no ending melted into an infinity pool that stretched, seemingly to the shore, a brighter blue than the cerulean blue of the ocean. Isabella pushed open the doors and stood, transfixed, fascinated by the shimmering light coming from the sea and ruffled pool, and by the palest straw of the grasses that grew in the dunes. It was all so light and easy and fresh.

  She kicked off her shoes, sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her legs in the cool water. She didn’t know how long she sat there but eventually she rose, lifted her camera to her eye, scanned around and began taking photos. She clicked her camera every time she moved her head and the light on objects altered: bleached wood carved by the sea one way, palest underside of a blade of grass captured by the breeze another. She stepped down onto the boardwalk, taking photos, close ups of the grasses, sand and the sparkle of the waves as they crashed onto the beach.

  Then she turned to where the study wing jutted out onto the deck and she saw Luca standing there, watching her. She shivered suddenly, aware of every centimeter of her skin, of how her hair had teased out of its knot and of the sand that stuck to her wet legs, shoes long since abandoned. How long had he been watching her? Instinctively, almost as a sense of protection, Isabella drew her camera to her face and focused on his face and clicked the shutter.

  It took a few seconds and by the time she’d let the camera fall, Luca had returned to his desk and his laptop, apparently absorbed. Suddenly Isabella felt drained and tired. Jet lag, she told herself. Nothing to do with the fact that she reacted like a puppet in his hands. One look from him set her body and mind in turmoil.

  She returned to the informal sitting room and sat down on one of the cream, suede couches that dominated the space and began flicking through the photos. She’d captured something in them—a sense of peace—that had escaped her for a very long time. Then she moved on to the photos of Luca, commanding within the white frame of the open window. The sun shone on him directly, casting no shadow. The breeze had swept his hair back from his face. She clicked on the zoom, bringing his face into closer focus. And again. And again. What she hadn’t seen, until now, was the expression in his eyes.

  Luca lost track of time. The longer evenings meant that the sun was only now dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow over Isabella. He sat and watched her. Asleep her face was soft and sweet: the Isabella he remembered. Her lips were fuller and it was all he could do not to go over to her and press his own to hers. As it was, the sight of her dress—soft and feminine for once—resting high up on her thighs, had forced him to resort to placing a light cover over her—to keep her warm and to give him some element of peace.

  He thought of what she’d done—or not done—all evening. And with each passing minute had realized that all this sensitive woman had done was to retreat from the world that had proved too difficult for her. And his impatience with her, his lack of understanding as to the depth of her grief had led to their separation. She’d spent the last seven years punishing herself for her father’s and child’s deaths as she conscientiously looked after her sisters, giving them the life that she would never now have.

  His grandmother had been wickedly perceptive.

  Isabella moved in her sleep, taking a deep breath as she arched her neck, twisting her head sensuously into the cushions, as if enjoying the sensations of the silky material against her face and head. She licked her lips and, although her eyes were still closed, he knew she was awake.

  “You know, Luca. I can sense you there, even though you make no sound. Even though I can’t see you.”

  Her voice was husky and low, hardly heard but felt deeply in his body, stirring him, drawing him to her.

  “And how is that, Isabella? Perhaps you’re a witch?”

  She smiled and opened her eyes.

  “Maybe. It would explain a lot.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  He could still see the soft haze of her dreams in her eyes. They mesmerized him. Right at that moment he truly believed her to be a witch. It was all he could do not to go to her. He wove his fingers together tightly and twisted the heels of his palms against each other. He would control himself. There was too much to be said, too much between them, to simply jump on her like an over-sexed youth. He stood up, frozen for one moment and then walked away, aware that her smile had faded.

  He noticed his hand shook slightly as he poured two glasses of wine. What was it about Isabella that cut through the years of success and made him feel like a boy again? Stupido. By the time he’d returned she’d swung her legs around and sat with her legs crossed defensively. He couldn’t blame her. He handed her a glass.

  “Salute!”

  “Salu
te!”

  A rectangle of light shifted down like a chequerboard across the white walls, catching Isabella in its lower right third.

  He sat down opposite. “You’re framed. Like a picture.”

  “Is that how you see me? As some kind of dead image, devoid of life?”

  He paused, considering her answer. “That’s how you’ve been for the past seven years. A static memory, an image that would come upon me when I least expected it.”

  She raised her eyebrows in query.

  “At night usually.” He took a hasty sip of his wine and jumped up again as if he’d been stung. And he had in a way, he thought, as he paced away through the open windows and out onto the deck scanning the horizon restlessly—stung by the bitter-sweet nature of his memories.

  “Hope they weren’t unpleasant dreams.”

  He looked down briefly, gripping the rail of the deck, before turning to her as she walked up and leaned against the open door.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for years. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. Whenever you enter my thoughts during the day I can block them. But at night?”

  He lowered his head while still retaining a firm grip on the railing. He gripped it like a lifeline that would keep him from slipping into the abyss to which she always called him, where he could lose himself forever. He turned around to find her standing close beside him.

  “But at night,” Isabella continued where Luca had left off. “At night, you have no chance. At night the body is taken over, your mind can do nothing but watch and regret.”

  His hands were hurting, white against the rail. “But we’re here, together, now.”

  She looked down and gently curled her fingers around his. “Just for a few months and then you’ll be gone again.”

  He shrugged. “No-one knows what the future holds. You can’t control it. Why don’t you stop trying and trust your instincts for once.”