by Kat Walters
Damn! He was losing all control.
"An improvement. Francesca did a good job." Alessandro blanked out his desire and forced a chill into his voice. That meant he also had to blank out the anger and hurt he saw in her eyes. It was only there a moment but enough for him to see it, to feel it. Damn. He had hurt her. Again. Impatiently, he took her hand and slipped it through his arm. He ignored her resistance and pulled her closer, so she was forced to walk beside him, their thighs and hips brushing against each other. Alessandro could already see the attention she was receiving, and jealousy flared inside him. What had he been thinking bringing her here? He silently cursed Francesca and that dress.
"Alessandro."
He felt his jaw clench at the sound of that voice. Julia belonged to his mother's circle of friends. He should have known she would be here tonight. Alessandro felt Julia's hand on his sleeve and realized there was no way he could avoid her, not without causing a scene. He turned, forcing a cool smile to his face as he did.
"It's been too long, Alessandro."
Not long enough.
"Julia. Rafael." He greeted the couple with a slight nod. Their eyes turned in curiosity towards his date, and Alessandro frowned, not liking the way Rafael's eyes lingered.
"Who is your guest?" Julia prompted.
"Julia, Rafael, this is – " Alessandro stopped abruptly, frowning. "What is your name?"
Julia's shrill laughter grated on his nerves, and he winced. She slapped his hand in a teasing manner, but he ignored her, his eyes trained on the woman at his side. How could he not know her name? She was living in his home. Shame coursed through him.
"You really are very bad, Alessandro, the poor girl."
The poor girl in question only raised her head and rolled her eyes... at him, and he felt… chastened. He waved his hand dismissively, impatience stamped onto his features.
"She has this ridiculous nickname." He tried to explain, removing Julia's hand from his arm and turning to his date. "A nickname that doesn't suit you at all," he added, glaring at her for good measure as though it were her fault that he hadn't bothered to find out her name. Why had he never asked her? He knew nothing about this woman, he realized suddenly. Nothing. Not even her name.
The barest hint of a smile touched her lips, but her eyes widened as she looked at him. He was losing himself in her green eyes, noticing for the first time the flecks of hazelnut within the green when abruptly she looked past him. She plastered a smile to her face and extended her hand to Julia.
Chapter 3
“Julia, it's lovely to meet you. My name is Isabella," she paused but then resolutely continued. This is what you're here for, Izzy. "Sullivan." She added her father's hated name and silently observed the woman's startled reaction. Soon the whole room would know. Julia's eyes fixed on her in a sort of morbid fascination, and Isabella groaned inwardly while trying to maintain her society face as she liked to call it.
"We were so sorry to hear about your father's recent troubles Isabella. How is he?" Julia's eyes darted between Isabella and Alessandro as she asked the question. The malicious sparkle in her eye was unmistakable. Isabella felt Alessandro's arm stiffen beneath her hand. She squeezed it, her natural instinct to reassure surfacing despite herself. Isabella felt rather than saw the surprised look he gave her.
"As well as can be expected. I shall tell him of your concern. He'll be touched, I'm sure," Isabella added dryly, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. Maybe some of Alessandro's confidence was rubbing off on her.
Julia's lips curled into a cold smile. Still, Isabella was sure she glimpsed a moment of amusement in the other woman's eyes. Before anything else could be said about Henry Sullivan, Alessandro was pulling her to his side again.
"Excuse us. I've just seen someone I must speak with."
Alessandro was steering her across the room before Julia had a chance to say anything else, and Isabella gave a little sigh of relief. She snuck a look up at Alessandro from beneath lowered lids and was surprised to see an amused smile curving his mouth. He glanced down at her, and her breath hitched at the look of admiration she glimpsed in his eyes. His smile widened, his amusement was contagious, and she found herself grinning back. Alessandro released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across her hip. She hardly had time to register the heat of his touch before he was leaning into her and whispering in her ear.
"We need to give you a new nickname, Isabella." His lips brushed the skin beneath her ear, paused there as though he was reluctant to let her go. But he did. His arm slipped away from her waist, and she felt her hand being tucked once again into the crook of his arm. Then he was leading her through the crowd to a group on the other side of the ballroom.
Her hip still burnt where his hand had rested moments before, and her neck tingled from his kiss. It's all for show, Izzy. None of this is real. But it wasn't only his touch that burnt her skin. It was the smoldering look in his eyes as he watched her, as he was still watching her, even now as he talked to everybody else but her. Isabella sighed quietly and resolved to show Alessandro that she would not be cowed by this crowd or by him. She might have been a constant disappointment to her father, but that didn't mean he hadn't expected her to show up to events like this and make him look good. Henry Sullivan loved to tell the world he was a family man and his daughters were critical players in that game. She was used to putting on a show when she had to…she just hated it so much.
As Alessandro seemed determined to talk to everyone else in the room but her, Isabella turned her attention to the man on her left, determined to hold her own. She wouldn't let these people see her mooning all over Alessandro. What a joke she would be then. That would be the ultimate revenge… if he made her fall in love with him. She could not let that happen.
"This ballroom is beautiful," Isabella murmured in appreciation, glancing around her. The man at her side looked around also before throwing her an indulgent smile.
"Yes. I like it."
Isabella's eyes widened. "Am I to understand…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly. The man smiled, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, ready laughter lurking there.
"I am Gabriel Bernini. Welcome to my hotel."
Isabella responded to the warmth she felt in him, and her smile widened. "I am Isabella," she extended her hand and grinned again as he gallantly brought it to his lips with a teasing wink.
Isabella spared a quick glance for Alessandro and caught the warning scowl on his face as he glared at the other man. What did he think she was going to do? Sleep with every man she met? She pointedly ignored Alessandro and continued talking to Gabriel, happy to find a willing conversationalist. They discussed everything from architecture and art to history with a little Italian politics thrown in for good measure.
"Alessandro is not happy with me," Gabriel murmured, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. He took hold of Isabella's elbow and led her a few feet away from the group. They both ignored Alessandro's deepening scowl. Gabriel grinned again, and Isabella had to bite her lip to stop a giggle from escaping. Gabriel casually rested a hand on her shoulder and pointed upwards.
"Look up, Isabella." He told her in a mock whisper. Isabella bit back a smile of her own as she realized that Gabriel was only trying to annoy Alessandro. She did look up, though, following his gaze to the lovingly restored frescoes on the vaulted ceiling.
"I think this might be the most beautiful room I've ever been in." She smiled again at Gabriel, deciding that she really did like this man. She would have to like someone who wasn't intimidated by Alessandro. "I've never seen a room like it. The chandeliers, are they Murano glass?" That observation won her a genuine smile then, and he dropped his hand from her shoulder and turned to the rest of the group as they re-joined the circle.
"A woman of taste," he announced, and Isabella blushed to find herself the center of attention. While the other couples looked at her with curiosity, Alessandro watched her and Gabriel with narrowed eyes, his g
aze flicking from one to the other. Gabriel leaned in closer and whispered in her ear. "Congratulations. I have never seen him look at another woman the way he is looking at you tonight."
Isabella's eyes widened in surprise. If only Gabriel knew the truth! "He is cross with me, I think."
Gabriel laughed. "No, Isabella. He is cross with me and longing to get you home and keep you all to himself." Gabriel wished her good night with a kiss to each cheek but not before he had thrown Alessandro a taunting grin. Isabella watched him weave his way through the crowd, she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. It slipped away quickly as she found Alessandro watching her with the same narrow-eyed look as before. Isabella straightened her spine and met his gaze with a challenging look of her own, one that he held coolly before turning dismissively away from her.
Isabella watched Alessandro for a moment longer but then, with a tiny shake of her head, she forced herself to turn away and attend to the conversation around her. Though she tried to ignore him, she was still aware of him, every inch of him. Isabella felt it when he moved away from her, as though the air around her cooled. She was even aware of the moments when he turned his gaze on her. From across the room, his eyes still scorched her. She went from hot to cold in seconds, depending on whether or not he was looking at her. It was pathetic. She would not act the part of the little lost puppy, following him around the room.
As nervous as she had felt walking into the ballroom on Alessandro's arm, Isabella soon relaxed. She found it wasn't quite as daunting as she had feared. Isabella even began to enjoy herself, just a little bit. It was an international crowd, but even when they weren't speaking English, her Italian was strong enough to follow the flow of conversation around her.
Isabella looked up from one such conversation to see Alessandro having a heated discussion with another man across the room. A man who looked remarkably like him but wilder somehow, his hair longer, a days' worth of stubble on his jaw, his body language more expressive contrasting strongly with Alessandro's deliberate control. Fascinated, her eyes kept darting back to them, and she lost the thread of the conversation around her. At that moment, it didn't matter, however, because the man was weaving through the crowd, his eyes fixed on her. That hint of wild danger had her narrowing her eyes as he approached, and instinctively, she turned to face him head-on. He was dressed in a tux like every other man in the room, but there was nothing urbane or tame about him. He had the look of a man who had been living wild in the jungle and had, only a few minutes ago, decided to put on a tux and join the party. Isabella's eyes darted to Alessandro, following fast on his heels.
"Isabella Sullivan."
The man stopped directly in front of her. His eyes were cold and angry, reminding her of Alessandro's eyes the first time she had met him. She knew who this man was before he introduced himself.
"Luca DeLaurentis." He didn't offer his hand. He didn't smile.
"Luca." It was a quiet warning from Alessandro as he moved between them, shielding her. The two brothers stood locked in a silent battle for what felt like the longest minute of Isabella's life. At last, Luca's eyes shifted from Alessandro to her, and the look of pure anger and disgust that he threw her way felt like a slap to the face. Isabella blinked, took a step back, but Alessandro's hand on her elbow held her at his side. "We're leaving." And Alessandro was guiding her through the crowd as she blinked back her tears. She had never been on the receiving end of such hatred before. Isabella thought she was immune to other people's opinions, but…no. This was one more reminder of the pain her father had caused everywhere he went.
In the darkness of the limousine, Alessandro watched Isabella. She was upset. He silently cursed Luca. His brother had no right to treat Isabella that way. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Luca had every right. Had he forgotten who this woman was? Was he willing to overlook the harm her father had done to them? Alessandro turned his attention away from her, stared moodily out of the window. No, he didn't blame Luca. Luca didn't understand what he was doing.
And you do?
Isabella is not her father.
Isabella. The name suited her, beautiful, fiery, passionate. Alessandro glanced back at her and winced as he noticed the way she was angled away from him, her face averted.
"Isabella."
When she continued to stare out the window, he reached out and ran one finger along the line of her jaw. The catch in her breath made him smile, but the look she threw him was anything but welcoming. Her eyes snapped fire. That only made him smile. He liked it when she fought with him. He brought his thumb up to her mouth, rubbed it across her lips. They parted softly, almost against her will. Abruptly she pulled her head back.
"Dio Alessandro, enough. There is no one here to see us." Isabella turned her face back to the window, crossed her arms over her chest defensively.
Alessandro leaned back in the seat, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he watched her. Dio Alessandro. The way her tongue had rolled fluently over those words. He'd observed her during the night, and he'd noticed that she was holding her own in every conversation. He'd assumed she was speaking English, but now he wasn't so sure. He looked closer…the olive skin, the dark hair. She looked nothing like her sister, her pale, blonde sister. Henry was blonde. He stretched out his long legs and angled his body towards hers.
"Tell me about your mother."
"Why don't you tell me about yours," she returned waspishly.
The air rushed from his body, almost as if she had punched him in the gut. "What do you know about my mother, Isabella?"
Isabella's eyes narrowed on Alessandro. His question was asked so quietly, that in itself was a warning. The way his eyes darkened, honed in on her in a predatory stare, should have made her cautious. She was angry, though. Why did he have to protect her from his brother? Protecting her was never part of their deal. Humiliating her, taking his revenge, that was what they had agreed on. She needed to be angry with him. She needed to despise him, and how could she do that if he was nice to her? So, no, she didn't heed his warnings. She didn't back down and withdraw from the conversation as she would have done in any other confrontation.
"I assume you have one," she said caustically.
"Not anymore."
Two words. That was all it took, and the anger seeped out of her leaving her weary and sad. Isabella turned back to the window. She didn't want to see Alessandro's face right now. She didn't want him to see hers.
"I'm sorry, Alessandro. I know what it's like to lose a mother."
Alessandro didn't say anything, and she didn't turn around, so she missed the look of pain that flashed across his face.
"She's not dead, Isabella. She stopped being my mother the day she left us and moved in with your father."
Isabella's breath caught on a shocked indrawn breath. The bitterness and raw pain she heard in his voice should have silenced her, but she couldn't help her question.
"All these years. You won't speak to your mother because she fell in love with someone else?"
His laughter was unexpected, but it didn't warm her. It sent a chill down her spine. The laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started, and his mouth twisted derisively.
"Love." On his lips, the word sounded like a curse. Isabella stared at him. The darkness shielded his eyes. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Where is she now?"
"Does it matter?" His voice was cold, but beneath the words, she sensed something else, something vulnerable.
"I don't know," Isabella paused, still watching him closely. "Does it?" She saw the twitch of a muscle in his jaw, but he didn't answer, so she turned away from him, and they continued the rest of the journey in silence.
Alessandro watched Isabella disappear up the stairs to her room. Restless and angry, he prowled through the apartment until he found himself in his study. Of course, he knew where his mother was. In Madrid, onto her third husband. He poured himself a brandy and sank into the leather armchair.
I
sabella knew what it was like to lose a mother. He couldn't shake the sound of her pain, her loss. When did her mother die? He raised the glass to his lips, paused. Henry had always had a thing for Italian women. Was it possible her mother was Italian? She looked nothing like Henry… Henry was a giant, blonde Viking of a man. Isabella was lithe and dark.
He knew nothing about her, and for the first time since this all began, he was curious. He wanted to learn more. He took a sip of his drink, welcoming the warmth of it. It had been his father's drink of choice. Alessandro remembered being allowed a small sip of it when he was only five, how it had burnt his throat, made him cough and splutter. His father's amused chuckle. He smiled now at the memory, but it was a sad smile. His father's death had left an ache in him that had never let up.
Alessandro's thoughts strayed back to Isabella. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all evening. He frowned as he remembered he wasn't the only one. He'd had to stand by and watch as one man after the other engaged her in conversation, fawned all over her, charmed her with easy smiles. At that moment, he had cursed Francesca and that dress. He'd wanted the mouse back in her baggy t-shirts…dancing with wild abandon when she thought no one was watching.
But she was no mouse.
Where had Henry been hiding her all these years?
Alessandro wanted her. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman. Because she was off-limits? Because she'd rejected him? That had to be it. What else could it be?
The image of her dancing in the dark had stayed with him all day, taunting him, making him hard, as hard as he was now. He groaned and pushed his fingers through his hair.
This could not go on.
He cursed quietly into his drink. Alone here in his study where no one was witness to this need, he felt. A need he could never admit. All he thought about night and day was her. And not just since he'd seen her dance, he realized suddenly. Isabella had crept under his skin that very first day in London. He smiled at the memory of her looking like a prim headmistress in that ugly beige suit. Even then, his body had responded to her, wanted her. If they could be alone. Away from Rome, away from Luca and Gio and the tangled mess that was their history, then maybe…