by Kat Walters
"I can be cruel, Isabella. Is that what you want?" His voice was rough with desire, his breath rasping against her neck as he continued to move within her. She didn't answer. "Is that what you want?"
"No." The admission was dragged from her on a cry as she came apart in his arms, his own shout mingling with her moans.
Alessandro held her as she slumped in his arms, tears running down her face. What had he done? Isabella would hate him now for making her so vulnerable, but he lacked the strength to be cruel to Isabella. He wished he could give her the distance she needed but not like this. Not with her crying in his arms. Instead, he turned her gently and gathered her into his arms again. He held her close to his chest as he turned off the shower and led her out of it. There were still tears on her cheeks, so he bent and kissed them away. He gently cupped her face with his hands while his lips found hers, and even now, there was still that heat between them.
Alessandro reached for a towel and gently dried her before drying himself and, all the while, she watched him with those sad eyes. He wished he could be the man to take that sadness away. He wasn't that man, and he never would be. But tonight, he could hold her. He could show her tenderness. Alessandro picked her up and saw the flicker of a smile in her eyes.
"My hero," she murmured, but with just the right amount of cynicism to let him know that she understood. There was no happily-ever-after here for them.
Alessandro tucked Isabella into his bed before turning off the lights and climbing in beside her. Without any hesitation, as though it was utterly ordinary, he pulled her closer, tucked his arm around her, and held her to him. With a little sigh, Isabella curled into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his chest.
"Alessandro," her voice was hesitant.
"Izzy?" He brushed his lips against her hair. "Busy Izzy." He smiled into her hair. She raised her head to look at him then looked past him, her eyes landing on the glass jar beside the bed. The jar full of grey, black, and white pebbles.
"What's the story behind that jar?"
"Story?" Alessandro stalled. He trailed his fingers down her back before dropping a kiss on her mouth. Her eyes were serious and steady on his. As though his answer really mattered to her. Of course, it did. This was Isabella. She cared. About everyone. Alessandro sighed and pulled her head back down onto his chest, his fingers tunneling through her hair. "I was six years old. My father had a business meeting on the coast, and I begged him to take me with him. For days before, it was all I could think about. I was the only one allowed. My brothers were jealous, and I felt grown-up, and… what is the word? Smug." He chuckled at the memory. "After his meeting, he took me down to the beach, and we spent the afternoon swimming. We built a campfire and grilled fish over the flames."
Alessandro reached for the jar, his large hand closing around the cool glass. The pebbles tumbled about as he lifted it and held it out in front of him. It was a reminder of the good times he had shared with his father before their world fell apart, before his father fell apart.
"Did you collect the pebbles with your father? That day on the beach?"
"Yes."
"I like that story. It is a good memory." Her voice was wistful, and it made him think of her mother. They had both lost parents they loved. He felt Isabella's mouth against his chest, her warm breath brushing his skin as she kissed him, and he exhaled painfully. The agony of watching his father fall apart was still so raw, the good memories so closely interwoven with the bad. Alessandro left the pebbles here in Sardinia, far away from his life, because they made him feel, they made him want.
He put the jar back on the bedside cabinet and switched off the lamp, plunging them into darkness. The curtains were open and moonlight filtered through, along with the warm breeze and the scent of pine and lemon groves. Sardinia held so many memories from his childhood. It was the place they had taken all their family holidays, and it was the first home he bought when he started making money. Alessandro had bought it as a tribute to his father, as a way of keeping the good memories alive.
Why had he brought Isabella here? He could have taken her to Venice or Paris or... He had never brought a woman to this house before, and he had certainly never answered questions about his childhood before. Was it their shared history that made him confide in her, or was it, Isabella herself? Those large eyes of hers as she looked at him, so serious and so soft at the same time.
After a few minutes, he heard her breathing slow, and he knew she'd fallen asleep. Her vulnerability wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. Unconsciously his arm tightened around her, and he slept.
Chapter 8
Isabella didn't need to open her eyes to know she was alone. She had known, even as Alessandro held her close during the night, that she would wake alone. Alessandro didn't do intimacy. He didn't do tenderness, and yet he had kissed her tears away, and he had held her until she fell asleep. But he was gone now. Of that, she was sure too. What she did realise when she opened her eyes…she was still in Alessandro's bed. He hadn't carried her back to her own room.
It doesn't mean anything.
No. She had to be strong. Alessandro might not be the villain she had imagined him to be, but he still was never going to be the man she wanted. He was never going to love her. What he offered her would never be enough because… because she was falling in love with him, and all he wanted from her was sex.
Isabella pushed herself up to a sitting position, her auburn hair tousled and soft about her face. It was another beautiful day, she thought, glaring down at the view through his large windows. Suddenly she wished it was all over. Another three nights of this agony… if Alessandro even came back from Rome. What if he didn't come back? That thought hurt even more. Her mind went back to the previous night, to the look on his face when he'd first arrived, his reluctance to hold her.
Alessandro didn't want to be here with her, she realized. He didn't want to want her, but he'd come back because he couldn't help himself. Isabella's eyes closed as that truth pierced her heart. That was why he left during the night. He hated himself for giving in to his body's desire. Alessandro resented her. Her? Was it just her? Or was it because she was Henry's daughter?
Taking a deep fortifying breath, Isabella forced herself up and out of bed despite the impulse to bury herself back in those soft sheets that smelt of Alessandro. No. She had to be strong. For Anna. For herself. For Alessandro even. He had given her so much this week, things she had never expected… understanding, compassion, tenderness. He had given them reluctantly, but he had still given them.
Alessandro had made her feel beautiful and desirable. One week was the deal they had made, and she didn't want him regretting this week they spent together. She never would. She wouldn't regret a single moment of this week. She was strong. Her heart would get over Alessandro DeLaurentis. It would have to.
Starting now.
Forcing herself to return to her own room, Isabella showered and dressed for the day. It was only then that she checked her phone, and every other thought became meaningless as she saw the seven missed calls from Anna.
"Mr. DeLaurentis, I have an Isabella Sullivan on the phone."
His secretary's voice was efficient and polite, but it sent a panic racing through his blood. Why was Isabella phoning him? Had she misunderstood their arrangement? He realized then that he'd been waiting all morning for this call. He'd been waiting for Isabella to make the angry demands of a woman in love. Did she even realize she had fallen in love with him? He hung his head. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Alessandro scraped a hand over his face. Dio! She was never supposed to fall in love with him. He should have sent her back to her own room last night. Letting her fall asleep in his arms was a mistake. It had given her the wrong impression. This was his fault.
"Please tell her I'm in a meeting, and I'll call her back later."
Relief.
Yes. That was the best way to handle this. A bit of distance between th
em. He cursed again, loudly. How could she think last night meant something? Their arrangement was a sexual one. Interrupting him at the office was not part of their arrangement. Taking up his every waking thought was never part of the deal either. He felt anxious and unsettled. Isabella. He wanted to hear her voice. What did she want to say to him? If she was angry with him… so what? It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with angry women before. But no, it wasn't her anger he was afraid of. It was her pain, that hurt that shone in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.
Isabella wouldn't phone you if she was hurting.
No. Isabella was too proud to put her hurt on display like that. Alessandro smiled then, relief snaking through him. She was angry then. Angry he could handle. An angry Isabella was irresistible. He was reaching for the phone when it rang again.
"My apologies, Mr. DeLaurentis. Ms. Sullivan says she has to speak with you. She's incredibly persistent."
Alessandro's bark of laughter silenced his secretary. "Yes, she is. Put her through."
The tension in his chest lifted, and he realized that he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to hear her voice. Doubts crept back in then. He shouldn't be looking forward to talking to her.
"Yes?"
"Alessandro," He loved the way she said his name in that soft, husky voice of hers. He could listen to it all day. "Alessandro." Impatient now.
"Sì, sì, Bellissima." He chuckled at her impatience. "What is so urgent, Isabella?"
"My father is dead."
Her voice was so calm.
Henry Sullivan dead? Isabella's father was dead. Thoughts of his own father's death crowded in on him. The puddle of blood soaking into the carpet, the vacant eyes, his brothers pale and scared at the funeral. The pledge over his father's grave, a pledge to destroy Henry Sullivan.
Henry Sullivan was dead.
"Alessandro," her voice cracked when she said his name this time, and that was all it took to drag him back to the present. Isabella's father was dead.
"I will send the helicopter for you."
"Thank you." So quiet. So dignified. He longed to pull her into his arms and comfort her.
It was raining, even though it was the end of June. The sky was grey and angry. It was a fitting tribute to a man who had spent so much of his life angry. Isabella stood beside her sister, beneath the large black umbrella Alessandro was holding up over them. The coffin was lowered into the ground, mourners stood in silence listening to the priest's words.
Isabella felt numb. She hadn't cried yet. She doubted she would. Beside her, Anna was the picture of the dutiful daughter, silent tears streaking her beautiful face. Henry would have been proud. Only Isabella knew how confused Anna's feelings were today. Anna's tears were more a reflection of her own pain than any loss she felt for her father. Isabella squeezed Anna's hand but kept her eyes forward.
Their father was dead. The coroner's report said he'd died of a heart attack, alone in his big empty house. The housekeeper had found him. Within hours, both Isabella and Anna were back in London. Alessandro had insisted on accompanying her, just as he had insisted that they both stay at his London apartment. The whispers had started in the church and followed them to the grave, but she resolutely ignored them. What did these people matter anyway? Isabella knew the reason for the gossip, the shocked looks, the frowning disapproval.
Alessandro DeLaurentis.
Isabella Sullivan had dared to show up at the funeral on the arm of her father's enemy. She ignored them all, though. Alessandro had offered to accompany her, and nothing could have made her turn him down. Today, she was not ashamed to admit that she needed him. She glanced sideways at him, and from the tense line of his jaw, she knew he was aware of the talk his presence was stirring up. Like her, he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, ignoring them all.
And it was done. Isabella's eyes slid closed, and she exhaled a shaky breath. She felt Alessandro's hand on the small of her back and turned to him. He didn't say anything, but his concern was there in his eyes. She gave a slight nod and a tight smile that he understood.
"Andiamo. This way. The car is straight ahead."
He maneuvered them through the crowd. Isabella holding on to Anna's hand, keeping her sister firmly at her side. She knew people would have come forward to talk to them, but Alessandro shielded them, his dark, brooding presence too intimidating for most.
Alessandro's driver was waiting for them, the door open. Anna slipped in quickly, but Isabella paused, taking a deep breath. She still had the rest of the afternoon to get through. This wasn't over quite yet. The cold seeped into her clothes, and she shivered. Alessandro reached out, brushed her hair back, his expression so tender that it brought tears to her eyes. This man had suffered so much because of her father, and yet he could still be here for her today. It couldn't be clearer that he was nothing like her father.
Henry Sullivan had been a crass, arrogant man. If he had been here instead, he would have been lighting a cigar about now. Lighting a cigar and performing a jig. No, Alessandro and her father were nothing alike, but she hadn't needed today to show her that.
A soft smile touched his face as they continued to look at each other. He reached forward again, brushing his fingers gently across her cheek. Alessandro understood what she was feeling. He understood her. He even knew that she was in love with him. They had not spoken of it, but it was there between them. Accepted. It didn't change anything. They had one more night together.
Alessandro watched Isabella saying goodbye to the last of the guests. Anna was curled up on one end of an oversized couch, her feet tucked up under her. She looked like a lost child, and he felt his gut clench again as he remembered the stories Isabella had told him. How did a father do that to his child? How did a father take the innocence of his child and destroy it so recklessly? Alessandro still couldn't comprehend what they had lived through in this house with Henry for a father. Isabella was stronger for it, but she was a fighter. He smiled ruefully, watching her again. Strong, so strong, but she had to be growing up here. She had to be strong for Anna, maybe even more so now.
Alessandro had watched her all afternoon and marveled at her quiet dignity. There had been plenty of people here, friends of her father's, ready to criticize her for bringing Alessandro with her, but she hadn't let any of them get to her. Isabella had been calm, icy cool. When he had quietly murmured this observation, her mouth had twitched in amusement, and she had shocked everyone present by pressing her lips to his, openly claiming their relationship. Only he had heard the words she whispered against his mouth.
"It seems I've learned a few things from you this last week." There had been a spark of mischief in those green eyes, and he had pressed his forehead to hers, happy to offer her some amusement in the midst of all this pain.
The frowns and barbed comments thrown his way meant nothing to him. His only concern had been for Isabella. The last thing he wanted was to make this day harder for her than it had to be. Alessandro suppressed a sigh now and glanced around the large drawing-room. It still felt a little surreal that he was even here. Henry Sullivan's home. Isabella's home. He had a hard time imagining her here. Everything about this home was stylish and contrived. As though an army of interior designers had marched through and blitzed the place. The perfectly placed bookshelf with all the right books. The large glass coffee table was likewise strewn with elegant, tasteful photography books. A chintz lamp in the corner. A footstool with a tartan rug tossed over it. It looked like a movie set. There was no sign of Isabella here.
Alessandro grimaced at the portraits on the wall. Anna, Anna with Henry, Anna with both her parents when she was little. All the pictures were taken by a professional photographer. They told the story of Henry Sullivan and his family. The three of them blonde and beautiful. Not a single picture of Isabella. Alessandro glanced again at Anna, curled up on the sofa. Her picture might be up on the walls, but he guessed her own wishes had been ignored the same way Isabella's had. What must it have been like growin
g up here? He'd only spent a few hours in this house, but he couldn't wait to get out of it.
Alessandro shook his head impatiently. Why was he even thinking about any of this? He glanced back at Isabella. She was at the front door now. As he watched, she closed it and turned to face him.
"Done," she exhaled the word on a sigh, and only he knew what this day had cost her.
He walked towards her. He couldn't help himself. All day he had wanted to gather her in his arms and… take her away from all this. Alessandro pulled her into his arms now, and she came to him unresisting. He pressed his lips to her temple, kissed her, breathed in that apricot scent of hers. Her shower gel he knew now. Apricots would forever remind him of Isabella.
"Come back to my place tonight."
Isabella was quiet for a minute, and he was surprised at the sudden tension in his body, the fear that she would refuse.
"Anna?"
"Both of you." Could she hear the relief in his voice? "Let the caterers clean up here. You can come back tomorrow and deal with everything when you have more energy."
"More energy? After a night with you?" She smirked, and the unexpectedness of it made him laugh and hold her tighter.
"Tonight, I will let you sleep, Isabella."
She pushed back slightly, her hands on his chest, those large eyes looking up at him. "What if I don't want to sleep?"
The intensity in her look had the blood rushing straight to his groin, his body responding instantly…to nothing more than a look. One look from Isabella, and he was lost. He pulled her flush against his body so that she could feel the effect her words had on him.
"Anything for you." He whispered into her hair.
She smiled, with humor, though. No sadness this time. Then she nodded her agreement and went to gather up her stuff and tell Anna of their plans.
How was he ever going to let her go?