Suddenly she couldn't bear it any more. The tension in her was tightening almost to strangulation point. Abruptly, she stood up, aware that she was trembling almost uncontrollably. 'If that's all, I think I'll go now. I'm very tired.'
'Tanya.' Before she could move, he had risen to his feet and caught her lightly by the arm.
She couldn't speak. Helplessly, she turned to look at him, mute supplication in her eyes. Let me go, please let me go, they begged. But his own eyes answered with a silent no.
For what seemed like an agonised eternity, she stared into their inky depths, dimly aware of the firm, strong arm that stole gently around her waist. His hand reached up to smooth the hair softly from her face, lingering to brush her cheek with a feather-light caress. Tanya's heart was hammering so hard she feared she must surely faint before his lips at last came down on hers and she felt the heat of his body overwhelming her as he drew her close.
His gentleness took her by surprise, for there was none of the harsh ferocity of that former kiss. His mouth's possession of hers was teasing, soft, exploratory, yet erotic almost beyond endurance for all that. Hungry with arousal, her lips parted for him, inviting him to deepen the tantalising exploration of her mouth.
She could feel the hard contours of his body pressing against her thighs as she clung to him, drowning in the tidal wave of her own aching desire. His hand slid gently to her breast, light fingers moulding the full swell of it, his thumb brushing the taut, throbbing peak through the thin, constricting cotton of her blouse. And she could scarcely breathe for the agony of wanting him.
'Tanya.' His voice was husky as he traced a fiery trail of kisses down the softness of her throat, lingering to press his lips on the fluttering pulse above her collarbone. 'I want to make love to you, Tanya,' he whispered tremblingly against her face.
She would gladly have surrendered to him then, she realised with almost shocking certitude. But he drew back and cupped his fingers lightly to her chin. 'But tonight is not the right time. I'm leaving tomorrow morning, early.' And he kissed her softly and pulled her close to him again. 'When I get back.' His eyes held hers, their silent promise echoing the stark commitment of his words. Then he smiled and dropped a teasing kiss on to her nose. 'Promise me you'll still be here when I get back.'
She nodded. 'I'll be here.' She sighed as she leaned her quivering body against his. For suddenly she knew that she would never want to leave.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fortunately, with the work on the old wash-house to get under way, Tanya had plenty to occupy her mind while Fausto was away. The list of contacts he had left her proved invaluable and, as he had predicted, much of what she required to translate her two-dimensional design sketches into living, three-dimensional reality was readily available from various centres in the area.
Furnishing fabrics, carpets, tiles—and even lamps and various other bits of bric-a-brac—were to be found in elegant abundance in the regional capital of Varese. And, to her delight, just a few kilometres down the road in Ispra she managed to track down a first-class painter and decorator who promised his team would start work on the painting and papering by the end of the week. Even some of the furniture—a couple of beds with their matching commodes—she eventually ordered from a warehouse near Stresa, though the bulk of the furniture, she decided, demanded a visit to the more exclusive manufacturers in Milan. Her days started early and finished late as she buzzed tirelessly around the countryside in the nippy little Alfa Romeo that Fausto had designated for her use, chatting to tilers and plumbers and electricians, searching through acres of chintz and fine wool carpeting, examining shade charts and taking endless measurements.
A few suggestions that Fausto had made, scribbled in the margins of her sketches in his strong, clear hand, she had found to her relief were positive contributions rather than criticisms. 'What about a couple of real oil lamps in the bedrooms?' one of them read. 'I think a group of old family photographs on the wall in the sitting-room would look good,' suggested another. She found the oil lamps, in immaculate brass with their original glass chimneys still intact, in an old antiques shop in the heart of Milan during one of her trips there with Beppe. The family photographs would have to wait for Fausto's return.
But through all the excitement of her frantic activity that absorbed virtually every waking hour of her day, one thought was never far from the forefront of Tanya's consciousness: Fausto, and what would happen when he returned. By day she almost managed for brief periods to push the dark obsession from her mind, but by night, as she lay awake for long hours in her solitary bed, it haunted her. For no longer could she deny the feelings he aroused in her. The aching want, the fierce, sharp keening of desire as she relived again and again those magical, tormented moments with him in the library.
She had wanted him then as she had wanted no man in her life before. As she had never even imagined it was possible to want someone. The persuasive intimacy of that gentle kiss, the sweet, seductive pressure of his body against hers, the warmth, the clean male smell of him, the tantalising touch of his strong hand against her breast had unleashed at last the torrent of emotions she had fought for so long to control. And the stark, new knowledge of the deep and sensual power he exerted over her both thrilled and terrified her.
It had all happened so quickly, so suddenly. In the few, short weeks she had known him she had witnessed so many different and conflicting sides of him that she found it impossible even now to piece together the puzzle that was Fausto Cabrini. He was a man, it seemed, of irreconcilable opposites: one minute hard and ruthless, the next, warm and humane, and rarely, if ever, predictable.
Yet there was one thing about him of which she had always been sure. Fausto Cabrini was a man who knew what he wanted in life—and who, furthermore, was used to getting it. And she shivered, recalling the words he had spoken to her in the library: 'I want to make love to you, Tanya. But tonight is not the right time. When I come back.' Words he had spoken like a vow, as though there was no doubt in his mind that they would be fulfilled. And though she knew that her body wanted him, she felt afraid. For Fausto, making love to her might mean no more than the gratification of a passing whim. For her, a voice deep in her soul kept warning her, it would mean a great deal more than that.
It was not, she knew, simply because he would be the first man to make love to her—though the fact that she felt so eager to surrender her virginity to him was somehow significant enough. It was more, much more, the voice inside her cautioned her. For instinctively she understood that by allowing Fausto to possess her physically she would inevitably allow him to strengthen the hold he already had on her. And that hold, she acknowledged almost resentfully, was already more than powerful enough.
For how long could any relationship between them last? In just a matter of months she would be gone from here—and that would be the end of it. In spite of the aching longing that she felt for him, could she really bear to be just one more conquest on his list?
The lingering question was forced into uncomfortably sharp relief midway through the week when the Countess Bea telephoned. 'Tanya dear, I've just heard through the grapevine that Fausto's in New York. How long will he be gone—do you know?' The purring, feline tones sent an instant shiver of dislike down Tanya's spine. She could picture her curled up, catlike, on her plush divan examining her long, carmine fingernails as she spoke.
'Just for a few days,' Tanya responded woodenly. 'He'll be back at the beginning of next week.' And she felt a faint puff of pleasure in spite of her antipathy. So he hadn't bothered to inform the countess he was going away.
But she was instantly deflated as the countess sighed, 'That's a relief. I was a little worried that he might not be back in time for our dinner date next week.'
Drat the woman! 'Oh, I'm sure he'd make a special point of being back for that,' Tanya managed to force out in a heavily sarcastic tone of voice. It was the first she'd heard of any such dinner date. Involuntarily her fingers tightened roun
d the telephone.
The countess responded with a throaty little laugh. 'Wicked of me, I know, to take him away from you again as soon as he gets back. But you really mustn't expect the poor man to think of nothing except work.' Again the laugh. 'Even he needs a little diversion from day-to-day routine. I'm sure you know what I mean, my dear.'
Tanya knew exactly the manner of diversion that the countess had in mind—and she found herself wishing that the receiver she held so tightly in her hand was instead the Countess Bea's pretty little neck. 'It's so nice to know there's someone like you who has his well-being at heart,' she managed to spit out, only half civilly.
'Oh, believe me, none more than I.' The countess paused. 'So how are you managing in his absence, my dear?'
'Perfectly, thank you.'
'I hope he's left you plenty to keep you occupied?'
'Plenty.' Tanya was loath to mention the wash-house job. The last thing she planned to do was encourage the countess to poke her nose in on that.
But the countess poked her nose in anyway. 'By the way, I hope you're keeping my offer in mind—to give you any help you need with that little decorating job. My late husband, the count, you see, had interests in the furniture trade. I have dozens of contacts. All you have to do is say the word.'
The only word Tanya felt any compulsion to say was no, followed by a swift goodbye. But she told the countess sweetly, 'That's very good of you, I'll let you know.'
'Bene. So I'll leave you to get on with your work.' And she paused slightly before purring, 'Be sure to remind Fausto that he and I are having dinner next Friday night. You won't forget, will you, my dear?'
'I won't forget.'
'That's sweet of you. He wouldn't want to miss it, I'm sure. Addio—and don't work too hard.'
Tanya banged the receiver down and counted, very slowly, to ten. It was really none of her business, of course, what Fausto's relationship with the countess was. A couple of kisses in the library scarcely endowed her with some sort of territorial rights over the man. Yet the thought of him in the arms of that ridiculous, fawning woman made her feel almost physically sick. Impatiently she pushed the unpleasant thought away, appalled at the strength of feeling that the image had aroused in her, and, with an effort, turned her attention to the somewhat less disturbing task of selecting wallpaper for the wash-house drawing-room.
The painters and decorators were already installed by the time she made her second trip to the Heinrich Castelli Clinic to visit her father, this time accompanied by the ever-obliging Beppe, proudly rigged out in the chauffeur's livery he insisted on wearing on their every trip.
Devlin was looking even better than he had the time before. He had put on more weight and had even, it seemed to Tanya as she talked with him, regained a measure of his old self-confidence. When she finished telling him about the wash-house decorating job, he gave her a conspiratorial wink. 'You're not the only one who's been keeping busy recently,' he confided, a mischievous twinkle in the light blue eyes. 'Quite by chance, I discovered that one of the doctors here is an aficionado of early eighteenth-century English miniatures—and since I happen to know where I can get him some, it looks like we're back in business again.' He grinned an almost boyish grin. 'It's only a small beginning, but I have a feeling it could lead to other things. You see, there's life in the old dog yet, Tanya.'
She smiled at him in simultaneous pleasure and concern. 'That's marvellous. I just hope you're not overdoing things. You've been very ill, remember, and you've a bit to go before you're fully recovered.'
'I know, I know.' He patted her hand. 'But I owe it to both of us, as well as to Signor Cabrini, to get myself back on my feet as soon as possible. And this is the ideal opportunity. Don't worry,' he added as she started to protest again, 'I won't overdo it—but you can tell Signor Cabrini that he can expect the first repayment on his loan within the next couple of months.'
Tanya shook her head and frowned. The last thing she wanted to do was discourage her father in his recovery, but neither did she want to see him risk his health to repay a loan which to Fausto, on his own admission, was a mere drop in the ocean. 'Just remember,' she told him, keeping her tone light, 'the most important thing is that you get your health back. The loan can wait.'
But Devlin brushed her cautious words aside. 'No, the loan can't wait. For all our sakes, dealing with that has to be my first priority.'
Tanya drove back from Lugano with mixed feelings. Huddled in the back of the air-conditioned Mercedes, she stared out blankly at the moving landscape and found herself wondering about the strange quirks of fate that had brought her here—and about the man who suddenly seemed to loom so large in both her own and her father's life. Mere weeks ago he had been a stranger, a name with neither form nor face. All at once and unchallenged he had assumed a fearfully pivotal position in both their lives. And this was only the beginning, she sensed.
According to Tanya's calculations, Fausto was due back some time on Sunday, and as the day approached the tension inside her mounted almost to fever pitch. All day Saturday she could not sit still, shuttling nervously from chore to chore, making the journey from the villa to the wash-house at least a dozen unnecessary times. She was almost worn out by seven o'clock when the workmen finally packed up their gear and left her alone to admire the transformation that their two days' labour had wrought to the freshly painted and papered walls.
'I'm very impressed.'
She spun round startled to find Fausto leaning in the open doorway, watching her. 'You!' was all she could stutter as her heart began pounding crazily against her ribs.
'I decided to come back early. Aren't you pleased?' And he raised a mocking eyebrow at her and smiled as he surveyed the room. 'I have to congratulate you. You haven't wasted any time.'
He was wearing a cream-coloured suit that was slightly crumpled from long hours seated in a plane, and his chin was shadowed by a dark stubble of beard that gave him a faintly roguish look. She stared at him, a sudden helpless longing overwhelming her. She had both ached for and dreaded this moment, and now that it had come she could not move. 'I think they've done a pretty good job.' She could scarcely even bear to look at him.
He nodded. 'Excellent.' Then went on, 'I've asked Emma to delay dinner by half an hour. I want to have a shower and change before we eat. I hope that's OK with you.'
'Of course.' She wondered if she looked as awkward as she felt.
'Have you finished here?' A smile of amusement brushed his lips.
She shifted her eyes abruptly from his face. 'For the moment.'
'In that case let's go.' He led her outside. 'By the way, I think it's time we did something about this path—' indicating the dusty trail that led through the wood back to the house'—I'll arrange for a flagstone path to be laid. It should be possible without too much damage to the trees.' He turned and threw her a teasing grin. 'We can't have you doing any more damage to your feet.'
Her feet were the last thing on Tanya's mind as she nervously followed him back to the house. And, up in her room, as she slipped into a demure white blouse— high-necked, long-sleeved—and a voluminous skirt that covered her knees, she was beginning to wonder quite seriously if she had the nerve to see the evening through. But perhaps, she consoled herself with a determined shrug, she really had nothing to worry about. He had made no move towards her since his return, not even so much as a touch of his hand, and had made not the smallest reference to what had passed between them in the library that night. More than likely, he had quite forgotten it.
His dark eyes told her nothing as he sat down opposite her at the dinner-table. He had shaved and changed into a black silk shirt and slim black trousers that hugged the lean, hard hips. He seemed relaxed, though perhaps a trifle thoughtful, Tanya observed, wishing feverishly that she could read his mind. Her own confused emotions, she supposed, were written as plain as a billboard across her face.
'Did you have a good trip?' she asked somewhat belatedly, abandoning her effor
ts with the soup. It tasted of nothing to her dry, parched mouth and she was having considerable difficulty in swallowing it.
'It was pretty hectic,' he observed. A curl of dark hair showed at the open neck of his black silk shirt. Tanya jerked her eyes away as he went on, 'Fortunately I managed to get everything I went for done. I'm trying to arrange the transfer of even more of our business interests to Milan. Within the next five years or so the bulk of Cabrini Industries will be operational from here. Which will thankfully mean fewer trips to New York for me.' He smiled a faintly weary smile. 'It's a place I prefer to spend as little time as possible in—even though I was born and brought up there.'
'I've never been to New York,' Tanya said, really just for something to say. Her eyes kept drifting to his mouth, half hypnotised by the oddly sensuous movements of his lips as he spoke, and it was taking all her determination just to keep dragging them away. What the devil had got into her? she asked herself impatiently. She was allowing her physical attraction to the man to become an obsession. She would be caught in a web of her own weaving if she didn't watch out.
He had leaned his elbows on the table and was watching her. 'I'll take you some day,' he offered with a smile, then added lightly, seemingly unaware of the flush of nervous colour his words had brought to Tanya's cheeks, 'Maybe you'll be like Renata and love the place.'
She forced herself to meet his eyes. 'Did you see Renata while you were in New York?' Deliberately side-stepping the subtle implication of his previous remark, suppressing the flutter of excitement it had so foolishly awakened in her heart.
'We had dinner together a couple of times. She's very well, as usual. She sends you her love and looks forward to seeing you in a few weeks' time.'
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