Coming to Portofino had been the best thing for Cordelia, Emma mused. The elderly lady already seemed less frail, after a week of sitting in the garden in the warm spring sunshine, and eating the wonderful meals served by Beatrice. She knew Rocco hoped to persuade his grandmother to stay at the Villa Lucia permanently, and Cordelia seemed to be settling in so quickly that perhaps she would not need a private nurse for much longer.
Once she returned to England she would probably never see Rocco again. The thought hurt Emma more than it should. Don’t, her mind warned her. Don’t dwell on that sweetly evocative kiss they had shared moments before the party. Rocco had kissed her because he wanted to sleep with her, and she could not deny that he had awoken her sensuality from a deep slumber. But if she did have an affair with him—and it was a big if—she must never forget that it would be a brief sexual adventure that could mean nothing to either of them.
He was standing on the other side of the room, chatting to neighbours who lived in a villa farther down the hill and their attractive young daughter. Perhaps he possessed a sixth sense which alerted him to Emma’s scrutiny, for he suddenly turned his head and trapped her gaze. Colour flooded her face—embarrassment that he had caught her staring at him mixed with a fierce sexual awareness that sent a tremor of longing through her. His magnetism was so powerful that the other people in the room faded to the periphery of her vision and the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses on the silver trays carried by the villa staff, became muted.
How could she even contemplate an affair with him when he had the ability to decimate her composure with one look across a crowded room? she thought despairingly. The risk was too great. Perhaps it would be different if she only had herself to consider. But there was Holly, who already regarded Rocco as a friend. Her little daughter would be upset when he abruptly disappeared out of their lives, as he surely would when their relationship had run its course.
‘Our host is gorgeous, isn’t he?’ drawled a voice.
Desperately trying to school her features to hide her inner turmoil, she glanced at the woman who had come to stand beside her and offered a polite smile. Shayna Manzzini’s husband, Tino, was an executive at Eleganza, and a close friend of Rocco’s. Emma had taken an instant liking to friendly Tino, but had not warmed to his Canadian wife. Shayna had given up a modelling career when she had married, but still retained a stunning figure. The elegant brunette was undeniably beautiful, but her hard features were set in an expression of permanent dissatisfaction, and there was a brittle quality about her.
‘Poor little fool,’ Shayna said mockingly. ‘Any woman who hopes Rocco will fall in love with them is destined for disappointment. The tiger will never be tamed.’
For a moment Emma was mortified, thinking that Shayna was referring to her, before she realised that the Canadian woman was looking across the room at the daughter of Rocco’s neighbours. The girl was probably seventeen or eighteen, incredibly pretty, and clearly overwhelmed by Rocco’s charisma. Her eyes were fixed on his face and she frequently tossed her glossy black curls over her shoulders. Her flirting skills were not yet refined.
‘Chiara doesn’t have a hope,’ Shayna continued in her derisive drawl. ‘Rocco isn’t interested in bambini. But give her a couple of years and she might capture his interest for a week or two.’ She glanced at Emma, her scarlet-glossed lips forming a tight smile. ‘We were lovers briefly—a few years ago. Rocco’s affairs are always brief,’ she added sardonically. ‘I saw the end coming and decided to settle for Tino. Definitely a case of second-best.’ She shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘But a modelling career doesn’t last for ever, and although Tino isn’t of multi-millionaire status, he’s still loaded.’
Shocked by the other woman’s calculating nature, Emma could not think of anything to say. Images of Shayna and Rocco as lovers filled her mind and her stomach churned. How many other women here tonight were his ex-mistresses? she wondered as she scanned the room and focused on several exceptionally beautiful female guests.
She remembered how at Jack’s funeral she had looked around the church and tried to guess which women he had slept with during their marriage. Her grief at his death had been mixed with anger and humiliation and agonising hurt, and she had vowed never to lay herself open to that level of pain ever again.
‘It’s a pity Rosalinda Barinelli didn’t understand Rocco’s “no commitment at any price rule.”’ Shayna’s voice once again broke into Emma’s thoughts.
‘What do you mean?’ She could not disguise her curiosity, even though she had a horrible feeling she was not going to like the Canadian woman’s reply. ‘Who is Rosalinda Barinelli?’
‘She is, or rather was, a talented Italian actress with a promising career ahead of her. That was until she met Rocco. A year ago they had an affair, and when Rocco ended the relationship Rosalinda took an overdose. She lived,’ Shayna said, when Emma drew a sharp breath, ‘but she hasn’t worked since her suicide attempt. She maintains that he promised her they had a future together, although I actually find that hard to believe,’ Shayna admitted. ‘Rocco is the archetypal playboy and his allergy to commitment is well known. But possibly he spun Rosalinda a line in order to bed her.’
Emma swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. ‘You’re saying he deliberately misled her into believing he cared for her?’
Shayna gave another careless shrug. ‘I don’t know anything for sure. But, despite his apparent charm, Rocco has a ruthless streak. It’s hardly surprising, I suppose, when he is the grandson of Silvio D’Angelo—one of the most powerful businessmen in Italy. You don’t get to build a company the size of Eleganza by being a pussycat, that’s for sure. And of course Rocco’s parents were both utterly selfish. He told me once that witnessing their turbulent relationship had put him off marriage for life.’
Emma spent the rest of the evening chatting and smiling until her jaw ached, while carefully avoiding Rocco. His frustration was evident in his narrowed stare, but he was unable to challenge her when she stuck faithfully to his grandmother’s side.
It was after eleven by the time the last guests departed and she escorted a weary but happy Cordelia up to bed.
‘It was so nice to meet Rocco’s friends, and so good of him to arrange the party. He has always had a kind heart.’ The elderly lady sighed, her face suddenly sad. ‘He had a hard time when he was a teenager. Giovanni’s death was a tragic accident, but Rocco blamed himself.’
‘Giovanni was only young when he died, wasn’t he?’ Emma murmured, busying herself with hanging Cordelia’s dress in the wardrobe.
‘Yes, poor boy. Gio was a demanding child. He was diagnosed with a mild form of autism and my daughter couldn’t cope with him. I’m afraid she left Rocco in charge of him much too often.’
‘What actually happened?’ Emma could not contain her curiosity. ‘How did Giovanni die?’
‘The boys were staying at Nunstead Hall for the Christmas holidays. It was bitterly cold that winter, and the lake had frozen over,’ Cordelia recalled. ‘Gio had been told a dozen times not to walk on the ice, but small boys don’t recognise danger. Rocco almost lost his own life trying to save his brother. The gardener had to drag him out of the freezing water and physically restrain him from trying to swim to Gio. Because it was too late,’ she said sombrely. ‘Gio must have fallen through the ice some while before Rocco spotted him, and he was already dead.’
‘How terrible.’ Emma shivered as she imagined the horrific circumstances of Rocco’s brother’s death.
‘Yes. And I’m not sure Rocco has ever come to terms with what he sees as his failure to save Gio.’ Cordelia had been rummaging in her handbag and now gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Emma, dear, I think I must have left my reading glasses downstairs.’
‘I’ll fetch them for you.’
Emma was glad to have a few moments alone to marshal her thoughts. In the space of one evening she had heard two conflicting stories about Rocco. According to his ex-mistress he had fo
oled Rosalinda Barinelli into believing he wanted a long-term relationship with her, and then heartlessly dumped her when he had tired of her and broken her heart. But from Cordelia she had heard that Rocco had been prepared to sacrifice his own life while attempting to save his younger brother. Who was the real Rocco? she wondered. A cruel deceiver, or a brave hero?
Perhaps he was both—just as Jack had been. Her mind whirled with jumbled emotions as painful memories resurfaced. Her husband had lost his life while heroically saving children from a burning house. But at the time of his death she had discovered that he had cheated on her and lied to her throughout their marriage. How could she trust any man after Jack? she thought bitterly. How could she trust Rocco after what she had heard about him from Shayna Manzzini?
Cordelia’s glasses case was on a coffee table in the sitting room. Smiling at the maid who was tidying the room, Emma picked it up and retraced her steps back to the door. Rocco’s voice made her halt.
‘Running away again, Emma?’ he drawled as he strolled through from the conservatory.
The electric lamps had been switched off, and in the soft, flickering light cast by the burned-down candles he appeared big and dark, his face in shadow so that she could not see his expression. But something in his hard voice warned her he was not in a good mood.
‘I came down to find Cordelia’s glasses,’ she explained, waving the case she was holding.
‘Maria will take them to her.’ He addressed the maid in Italian, and the girl immediately hurried over to take the case from Emma before scurrying from the room, shutting the door behind her.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Rocco walked over to the bar and refilled his own brandy glass.
‘No, thank you.’ Her nerves were as taut as an over-strung bow now that she was alone with Rocco. ‘I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed.’
He gave her a sardonic look. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’ve had an exhausting day, sitting in the garden with Cordelia, but nevertheless I would like a progress report on my grandmother. How is the burn on her hand?’
‘Healing well—it doesn’t need to be kept covered now that the risk of infection has passed. And Cordelia says it’s not nearly so painful.’
He nodded. ‘And how would you assess her general health?’
‘She seems much less frail, which I am sure is down to the fact that she is eating properly. One of my main concerns when she was living at Nunstead Hall was that she didn’t bother to cook for herself and seemed to survive on toast and cups of tea. She really enjoyed the party,’ Emma told him, recalling Cordelia’s pleasure at the evening.
‘Good.’ He stared at her speculatively. ‘And how about you? Did you enjoy tonight?’ He hesitated for a heartbeat. ‘I noticed you had a long conversation with Shayna.’
She flushed. ‘Yes … she was very informative.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Rocco murmured dryly. He swore silently. Shayna was a first-class gossip, and he would lay a bet that she was responsible for the expression of stark vulnerability in Emma’s eyes.
‘She said that the two of you were once lovers.’
‘I have never professed to be a monk,’ he said quietly. ‘And it was a long time ago.’
Emma shrugged, determined to retain her dignity. ‘It’s really of no interest to me.’
‘No?’ he challenged softly. ‘That’s not the impression I received before the party. I got the impression that you were very interested, cara.’
Her flush deepened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘My conversation with Shayna was a timely reminder of what kind of a man you are.’
Rocco’s face darkened at her scathing tone. ‘Explain that remark. What kind of a man am I?’
‘One who deliberately allowed Rosalinda Barinelli to think you cared for her, and then dumped her when you were bored with her, leaving her so distraught that she attempted to take her own life.’
Anger surged inside him and he fought the temptation to drive his fist into the wall. ‘Shayna really did a hatchet job, didn’t she?’ He took a deep breath. ‘My relationship with Rosalinda is no secret. Every tabloid voiced an opinion on my culpability for the terrible events that took place soon after our affair ended. But only a handful of people are aware of the truth. My closest friends—the people who really know me—never doubted me,’ he said harshly.
He drained his glass, slammed it down on the counter and strode across to the door without another glance in her direction.
Emma bit her lip, remembering how she had initially misjudged him and accused him of not caring about his grandmother. She had been wrong about him then—could she have jumped to the wrong conclusions again now?
‘Rocco!’
His hand was on the door handle. For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, but then he slowly turned his head.
‘What?’
His savage expression was not encouraging. ‘There are always two sides to a story,’ she said huskily.
‘Yet you chose to believe the words of a woman you had only just met rather than ask for my side.’ His jaw hardened. ‘I’m beginning to think that friendship between us is impossible—especially when you are determined to believe the worst of me.’
She thought of the loving care he gave his grandmother, his gentle patience with Holly and the kindness he had shown her, and she felt ashamed that she had acted as judge and jury without allowing him to give his version of events. Shayna’s revelation that she and Rocco had once been lovers had caused a flame of white-hot jealousy to sear her insides. He was right; she had wanted to believe the worst of him. But her reason for doing so had been an attempt at self-protection and a way of fighting her growing feelings for him.
‘I’m sorry.’
Rocco stared at her downbent head and fought to control his frustration. He wished he could pull her into his arms and kiss away the doubt and insecurity that darkened her eyes. Even greater was his wish that he knew who had put those emotions there.
‘I met Rosalinda when I was on a business trip in Rome and saw her performing in a play at the Teatro Nazional. We were introduced at an after-show party and there was an immediate attraction between us,’ he revealed honestly. ‘She was beautiful, ambitious and appeared to be extremely self-confident. Acting was her life, she assured me. She wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship while she developed her career. If I had thought for one minute that she hoped I would make a commitment to her I would never have become involved with her. But she seemed content with a casual affair, and even when I ended the relationship a few months later she did not appear unduly upset.’
Rocco’s expression became grim. ‘I was horrified when I received a phone call from Rosalinda’s parents to inform me that she had taken an overdose, and that I was the reason why. I swear I gave her no cause to think I was in love with her. The closeness she believed existed between us was in her imagination only. Her parents were very understanding. They explained that she had previously been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and was prone to periods of depression, and also that she had unrealistic expectations about relationships. Without my knowledge she had been planning our wedding—even to the extent of buying a wedding dress.’
He looked away from Emma, not wanting to see the disbelief and disgust he was sure would be in her eyes. ‘If you want the truth, not a day goes by when I don’t feel guilty about Rosalinda,’ he said harshly. ‘Maybe I missed the signs of her emotional fragility, or maybe somehow I unwittingly led her to believe that I had deeper feelings for her.’
‘I doubt it,’ Emma said quietly. ‘Bi-polar disorder is a complicated issue, but even without that being a factor it’s not uncommon for people who are in love to see what they want to see.’ And conversely to ignore warning signs that a relationship was not as perfect as they wished, she acknowledged silently. She had made excuses for Jack throughout their marriage because she had wanted to believe that he loved her as much as she loved him. She, more than anyone, could understand h
ow Rosalinda might have kidded herself that Rocco cared for her.
She did not doubt that he had told her the truth. His remorse at what had happened was obviously genuine. He had not deliberately deceived Rosalinda, and he had been honest with her. He had made it clear that he wanted a sexual relationship with her, but that was all he wanted.
Why not take what he was offering and enjoy a few weeks of fun? she debated. Lord knew, she needed it. But to make love with him, to experience the seductive pleasure of his hands and his mouth caressing her naked flesh, would mean relinquishing her hold on her self-control. The prospect filled her with fear. What if sex wasn’t enough for her? What if she wanted more than he could give? He had the power to hurt her. Not physically—her instincts told her he would be a skilled and considerate lover—but he had already undermined her defences and she was afraid he posed a very real threat to her heart.
She stiffened when he walked towards her, struggling for composure while her treacherous body trembled with fierce sexual awareness.
Rocco wondered if she was aware that he could read each fleeting thought that crossed her features. She was a volatile mixture of emotions, and if he had any sense he would end his pursuit and walk away from her. But his much lauded common sense seemed to fly out of the window when he looked into her grey eyes that reminded him of storm clouds or woodsmoke, depending on her mood.
‘How old were you when you met Jack?’
Emma frowned at the unexpected question. ‘I was twenty, and midway through my nurse’s training.’
‘Did you have other relationships before him?’
‘Not really. I dated a couple of boys from school, but I studied hard to achieve the necessary grades for university and didn’t have much time for boyfriends. Why do you ask?’
‘It has occurred to me that if you haven’t dated since your husband’s death, and you weren’t involved with any other guys before you married, that only leaves Jack as the person responsible for your deep sense of mistrust.’ His eyes narrowed on her suddenly tense face. ‘But that doesn’t make sense, because you have led me to believe that it was a marriage made in heaven. So what is the truth about your relationship with Jack Marchant, Emma?’
A Dangerous Infatuation Page 11