Rossellini's Revenge Affair

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Unadulterated vitriol stained her words. Raffaele reached forward to grasp those firmly set shoulders of hers but restrained himself from giving them the shaking she so richly deserved.

  “You would visit the sins of the father against the child?” He fought to keep his voice low and even.

  “I cannot be that baby’s guardian. Only a monster would expect such a thing of me.”

  “Of course you can. You’re a strong woman, you can do anything you put your mind to. Look at how you’ve coped with the past few days. Any one else would have been destroyed by what you’ve faced.”

  “But this hasn’t happened to just any one else, has it? It’s happened to me.”

  “You will learn to cope with this also.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How could I—even if I wanted to? As you so rightly pointed out back there, I have no home, no money. Even the clothes I’m wearing right now are what you bought for me. Everything, even my underwear!”

  Beneath the line of her jacket he caught a glimpse of that very underwear she’d referred to. Underwear he’d personally chosen this morning. His body roused to life as he remembered the texture of the lace and imagined it caressing her skin. Imagined removing it and replacing it with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

  Dio! She was a siren. Even he, with his agenda towards her, was not immune. How many other men had she ensnared this way?

  “Lana, I can help you. If you accept interim guardianship of the child I will waive Kyle’s debt and provide you with an income as well as meet all the expenses of care for the baby. Once guardianship is mine I will settle a cash sum upon you. You’ll be free. Free to start over.”

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “You would not understand.”

  “No. You’re probably right. I don’t understand your motives just as I’ll never be able to understand how my husband could’ve lied to me for so long and how I never knew. Or how he could betray me with another woman the way he did. We were happy together!”

  Raffaele firmed his lips. She lied so easily it roused an even deeper anger in him. Did she really think he didn’t know the truth?

  “I’m sorry, Lana, for your loss and for the pain you’ve been given.”

  Raffaele fixed his gaze on a statue in the centre of the park. Asking her forgiveness tasted like ashes in his mouth but he had to convince her to fulfil her duties. If she didn’t, who knew what government agency would make decisions about Maria’s baby until he could take care of it himself.

  Her response was barely audible. “So am I. I’m sorry Kyle ever met you or your sister.”

  The wind picked up a little and Lana wrapped her arms about her, as if to ward off the cooling air. Overhead, fat dark grey clouds threatened to burst and drench them both. Big fat spots of rain started to fall. Lana shivered under their onslaught yet, if anything, seemed to be unaware of the escalating intensity of the rain.

  “Lana?” She didn’t acknowledge him.

  Lana remained frozen in grief and shock. When would her husband’s capacity to deceive stop flaying her inside? It hurt too much. Everything hurt too much.

  “Lana!” His voice commanded, breaking through her reverie. “We must go.”

  He took her arm and together they marched briskly to where his driver hurried toward them, an unfurled umbrella in his hands. They completed their journey to the hotel in damp silence in the close confines of the vehicle, parting in the sitting room of Raffaele’s suite to go to their rooms to dry off and get dressed. Lana was relieved to discover her other clothing had been returned, and hung—none the worse for yesterday’s wear—in the wardrobe. She reached for them, then decided against it, choosing instead to wrap herself inside one of the hotels thick navy and silver monogrammed robes.

  The phone rang in the other room and Raffaele’s deep voice vibrated through the closed door as he answered. Lana sank onto the bed, she had no desire to eavesdrop on his call, nor any desire to be anywhere near him right now. Tomorrow she’d get up, get dressed and get out of here. Somehow she’d get some money.

  About fifteen minutes later he knocked on her door.

  “I must go away tonight, however I will be back by mid-morning tomorrow. I want you to stay here and consider my offer once more. When I get back tomorrow, we can discuss matters between us further, perhaps find some terms you will be agreeable to. Please feel free to charge whatever you need to the room—clothing, shoes, meals. Whatever you need.”

  “I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”

  “I would like you to reconsider your position about the child.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “He or she deserves a home, as much as you do.”

  “Don’t compare my position to the baby’s. They’re not the same. The State agency will ensure it’s placed in a home. That’s a lot more than I have right now.” Her words hung in the air. Even to herself they sounded harsh and self-absorbed, but somehow she had to pull the frayed edges of her life together and that did not include bringing up her husband’s illegitimate child.

  “But you could have it all. Everything. I would see to that.”

  “No. I will not care for his bast—”

  The cruel word she’d been about to say was lost in the sudden possession of his lips upon hers. Of the strength of his fingers as they raked through her hair, cupping the back of her head. His skin still smelled of fresh air and raindrops—the scent intoxicating, natural, enticing. Desire blazed with wild demanding heat from deep inside her. She parted her lips against the pressure of his, tentatively stroking her tongue against his lower lip then scraping her teeth subtly against its slick surface and drawing the tender skin into her mouth to suckle it softly. A shudder racked his body and his fingers tightened in her hair. He groaned against her mouth and her body liquefied at the tug of his free hand on the tie of her robe, then the heated flare of his fingers across her hip pulling her hard against him.

  He was rock hard and she flexed her hips against the ridge of his arousal that pressed between them. She gasped at the jolt of need that spiked between her thighs, letting go of his lip. Burning desire flared and pooled deep in her belly. His hand slid around to her bottom, cupping the warm globe of flesh and pulling her rhythmically against him. His lips played across her cheek, to the hollow at her neck behind her earlobe and a shiver of sheer want sent goose bumps over her skin as his tongue stroked against the sensitive spot.

  “Is your need for revenge on your husband so great you would visit it on an orphaned child? Think about it, promise me. I will make it worth your while, that I promise you.” His low, uneven demand shocked her back to awareness, to what she was doing and with whom.

  She spun out of his grasp, grabbing the edges of her robe and drawing them about her tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin tingled where he’d touched. Through lips still swollen from his kiss she finally managed the words. “There’s no point. I won’t change my mind.”

  Raffaele flung her a searing look before reaching to collect a small overnight bag from the floor. “We will discuss this further tomorrow.”

  “I won’t be here!”

  But her words fell on deaf ears as he pulled the front door closed behind him, his control perhaps even more lethal than if he’d slammed it in his wake.

  There wasn’t enough money in the world to make her agree to what he suggested. She thought of the marriage she’d unequivocally lost. The money, the trappings of their luxurious life, they’d all been nothing to her in the face of the reality she and Kyle couldn’t bear a child of their own. And nothing, apparently, to Kyle also.

  She’d failed. Lana pressed her hand against her stomach, her barren womb, her fingers clenching into a tight fist. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

  Early the next day Lana straightened the collar of her blouse in the reflection of the mirrored walls of the elevator speeding to the floor where she worked. She examined her features carefully. No one would gu
ess by looking at her that she stood in all she possessed. If nothing else, she still had poise. A poise she’d allowed Raffaele Rossellini to shatter in his wake last night. Her hand rose to her face, her fingers to her lips.

  He’d been angry both times he’d kissed her. And yet, despite the restrained power she’d felt in his body he hadn’t hurt her. Instead, he’d enticed her, awakening her body. Making her feel things she knew she shouldn’t be feeling and yet, conversely, felt she had every right to. She’d been scorned by her husband for another woman. Was it so wrong to want to rebuild her shattered confidence, her diminishing self-esteem, with a man who obviously found her attractive? Even a man who had his own agenda?

  She pressed her fingers against the soft tissue of her lips, reliving the pressure of Raffaele’s kiss. A charge of want spiralled through her body. Yes, he made her feel like a woman—alluring, feminine. With those kisses he’d begun to bridge the gaping chasm where her heart had been shattered, her trust destroyed.

  It was too soon to feel this way for anyone, let alone a man like him. For goodness sake, her husband had been buried only a few days! What on earth was she thinking? And yet, she knew deep down that Kyle had been gone from her far longer than the month he’d been away before the accident that had stolen his life. She knew it, but was she ready to accept it?

  The elevator door sprang open and like an automaton Lana stepped out onto the familiar floor where she’d worked for the past three years. All of yesterday afternoon she’d tried to get through to Frank Burnham, the chairman of the charity she’d worked with—he still hadn’t returned her calls by this morning. Maybe he was simply being considerate of her bereavement. At least she hoped that was so. This job, with its small stipend, was the last financial bastion she had left.

  “Mrs Whittaker? What are you doing here?” Katie, the receptionist, rose from her station, her hands fluttering like startled doves at her side.

  “My job, Katie. I still need to work.”

  “Lana, what a surprise!” Frank Burnham’s voice boomed down the corridor.

  “Surprise, Frank? Surely not. I left you a message saying I’d be at work today.”

  “Now, you don’t want to rush into these things. Why don’t you take some more time?”

  “I don’t want anymore time. I need to get back into my work, to get busy again.” To make some money, Lana prayed silently. The pay she’d received while on bereavement leave was frozen in her and Kyle’s joint account.

  “Perhaps you should step into my office.”

  A cold sense of foreboding swirled around her with ghostly fingers. While Frank’s voice had been genial, there was something in his eyes that was anything but. In his office, Lana watched as he shuffled papers on his desk, clearing his throat several times.

  “Cut to the chase, Frank. Why didn’t you return my call?”

  “Lana, I’m sorry. I hate to have to say this but you can’t come back.” He gingerly lowered himself into his chair, putting the width of his glass-topped desk between them.

  “You can’t be serious. Of course I do. I must have mountains of work waiting for me. What about the Charity Ball? The celebrity vintage car rally? I’ll be up to my neck in things to take care of.”

  “You’re not listening to me. It’s not that there isn’t the work—and it’s not that we don’t appreciate all you’ve done over the years either.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We stand to lose sponsorship if you stay.”

  “So I’ll drum up new sponsors. Give me a chance, Frank. It was Kyle who left such a darned mess, not me.”

  “I know, but mud sticks. His activities have raised too many questions, and by association you’ve been implicated, whether you like it or not. Every one of our sponsors has expressed concern about your being here. One has even requested an audit of our books. It’s the kind of thing that takes us away from our purpose, Lana. It’s competitive enough to win the charity dollar out there in the marketplace, you know that as well as I do. We can’t afford the scandal.”

  “Let me speak to them.” But Lana knew it was hopeless before the words even left her mouth. Many of her friends had been eager to support the children’s charity—the same friends whose doors had metaphorically been slammed in her face only two days ago. Lord, it seemed like a lifetime.

  “It’s useless. I’m sorry.”

  “No more sorry than I am.”

  Without a backward glance, Lana left his office and left the building. She had one choice left. One she’d been avoiding at all costs. She had to call her father. Using a phone, however, presented a quandary. She didn’t want to use the phone at the suite—she had no plans to return there anyway—which only left a public pay-phone; except she had no money. She had to sell something, but what?

  The sun shone in wintry brilliance, its rays catching the diamond engagement and wedding rings she still wore. She’d become so accustomed to wearing them she barely even noticed their presence. She’d been a fool. Here she was, with thousands of dollars just sitting on her hand. Lana eased the rings off and curled her shaking fingers tightly around them. Suddenly her heart lifted. She had options; she just hadn’t explored them yet.

  Finding a dealer prepared to take the rings off her without ownership or valuation papers proved more difficult than she expected, but at close to four that afternoon she finally found a backstreet trader willing to pay her for them. Of course the money now in her purse didn’t even come half way to the true value of the jewellery, but in its own way it had been liberating to sell the rings. She was her own woman, albeit of very limited means.

  After purchasing an international calling card, Lana secured a telephone booth in a shopping mall that afforded her some privacy. With nervous fingers she punched in the string of numbers that would ring through to her father’s private line. Although it would be just prior to six in the morning in Berlin, her father was an early bird. Her stomach lurched at the thought of having to beg him for help. They hadn’t spoken since the day she’d told him of her plans to marry Kyle. His stinging words, denouncing her as his daughter, still hovered in her mind.

  “Mr Logan’s office, how may I help you?” The disembodied male voice at the other side of the world sounded sickeningly familiar. Was her father’s aide still the same man he’d hoped she’d one day marry? Her skin crawled at the memory of what she’d been expected to do in the name of diplomatic relations.

  “Mr Logan, please.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Malcolm, it’s me. Lana.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Logan is unavailable.”

  “Please, Malcolm. You know I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. I need to speak to my father.”

  “Your latest little scandal has reached even Berlin, Lana. He wondered how long it would take for you to call. I actually thought you’d hold out longer.” The drawl in Malcolm’s voice set her teeth on edge. He’d always had a cruel side, one he’d kept well hidden from her father’s mentoring eye.

  “Just put me through.”

  “It seems he knew you better than we both realised. He’s left a message in case you should call.”

  “What message? Why can’t he tell me himself?” Lana gripped the handset of the telephone so tightly the plastic squeaked in protest.

  “He was quite explicit. The message reads, ‘I have no daughter.’”

  Lana slowly replaced the receiver as dwindling hope flickered and died.

  Six

  Raffaele paced the confines of the suite like a caged panther. Where the hell had she gone? After several calls he’d tracked her to her place of employment, although from what he’d learned she no longer worked there. Which begged the question, why had she resigned when she so desperately needed money? Was she considering taking him up on his offer to finance her as the guardian of Maria’s child? Did she see him as an easy ticket?

  Well, so much the better if she did. It would make what he had to do in the long run much easier.
From the legal advice he’d received today via telephone, his case would be much stronger if he were based here in New Zealand. The news suited his business expansion plans perfectly. Bankrolling Lana Whittaker into agreeing to his demands would be a manageable risk if he could be assured it would pave the way for him to get full custody of Maria’s baby.

  He checked his cell again for missed calls. Nothing. It was heading for six o’clock and, according to the concierge, she’d been gone since nine this morning. Surely she wouldn’t have done anything stupid. Maybe he’d pushed her too far yesterday. With some things, as with some people, it was far better to tread carefully, to take time to nurture their thinking around to your way.

  He shouldn’t have left her as he had last night. She was so emotionally vulnerable there was no knowing what she was capable of doing. But the doctor who’d rung last night had given him the news that Maria’s body had begun having contractions, they would do what they could to halt them but felt it was timely for Raffaele to return. With his charter plane on standby at the airport he hadn’t hesitated to make the journey to Wellington to be at his sister’s side.

  Maria had finally been stabilised at about three o’clock this morning and he’d remained at her side, holding her hand and speaking to her softly in Italian, hoping against hope that some measure of his love would reach through the depths and reassure her he would do everything he could for her unborn child.

  While there, the doctors raised another more pressing concern. The special care unit for premature births at Wellington Hospital was full. If Maria went into labour again, and they were unable to halt its progression, the newborn would have to be flown to another centre. Raffaele and Maria’s care team had debated several options, deciding eventually, provided Maria was stable enough to travel, that she would be transported to Auckland at the earliest opportunity, where the special care unit was under less pressure at present.