by Annie West
Now, suddenly, it seemed she was wrong.
‘Why?’
His eyes widened a fraction. Had he expected her simply to say yes and pick up where they’d left off years before? She recalled how he’d expected her to obey him without question. From what she’d heard of his growing commercial success, he was probably used to underlings hurrying to do his bidding.
‘Because I want you.’
If she’d been stunned before, Gina had no words to describe her feelings now.
For seven years she’d told herself Massimo wasn’t good enough for her, even though it was she whom his snobby family, with its wealth and powerful connections, had deemed unworthy. Massimo hadn’t stood up for her, hadn’t supported her. Hadn’t wanted her enough to put their marriage first.
Now he wanted her?
Her brain told her she should be outraged.
Her heart...
Her silly heart performed a dance that left her breathless and wondering. Could it really be? After all this time?
Gina stared across into his cool eyes, searching for some glimmer of warmth. Needing it. Because, despite what she’d told herself ever since their separation, life wasn’t the same without Massimo. She still craved what they’d had for such a brief time. Still craved him.
‘Why?’ She didn’t trust him.
And there it was. For a split second she glimpsed something in those crystalline depths that spoke of heat and hunger, of desire and raw pain.
In answer her heart leapt so high it seemed to lodge in her throat, blocking any further attempt to speak. Her hands curled around the arms of her chair as she clung on tight, filled with an atavistic fear that if she moved, even breathed, the fantasy would crash to splinters at her feet.
And she was right.
A second later he spoke, making it clear it had been an illusion, that dreadful, wonderful expression in his eyes. An illusion created by her own stupid yearning.
‘The House of Conti will be showing its couture range during Fashion Week. As head of the company I’ll be hosting some events and I want you at my side, as my hostess for the week.’
Pain crashed through her.
Who’d believe she could have thought, even for a second, that he wanted her for herself? That he burned for her, yearned for her, the way she, fool that she was, had yearned for him?
The illusion shattered all right, so that when she swallowed it felt as if broken shards of razor-sharp glass coated her throat.
But Gina didn’t so much as blink as she stared back at him. She didn’t permit herself to flinch, even though the pain wasn’t confined to her throat. It enveloped her, an echo of the anguish she’d borne for so long after they separated, and which she’d convinced herself she’d grown out of.
Despite the hurt, or perhaps because of it, she found it easy to lift her eyebrows in surprise, and season her voice with just the right amount of mockery.
‘And what Massimo Conti wants he gets?’
‘Usually.’ He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
‘Not this time.’ Gina curled her lips into a smile that conspicuously didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Oh, I think I will.’ He sat back, crossing one long leg over the other, the picture of tailored elegance in his sharp suit and casual shirt. The expression of nonchalance on those long, lean features irked her.
‘You’ll have to find someone else to act as your hostess. I’m not available.’
‘But it’s you I want.’
This time Gina was ready for the shaft of longing that carved a ravine through her middle. This was a cruel parody of the loving words he’d once whispered to her. Then he’d claimed to love her. And he’d wanted her for herself, not as some convenient society hostess.
But then he’d proved how much those sentiments meant, hadn’t he?
She’d believed they had a love that would last forever. But their forever hadn’t lasted long. Now he rubbed salt in old wounds, demanding her presence for an event, a mere week’s business!
‘Why?’ He still hadn’t given her a proper answer.
For the first time since he’d arrived, Gina sensed real discomfort in him. His tall frame was too still and the muscles in his jaw were tighter than before.
‘Would it be such a bad thing?’ He spread his hands in a gesture of openness that was utterly false. He was hiding something. ‘Wouldn’t it be good for your career to be seen there, and with me?’
If he tried to look modest he failed miserably. There was nothing bashful or modest about those spare features or that self-satisfied air.
‘My career is going perfectly well, thank you for your concern.’ It was too much to resist adding a sarcastic note. After all, he’d expected her to throw that career away without so much as an explanation, and bury herself in his family’s estate. Because she, and her work, were deemed an embarrassment. ‘I don’t need to be seen with a clothes salesman to get attention.’
Was that quirk of his lips a ghost of a smile? She was sure no-one else would dream of calling the CEO of Italy’s newest couture success story anything so prosaic.
‘But positive publicity never hurts, does it? Especially since the stories about you lately have been negative.’
Gina stiffened. ‘That’s none of your concern. Matteo and I can handle that.’ Telling the plain truth – that they’d only been rehearsing a scene – hadn’t worked, so they’d tried their own diversionary tactics.
Yesterday she and Matteo’s wife, Angela, had spent the morning together. They’d visited the Piazza San Marco in the full glare of paparazzi attention solely to prove they were friends, not rivals. Then Matteo and Angela had very publicly spent a romantic afternoon together while she’d gone out with Niccolo Marchesi, the handsome racing driver. So far their damage limitation plan seemed to have worked. Soon the unfounded gossip about her and Matteo would die, when everyone saw how besotted he and his wife were.
*
Matteo and I.
How easily the words slid off her tongue.
Because they were lovers?
The grinding ache that Massimo had carried since seeing the storm of publicity sharpened to a stiletto blade of jealousy. If Matteo De Laurentis were here he’d rearrange his pretty-boy features for him.
Massimo drew a slow breath and made himself focus. He knew to take media reports with a grain of salt. If the press were to be believed, the women he’d dated and slept with in the last seven years would fill the Teatro La Fenice, the famous Venetian opera house, to the brim. It was possible that Gina and De Laurentis weren’t lovers. Though he couldn’t imagine any man saying no to his stunning wife.
Years ago, when he’d first seen her, she’d looked like a coltish version of a renaissance angel, stepped down from an old fresco. His Gina had been an innocent too, but deliciously, satisfyingly passionate.
He had a sudden, vivid recollection of her, delectably rumpled and sprawled in white sheets, stretching with the sinuous sensuality of a born seductress. Her eyes had shone in invitation, her mouth a pout demanding attention.
Now she was even more beautiful.
And she was his wife, damn it. Not De Laurentis’s or anyone else’s.
Now he was sitting across from her, breathing in that faint scent of vanilla and pear and watching her eyes flash with curiosity, he wondered how he’d managed to go so long without her. Just being in the same room roused his testosterone to dangerous levels. And that gnawing hurt was back again, confirming that this was the one woman he’d ever wanted in his life permanently.
‘Staying with me is the perfect way to scotch those rumours.’
She shook her head so vigorously burnished waves bounced around her shoulders. ‘Out of the question.’
‘You refuse?’
‘Of course.’ She widened her eyes in haughty surprise. ‘It’s a ridiculous idea.’
Massimo hid his annoyance, easing further back in his seat and touching his fingertips together. ‘That’s a sham
e. The press furore was bad enough when they believed you were sleeping with a married man. What will it be like when they learn you’re married too?’
He gave her credit that, but for a widening of her eyes and the sudden fade of her creamy skin to parchment white, Gina gave no reaction.
‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’
‘Blackmail is such an ugly word, don’t you think? Persuade is more appropriate.’
For their hasty marriage was still a secret. It hadn’t originally been meant to stay that way, but when their relationship turned to ashes there’d been no reason to tell the world and every reason to stay quiet.
A zap of electricity fizzed between them, the air charged by heightened emotions. Those dark blue eyes glittered with a lethal fire.
Curiously, Massimo welcomed her hatred. It was better than the cool disregard she’d shown earlier. As if he meant nothing to her anymore. That had ripped open the chasm of loss within him.
He wanted to matter to her.
He’d known, when he came to Venice, that he still needed Gina. His desire for her hadn’t died. Nor had the feelings he’d tried to smother with years of work and responsibility.
‘Go to hell, Matteo.’
I’ve already been there.
Time might have eased the anguish to bearable levels, till recently when he’d been unable to think of anything else but the need to fix this untenable situation. But for the first years after their separation, life had been just that, the suffering of the damned.
*
‘In that case, my dear wife, brace yourself for a flurry of the worst possible publicity.’ Massimo paused in the act of levering himself from the chair and raised one dark eyebrow. ‘What will your precious De Laurentis think of that? He’s sunk everything he has into this film, and borrowed heavily from investors. If the public takes against the film’s stars and refuses to support it...’ He let the sentence hang.
‘But at least you won’t have to give interviews to the press about our secret marriage.’ He raised one hand as if to forestall any comment. ‘I’ll save you that. I’ll speak to them myself. I’m sure I’ll be able to provide enough juicy details to satisfy them.’
Blank with shock, Gina felt her stomach swoop like a kite caught in a downdraft, about to smash to earth.
‘Why are you doing this?’ The words, a husk of sound, were out before she realised.
Matteo had washed his hands of her years ago.
Silvery grey-green eyes fixed on her but there was nothing cool about them this time. His stare burned her skin. She felt flames lick her stomach and breasts.
Surely not! He didn’t want her like that! Not anymore.
Then his expression altered and she was looking at the urbane businessman, all ease, except for the obstinate thrust of his jaw.
‘Let’s just say that being together in Milan will be mutually beneficial. You’ll be able to put an end to the last rumours of an affair with a married man. I’ll get a beautiful hostess whose professional reputation will be a draw for the House of Conti. After it’s seen you’re with me instead of De Laurentis.’
Gina clamped her teeth together rather than give this devil the satisfaction of hearing her rant.
So, after all these years, he’d found a use for the wife he’d forgotten. She, or rather her celebrity, was to be a drawcard for his business!
Her vision misted at the idea of being used in this way. By the man who’d demanded the impossible, then washed his hands of her.
If it weren’t so preposterous the irony of it would make her weep. Years ago she hadn’t been considered good enough for his fussy family. The impulsive elopement that Gina had thought so romantic had actually been Massimo’s attempt to keep their union secret from his relatives. They’d only been together a short time when he’d left her for long months on precious family business, only to turn around and throw in the career he adored, demanding she do the same. Because the top lofty Conti family couldn’t cope with a mere performer in their ranks.
‘You can—’
He cut across her words before she could finish. ‘And if you need another inducement, when this is over, I won’t stand in the way of you seeking a divorce.’
The words slammed into her like bullets.
Crazy that in the heat of the moment she’d forgotten the divorce. It’s what she’d thought this was all about. That he’d come to get her to sign papers.
Crazy too, that after everything he’d just said, the word divorce should cause those old wounds to bleed anew.
Gina snagged a shaky breath.
‘I thought,’ he paused and leaned closer, eyes watchful, ‘you’d do just about anything for an easy divorce. You want to dissolve the marriage, don’t you?’
The blood was rushing in her ears. That’s why Massimo suddenly didn’t sound quite as certain and self-satisfied.
‘Gina?’ He sounded almost gentle.
Only because he’s negotiating to get what he wants. Her name and star glamour to back his brand since his company had only just branched out from ready to wear into haute couture. Plus an easy divorce so he could get on with his life. He probably had some aristocratic girlfriend lined up to become the next Signora Conti.
A spasm cramped Gina’s abdomen and she had to concentrate on breathing through the pain.
Massimo shouldn’t have the power to hurt her anymore. Yet he did. That was the single scariest thing about this whole awful scenario.
He hurt her because she’d never got over him and moved on. He’d been her first, her only love. She still bore the scars of their failed relationship, even after all this time.
That alone was reason enough to act. She had to cut free of Massimo, and the past. She had to make a new life for herself, looking only to the future. Today had proved that she couldn’t go on like this.
Gina looked him straight in the eye and made herself smile as if he’d just promised her the moon, no matter how crushed and sore she felt. ‘In that case, you have a deal.’
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
Three weeks later Gina stepped inside the apartment that was to be her home for the next week. She sagged back against the door, grateful for the fact Massimo wasn’t here and she’d had to use the key he’d sent.
She didn’t want to face him yet.
Walking back into her husband’s life, even temporarily, was almost more than she could bear. Emotions she’d told herself were long dead had nipped at her heels ever since that meeting in Venice.
Nipped at her heels? More like gouged great chunks out of her insides as the past came alive again to torment her. So many regrets...
Just being with Massimo that day had tested her to the limit. He’d looked so good, even better than the young man she’d fallen for. But beneath the suave countenance and take-charge air of business was a man far colder than she remembered.
How could he even think of inviting her to share his home for a week? He’d truly become ruthless. Clearly the memory of their brief period of happiness, and the heart-breaking wrench of separation meant nothing. Not when there was a buck to be made out of having Gina Moretti, actress and darling of the gossip magazines, at his side. To him she was merely an asset to be used.
Gina shivered and pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. Her pulse thrummed with nerves as if she’d just stepped onto a stage on opening night.
In a way she had. For this week she’d play a part. Publicly she’d be Massimo’s escort, hostess for his parties and, as far as public speculation went, his latest girlfriend.
Her jaw clenched at the cavalier way he’d manipulated her into playing that role. It was demeaning and humiliating.
But it was nothing compared with the part she’d be adopting beyond the public gaze. The part of a woman who was totally immune to her husband.
Gina sighed and let her head loll back against the door. She should be immune. Her only feelings should be rage at the way he used her.
But to her shame
there was still a kernel of something softer. Something even his callous attitude and seven years of separation hadn’t killed.
Gina hefted an unsteady breath and told herself she could do this.
She could avoid Massimo when they weren’t at one of his precious events. True, sharing his apartment, there’d be times when they’d bump into each other. But Gina would be on her guard. It would be all right.
Straightening, she looked around the entry hall. Lofty ceilings and long windows gave an air of spacious charm in keeping with the gracious old building, which was probably heritage-listed. But the interior was modern, from the gleaming marble floor to the asymmetrical mirror on the facing wall that showed a woman whose face was too pale and whose mouth crimped tight.
Gina shook her head and stood taller. She’d have to do better if she was to play this role.
Grabbing the handle of her big, pull-along suitcase, she crossed the foyer in a deliberate, hip-swaying stroll that projected insouciant confidence.
Now, if she could only convince herself that’s how she felt...
Minutes later she was in the guest suite. The space was decorated in shades of grey and gloss white and the furniture was all modern, making Gina recall Massimo’s fascination with cutting edge design. Gina’s own taste ran to bright, funky and a little retro, and this place should have been too cool for comfort. Yet someone had softened the potentially stark room.
There was a bowl of bright, bronze roses on the bedside table and another on the coffee table where a carafe of hot water and a selection of teas waited for her. Magazines were stacked beside a minimalist chaise longue and a series of paintings along one wall gave colour and warmth. Gina moved closer and saw they were set designs. A series of exquisitely detailed stage sets for a famous opera production.
Gina blinked and felt a rush of memory so strong she had to lock her knees to stand against the force of it. She remembered these. Massimo had discovered them in some bookstore. Hidden treasure, he’d called them. Even though the style of the sets was outmoded by modern standards, they were beautiful. Massimo, of course, had seen past the surface beauty to the practicalities. It had been his field, after all, turning bare spaces into marvellous, imaginary vistas.