by Annie West
No, the last straw had been when he’d found her posing for photos, arm in arm with Matteo De Laurentis, looking like she belonged in his embrace. Gina had laughed up at the actor, apparently bewitched by his charm and totally oblivious to her husband, caught up in conversation mere metres away.
De Laurentis had noticed though. Massimo had seen the gleam of understanding in the other man’s eyes. He’d been about to hustle the star off somewhere private to warn him off ever touching Gina again, when a microphone had been thrust in front of Massimo and he’d been asked about what this season meant for the House of Conti. He’d drawn on acting skills that rivalled anything De Laurentis could muster to appear cool, collected and confident.
All the while his instinct had urged him to do something primitive and violent. Like shove the actor out of the way with a solid punch to his too-handsome face, then sweep Gina up in his arms and bring her home.
Because she was his woman. His wife! He didn’t want other men leering at her, fantasizing about having her.
Whatever had been between De Laurentis and Gina ended now.
Gina shifted, putting her weight on one leg and putting a hand on her outthrust hip. Her stance was combative and sexy as hell, drawing attention to her sultry curves and long legs. ‘What’s the matter, Massimo? Are you still annoyed that I didn’t wear the dress you ordered me to put on?’
Actually, he was. His pride had been piqued by her refusal to wear his present.
‘It wasn’t an order. It was a request.’ When she merely lifted her eyebrows again in a sceptical look, Massimo’s frustration boiled over. ‘Is it really too much to expect you to wear a beautiful dress, made for you, simply because it has the Conti name on the label?’
The thought she hated him so much made something inside him shrink hard. His gut cramped and he told himself it was with anger, not hurt.
Her mouth tightened and he had the impression she bit back a response. Then, suddenly, words tumbled out in a rush. ‘I’m not some mindless mannequin. You and your family thought I wasn’t good enough for the Conti name before. Do you really think I’d be comfortable pretending I am now?’ Her other hand jammed onto her hip as she glared up at him. ‘I might have more PR value now that I’m well known but I’m the same woman I always was. And I make no apologies for that. No matter what your family thinks.’
Massimo rocked back on his feet.
‘The dress has nothing to do with trying to make you into someone else.’ He was still getting his head around the idea Gina believed he’d ever considered her not good enough.
He felt like the floor had lifted and whacked him in the head.
‘As for my family, they’re delighted you’re here this week.’ It was true that, years before, they’d been shocked by his marriage. And, yes, his father had been dead against it. But Massimo had made it clear he wouldn’t countenance any disrespect to his wife. Their acceptance of her was the price of him staying to salvage the family business.
But in the end that hadn’t mattered because Gina had deserted him. His gut hollowed at the memory of those bleak days, his utter disbelief that the woman he loved had turned her back on him.
‘Are they really?’ Suspicion glinted in those dark blue eyes. ‘Only because they think I’m good publicity.’
Massimo opened his mouth to disagree. His mother, in particular, had been thrilled at the news he’d spend this week with his wife. Clearly she harboured hopes of a reconciliation. As Massimo had before tonight. But revealing that to Gina now...
He drew a deep breath, beating down the urge to forget words and simply act. ‘The clothes were a gift. It made sense to give you a wardrobe of Conti clothes since we’re spending this week promoting the brand.’ He paused, watching her process his words.
‘I thought you’d appreciate some guidance on what to wear tonight. As far as I know you’ve never attended any Fashion Week functions. But there’s no question of trying to change you into someone else. As for not being good enough, that’s nonsense. If I thought that I’d never have married you.’
Gina didn’t respond. She didn’t even seem to breathe. Tension thickened the air between them until it became hard to breathe.
She looked up at him as if she’d never seen him before. ‘You expect me to believe that?’
Massimo’s hands fisted at his sides. All night she’d tested his patience. Now she doubted his word? ‘Why wouldn’t you? Have I ever lied to you?’
Her stare was so intense it should have stripped the flesh from his bones. But he met her gaze openly, sustained by disbelief and anger. Did she really think so poorly of him?
Gina had always had the power to turn him upside down. But this latest revelation put a different slant on her desertion. He felt like he’d opened a Pandora’s box of unexpected secrets and emotions.
‘How could you dare to think I was that shallow?’ He bit out the words.
She blinked and he caught something fleeting in that obdurate gaze. ‘So if you’re not upset about the dress, what did you want to talk about?’
It took Massimo a few seconds to yank his brain back to the beginning of their conversation. If Gina thought changing the subject would get her off the hook she was in for a surprise. Bad enough that she considered him a liar. Reminding him of De Laurentis was a dire mistake.
Red hot pincers dug into his belly as he recalled his wife in another man’s arms. Not for a movie this time, but because she wanted to be there.
‘De Laurentis.’ The name was bitter on his tongue. ‘You were all over him like honey on bread.’
The earlier paparazzi photos had been bad enough. But with a photo he could pretend it was some other woman, not Gina, snuggled up to Italy’s favourite movie star. Tonight there’d been no room to hide from the sight of his wife pressed up against another man, smiling and simpering as if she’d never been happier.
While she looked at Massimo as if he’d crawled out from under a rock.
The sight of the pair had eaten at him like acid through metal. Making him feel like part of him had been chewed away.
Gina stiffened, raising her chin and projecting such an air of hauteur it was a wonder ice didn’t crack when she spoke. ‘All I did was stand beside him and smile.’
And let him pull her close, his hand on her waist while he murmured something that made her light up from within. Her eyes had shone as they hadn’t shone for Massimo in years. The sight of her obvious pleasure in the arms of another man had stolen Massimo’s breath. For precious seconds it felt like the world stopped, and his heart with it.
‘It was publicity for the film. You understand publicity, Massimo. It’s the only reason you wanted me here.’
Not the only reason.
If only it were.
And if only he could believe there was nothing between his wife and Italy’s favourite leading man.
Life would be so much simpler.
‘You’re here in Milan with me. I won’t have you embracing other men. Especially Matteo De Laurentis. Understood?’
He strode forward, invading her space, backing her up against the doorjamb.
‘I understand all right. You think because you forced me to come here that you can make me dance to your tune, like a puppeteer with some doll on a string.’
Gina’s face was flushed and vibrant, full of passion, a passion Massimo had told himself he didn’t miss. But it was a lie. He’d missed her for seven long years. Craved her. Even now when she made a fool of him in public, playing up to another man.
‘All you care about is your precious company and I—’
Massimo refused to listen to any more. Words weren’t working. Nor was control or patience.
He closed his hands around her bare shoulders and yanked her to him, hearing Gina’s huff of surprise, feeling it as a puff of warmth against the underside of his chin.
Then, before she had time to protest, he did what he’d wanted to all night. And three weeks ago when he’d seen her in Venice. And ev
ery day of every year they’d been apart.
He smashed his mouth down on hers and kissed her with all the ruthless passion that years of rage and loss had created.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
Gina had seen it coming.
She’d seen the feral light in his eyes. Read the brutal intent in that hard body.
Had she twisted away?
Had she ducked her head?
Had she tried to placate him?
She told herself she’d done none of those because she had every right to her anger. Because it was time someone stood up to Massimo and brought him to book when he rode roughshod over them.
But as his mouth plastered over hers, his tongue sweeping past her lips in a forceful invasion that demanded everything, Gina knew the truth.
She’d goaded him. Deliberately.
She hadn’t been able to stand there, toe to toe with this man who drove her crazy in the worst and best of ways. She hadn’t had the strength to walk away.
Because she wanted this. Wanted him.
Want? Is that what you called this driving force that hammered with every pounding pulse beat?
Want was too weak a word.
Need engulfed her. It was marrow-deep. It was in every pore of every centimetre of her flesh.
She’d needed Massimo for years and she’d just given up denying it.
His tongue probed her mouth, demanding and at the same time challenging her to respond. His kiss was pure carnal invitation.
He pushed her up against the doorway so she was pinioned between it and Massimo’s hot, sculpted body. Gina went into meltdown. It wasn’t simply that she’d had no lover since him. She hadn’t wanted one. Because Massimo had always been the one she wanted, even when she hated him for making her feel that way.
For a moment Gina hovered on the brink of self-pitying tears. It was cruel that the only man she’d ever loved was so bad for her. The only logical response was to break away. Despite his imposing size and his ire he wouldn’t force her. He’d have to let her go.
But Gina hadn’t cried in years, she wasn’t about to start now. Nor would she pull away.
For she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.
Not when being in Massimo’s embrace felt like coming home.
Through his fine suit Gina felt the outline of bone and muscle, the solid thighs, the jut of ribs, the press of that powerful chest. His heart throbbed a staccato rhythm against her. She tried to tell herself Massimo was motivated only by anger, not real desire. But already the big hands running up and down her bare arms gentled, confounding her.
He tilted his head, searching for the best angle to seduce her mouth. And he found it. Massimo had always kissed like a fallen angel, one who’d mastered both torment and bliss.
Bliss coursed through her now as she tangled her tongue against his, lifting her chin and responding in kind.
A rough sound of approval vibrated from his mouth to hers, from his chest to hers. It sent pleasure spearing to her womb, her breasts, the place inside her elbows where his thumbs brushed, making her shiver.
Gina’s hands rose to his arms, fingers digging into fine fabric and taut muscle. She needed more. Their kiss was no longer a demand but a seesawing dance of give and take.
It shouldn’t be possible to get closer to him but she tried, rising on her toes and planting her hands on his shoulders to bring her nearer his height.
Massimo’s response was to slide one arm around her waist and haul her up till her feet left the floor. She heard a shoe drop as she snaked her arms over his shoulders and clamped her fingers into the thick, dark hair at the back of his skull. Her lips welded to his as rapture beckoned.
He tasted better than the finest wines, better than fresh-picked strawberries still warm from the sun. He tasted like every dream of happiness she’d ever known, and then some.
And when he shifted against her, thrusting a thigh between her legs so she balanced astride it, Gina’s urgency took on a new dimension. One that matched his, given the unmistakeable arousal pushing against her.
Her dress rode higher as she squirmed closer, excited by the sensation of Massimo’s clothes against her bare skin.
‘Gina.’ It sounded like a plea or perhaps a vow. But Massimo’s broad hand on her leg, pushing the silky material up her thigh was as earthy as it got. She shivered as his baritone growl scraped her soul and those hard fingers curled around tender flesh.
She wanted this, wanted him so badly. How had she gone so long without his touch? Only by freezing her emotions and her needs under a blanket of ice. By living a cold, half-life these last few years.
Gina had forgotten how feminine he made her feel. Feminine and sexy and powerful, despite the shivers turning her body to putty in his hold. Turning her into a woman who’d give her all to this man.
As if sensing her capitulation, Massimo broke the kiss, lifting his head to stare down at her with eyes that glowed with silvery fire. The air was thick with the sound of their gasps and the rapid thrum of her pulse in her ears.
‘Mio dolce amore.’ It was what he’d called her when they’d been in love. When Gina had believed nothing would ever break them apart. Then he smiled. That rare, beautiful smile of welcome she’d always thought Massimo reserved just for her. Because he loved her.
Her throat shut convulsively, almost choking her.
Massimo didn’t love her. He was using her.
So if that smile wasn’t a look of love it was just part of his arsenal of seductive weapons.
Gina hadn’t thought it possible to hurt more than she’d hurt before. Yet now, realising even that fragile, falling-in-love period they’d shared had been nothing of the sort, at least for Massimo, she felt sick to the core.
How many women had he used that smile on? How many had he seduced with his superior technique?
Those big hands had pushed her skirt all the way up to the lace of her underwear and his smile was taut with anticipation.
Anticipation that she’d allow him to take her up against the wall, as easily as some street-walker with a promise of ready cash.
Bile rose in Gina’s throat. She slid her hands to those broad shoulders and shoved with all her might.
Surprise must have weakened him for he actually stepped back a fraction, allowing her to wriggle off his leg and back down to the floor. The place between her thighs hummed with the demand for sexual satisfaction but it was nothing to the nausea filling her.
‘Gina, are you all right?’
‘Don’t say a word. Please.’
She had no idea what he saw on her face but Massimo took another step away, a heavy frown settling on that long, lean face. Gina swept her bare foot around the floor, searching for her dropped shoe, then gave up. She needed to get away. Now.
Gina kicked off her other shoe and turned, stumbling to the corridor. Massimo was so close she expected to feel his hand on her shoulder or catching her wrist. But he didn’t reach for her, just let her scurry, all thought of pride forgotten, to the safety of her bedroom.
It wasn’t till she’d snicked the lock shut behind her and sagged back against the door that she understood what had made Massimo look so worried. There was a mirror on the wall beside the door and as she turned she caught sight of herself.
Her hair was a mare’s nest, tousled and messy.
Her skin was too pale and her mouth was swollen and red.
Her eyes were wide and blank.
But it was her cheeks that really gave her away. Down each one ran a wet track where the tears she’d refused to shed for seven years ran without ceasing.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Massimo paced the length of the salon, impatience and regret warring within. Last night he hadn’t gone after Gina. The sight of her crumpled mouth and tear-stained cheeks had wrenched his gut in two but he’d known she needed space.
From him.
He wasn’t a guy who liked emotional scenes. Who was? Yet, to his surprise
, letting her walk away was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Instinct had urged him to follow her, fold her close in his arms and force the issue of their dormant marriage.
Fortunately reason had won out. They’d spent seven years apart. There was too much hurt and distrust between them to be overcome by simply holding her and demanding she give him what he wanted.
Even though he wanted so badly it was an ache through every bone in his body.
What he needed was a plan. Getting her here, in his home, was the first vital step. But he needed far more if he was to smash down the walls Gina had barricaded around herself.
This morning, when he’d knocked on her door at breakfast time it was to find her suite empty and a note in the kitchen saying she’d gone out for an early coffee.
Massimo had glared at the gleaming coffee maker on the benchtop. Gina was avoiding him.
He’d stayed in the apartment as long as he could, till his conscience, spurred by three frantic phone calls from staff, forced him out the door. He’d brought the Conti brand to Fashion Week and he had to ensure it succeeded.
But through the day’s whirl of activities, his mind kept turning back to Gina. He’d found an excuse to slip home in the late afternoon, hoping to catch her, but the apartment was empty.
His feelings for his wife had spun over the years from love to outrage, hurt, frustration, grief and, always, desire. Lately he’d faced the truth that she was still part of his life. That he wanted her back.
He’d told himself he’d find a way to make it work.
He hadn’t counted on causing her anguish.
Or on his reaction to the sight of her distress.
It had undone him as nothing had. Not even the burden his family had unwittingly placed on him all those years ago. Nor even the emptiness that had swollen inside him as he and Gina went their separate ways. Most of that had been done at a distance. He at the family villa in Lombardy and she out of the country, filming.