Alessandra Ferretti wasted no time in offering her congratulations as Raphael came back to the table. Wrapping herself around him, she kissed him lingeringly on both cheeks, then drew him swiftly aside before Eve had a chance to even leave her place.
‘I’ve organised a few publicity shots for all the major glossies that should bring in lots of cash for the charity,’ she was saying as she led him away.
He turned and met Eve’s eye, holding it for the briefest moment before he was swallowed up by the crowd.
‘He’s a genius. A bloody genius.’ Paul sighed wistfully as they stood in front of Raphael’s photographs in the gallery.
He had brought Eve up to the palazzo’s long gallery, where all the photographs of the nominees were on display. She had dutifully admired the two he had entered—of angular bluish landscapes which, he informed her, were soon-to-be-melted polar ice caps—but found herself drifting on a cloud of cautious euphoria to Raphael’s work.
‘Look at the composition there,’ Paul was saying enviously, pointing to a shot of some little boys with grubby faces, playing football in a dusty road. The arid monochrome of the road contrasted vividly with the lush fields that surrounded them on both sides. Eve peered more closely, wishing she hadn’t been too vain to wear her glasses.
‘The emotion in some of these shots is just incredible,’ Paul continued. ‘These people were regarded as villains, the scum who produce the stuff our A-listers are busily shoving up their nostrils, but Di Lazaro’s given us the chance to see them differently. Given them—I don’t know—a sort of …’
‘Dignity,’ Eve finished for him. She found that a film of tears had blurred the grimy, smiling faces of the little boys.
‘Ah, there you are, Eve.’ Alessandra Ferretti appeared from nowhere, on a cloud of extremely heavy perfume. ‘Raphael was asking for you. He’s going to take you home now.’
She spoke as if Eve was some overtired child who was spoiling the party for all the grown-ups. Determinedly Eve kept her gaze fixed on the children enjoying their game of football on a dusty road in Columbia. She was trying to imagine Raphael there, just a few feet away from them. Like the baby in the winning picture, two of the boys were smiling straight into the camera, and Eve wondered what Raphael had been saying to them.
‘He’s waiting.’
There was a sharp edge to Alessandra’s voice, but it couldn’t burst the bubble of joy inside her.
She said an affectionate goodbye to Paul and followed Alessandra along the gallery. ‘Tell me about the charities Raphael mentioned. The Orphans of Heroin in Columbia and—what was the other one? In Florence?’
‘The Drugs Recovery and Rehabilitation Service. He set that one up as a helpline initially. In our industry—’ she said it patronisingly, as though she and Raphael shared a glamorous existence that would be entirely alien to the likes of Eve ‘—we see lots of people go down that route. Drugs are an inevitable part of the fashion scene. But he wanted to provide a point of contact for young models who needed help to get out of the cycle. He did it pretty much single-handedly at the start—funded it all himself, took all the calls on his own mobile, twenty-four hours a day,’ she said with proprietary pride. ‘But typically he never talks about it.’
They were going down the stairs now and, suddenly light-headed, Eve had to grasp the banister for support.
So that was it. Ellie had had Raphael’s number scribbled on the scrap of paper in her pocket not because he was a source of drugs, but of help.
Exhilaration flooded through her, as if her blood had been replaced with champagne. Stopping in the middle of the staircase, Eve turned to a bewildered Alessandra and, grinning broadly, said, ‘Thank you.’
Raphael was standing at the foot of the stairs, the light from the chandelier falling onto his broad, straight shoulders and glossy black hair. She wanted to jump down the last four stairs into his arms and kiss the life out of him. She wanted so, so much, and suddenly it all seemed possible.
He looked up as they approached, frowning slightly.
‘I’ve neglected you all evening. I’m sorry.’
‘I thought we weren’t going to say sorry to each other any more?’ she said, trying to suppress an absurdly big smile.
Alessandra hovered, looking stony beneath heavily applied lipstick. Placing a hand on Raphael’s arm, she darted an accusing look at Eve and said something to him in very rapid Italian.
Raphael’s face gave nothing away. ‘Well, you’ll just have to manage without me I’m afraid, Alessandra,’ he replied in English, then looked down at Eve with the faintest hint of a smile. ‘Let’s go.’
He made no move to touch her, but, walking across the wide hallway, Eve could feel the white-heat of his nearness like a caress.
Alessandra watched them go, and as they reached the door she spoke again in the same quick, incomprehensible Italian, her voice stiff with malice.
Raphael hesitated, then turned.
‘Thanks for the advice, Alessandra. But for future reference I’d just like you to remember that if I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.’
His quietly controlled tone sent shivers down Eve’s spine. But that was nothing to the fireworks that exploded in her pelvis as he slid a protective arm around her shoulders.
Looking meditatively back at Alessandra, he added with quiet bitterness, ‘And, though it’s none of your business, I hadn’t forgotten. I wish I could.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AN APRICOT moon was reflected in the canal as they came out into the night air. The ageless tranquillity of the scene was in sharp contrast to the frenzied pulse of excitement that beat inside Eve’s veins at the prospect of being alone with Raphael. She was trembling.
‘You’re cold,’ he said, and before she could protest he had slipped off his dinner jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders.
It still bore the warm imprint of his body and a faint trace of the lemony tang of his cologne, underlaid by a deeper sandalwood scent that was all his own.
She looked up at him. He had pulled his silk bow tie undone and opened the top two buttons of his shirt, and her eye was automatically drawn to the hollow of bronzed skin at the base of his throat.
‘What did Alessandra say?’
‘Alessandra has a talent for stating the blatantly obvious and dressing it up as a profound insight,’ he commented drily. ‘Which apparently in the world of PR makes her something of a genius. When it relates to my personal life it just makes her annoying.’
‘Your personal life?’
‘Yes. She thought it would be helpful to point out that you’re considerably younger than me.’ He wasn’t going to mention that she had also spitefully reminded him of Eve’s profession. ‘She’s jealous.’ ‘Of me? Why?’
As she spoke she stumbled slightly on a cracked paving stone. With lightning swiftness Raphael had reached out and caught her. For a second he held her, looking down into her upturned face. The light from the streetlamp above them turned her blonde hair to silver.
‘Now who’s fishing for compliments?’ he said with a small half-smile.
He let her go and she bent to take off the pink satin shoes with their unfamiliar high heels. As she stood up his jacket slipped off one creamy shoulder, and the harsh streetlight illuminated a crescent-shaped bruise on the side of her neck. Frowning, he brushed his thumb over it.
‘How did you do this?’
She bit her lip and glanced down at her bare feet, then back up at him. Just like the first time he had spoken to her, at the retrospective party, her expression was sweet and gentle, but spiked with a hint of amusement.
‘I didn’t, exactly …’
He gave a soft moan and raked his fingers through his hair, remembering how he had buried his face in her neck as their lovemaking had reached its climax.
‘Dio, Eve I’m s—’
She silenced him with a butterfly-light kiss. ‘No apologies, remember?’
‘If you do that again,’ he growled
, ‘I’ll be apologising to the magistrate in the morning for committing an act of public indecency.’
Pulling away, she took his hand and drew him forward. Enveloped by his jacket, she looked delicate, elfin and very mischievous.
‘In that case we’d better hurry. I’d much rather commit an act of private indecency. Preferably more than one, in fact.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems I have corrupted you.’
She turned, giving him a look of such scalding sexuality that he felt his body stiffen in instant response. Sparks of white heat glinted in the depths of her aquamarine eyes as she stood on the tiptoes of her bare brown feet and brushed her lips against his ear.
‘Corrupted? No. You have awakened me.’ Her mouth found his and gently, teasingly, her pink tongue darted between his parted lips. ‘And for that I am truly grateful,’ she finished in a breathy whisper that sent the blood rushing to his loins.
‘So am I,’ he murmured, sliding a hand into the front of her dress. ‘So am I.’
The match flared in the darkness, illuminating the angular planes of Raphael’s face as he held it to the candles in the Murano glass candelabra on the dressing table.
A flickering light spread its gentle fingers into the dark corners of the room, each of the six bright pillars reflected in the dull, silvered glass of the old mirror.
‘Come back to bed.’
Eve’s voice was sleepy and muffled by pillows as she lay face down in the tangle of bedclothes. The candlelight fell on the golden strands in her dark blonde hair and made her skin look almost luminescent against the stark white linen of the rumpled sheets.
‘Don’t move.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Don’t move. I have to photograph you like that. You look like something from a religious painting in this light. The original Eve before the Fall—’
‘Raphael?’ she interrupted gently.
‘What?’
‘Shut up and get over here, right now.’
He laughed softly. ‘You can’t be wanting more already?’ Propping himself up on one elbow beside her, he dropped a kiss into the little hollow at the base of her spine. Her seemingly insatiable passion both surprised and amused him. ‘Can’t I?’
He fell back onto the pillows, giving a theatrical moan. ‘I told you I was too old …’
She flipped over onto her back so she could see him properly. ‘Don’t you dare start all that again!’
‘No? What will you do?’
In a flash she was on top of him, her eyes glinting in the gentle candleglow.
‘I’ll just have to prove to you that you’re not….’ She gave a low, wicked laugh. ‘Which shouldn’t be too difficult as I have some very hard evidence right in front of me. Or should that be right underneath me?’
Sliding down the length of his thighs, she heard his fierce gasp as she took the smooth head of his erection into her mouth and moved her tongue languidly across its silken tip. She didn’t stop to worry about whether she was doing it right, finding herself absolutely in the thrall of an irresistible, primitive instinct, guided by her own sensual pleasure.
She had never dreamed that bringing pleasure to a man would have this utterly explosive effect on her own desire. Closing her eyes in delirious ecstasy, she felt his hands grasping at her hair and found herself drenched with hot, urgent excitement.
‘Now you, cara,’ he rasped. ‘Or, so help me, I won’t be able to stop.’
Lifting her easily, he laid her down on the pillows. For a second she glimpsed the barely concealed need glittering in his dark eyes before he bent his head to kiss her collarbone, her breast, her belly button. She could feel the faint rasp of stubble on her quivering, sensitised skin as his mouth moved down the flat plane of her stomach, his tongue tip tracing a meandering path of ecstasy and anticipation. A deep moan of pleasure escaped him as he found the hot, wet triangle at the top of her thighs and he breathed in her hopelessly intoxicating natural perfume.
Her orgasm was swift and savage, and for a moment he wondered if he had hurt her. Gathering her into his arms, he held her until the waves that rippled through her tense body receded, leaving her languid and heavy.
‘Raphael … Oh …’
She could feel the pressure of his arousal against her belly, and as she kissed him she tasted herself upon his lips.
Hardly moving her mouth from his, she murmured, ‘More.’
And this time he made sure it was slow and gentle and everything he had been too carried away to make it before. They didn’t take their eyes off each other as, with every deep, deliberate thrust, they moved closer to their shared heaven. At the last moment he threw his head back and let go.
When he looked down at her again, tears were streaming down her cheeks. In the candlelight they looked like rivers of gold.
‘You’re up.’
Opening one azure eye and peeking out from underneath a tousled mass of silky hair, Eve gave a little mew of disappointment.
‘And dressed. Very dressed.’
‘I brought you some coffee.’
Eve wrinkled her nose.
‘Bleugh … Tea?’ she croaked pleadingly.
‘Sorry. You won’t find tea in many Italian kitchens—and here we run on the bare essentials. Coffee will have to do.’
He set it down on the little Victorian bedside table and walked over to the window, thrusting a hand through his hair to prevent himself from touching her. She had slept tucked into his body, but had now turned over onto her front again, and the honeyed length of her back was enticingly exposed. She looked utterly bloody irresistible, and it was going to take every ounce of self-control he possessed to get out of the palazzo and keep his appointment with Catalina.
Sleepily she rolled over and sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts. Which was just as well, he thought grimly. The brief glimpse he’d just had of them was having an extremely profound effect on him.
‘Where are you going?’
Her clear blue eyes regarded him steadily over the rim of her coffee cup and he had to turn away as he said, ‘Out to meet someone. I told you last night, remember? It’s business, but I’m afraid it’s pretty important—or I wouldn’t go.’
‘I remember lots about last night, but that part had slipped my mind. I can’t think why. Will you be long?’
He sighed heavily. ‘Look, Eve, I have no idea. It could be over very quickly, it might take most of the day. I wish I could say—’
‘Perhaps I should stay in bed, then,’ she murmured with a mischievous smile. ‘Just in case it is over very quickly. It would be silly to waste precious time getting dressed …’
She wasn’t making this any easier. The look she was giving him was enough to bring him to his knees with longing, and he could feel the insistent pulse in his groin growing stronger by the second. Another five minutes and he wouldn’t be leaving the palazzo for hours.
‘Finish your article, there’s a good girl. You can show it to me when I get back. There’s bread and fruit down in the kitchen. Help yourself if you’re hungry.’
All too aware of the delights concealed by the thin linen sheet, he didn’t dare risk a kiss, and strode towards the door without a backward glance.
In the words of the song, what a difference a day made, Eve thought later, as she typed the final sentence of her article with a flourish. This time yesterday she’d been so miserable she hadn’t been able to string a decent sentence together, and yet this morning the words flowed out of her fingertips in long, unbroken ribbons.
There was nothing to this journalism lark, she thought airily as she clicked ‘word count’. Hurrah. Just a sliver under two thousand, spell-checked, and waiting to be e-mailed to Marissa Fox.
Humming quietly to herself, she set her laptop aside and got out of bed, stretching her cramped legs. She’d been a little cold after Raphael had left, so she’d slipped on the shirt he had worn last night, happily breathing in the scent of him on the crisp cotton as she’d worked, lettin
g the images it evoked float sensually around in her mind. He was so … sexy, she thought with a little shiver, marvelling at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She looked wickedly, glowingly exhausted.
She giggled. Perhaps Glitterati would be interested in an article entitled ‘Sex: the new Botox’.
Picking up her mobile, she sent Lou a hasty text message.
In Venice with R. Article finished.
She hesitated, smiling to herself as she considered adding virginity also. Lou had been on at her for what seemed like for ever about getting rid of it on anyone—almost as if it were some sort of unwanted Christmas gift. How glad she was now that she hadn’t. No one else could have introduced her to the pleasures of the bedroom with a millionth of the passion and tender expertise of Raphael. She felt her heart skip a beat at the memory.
Everything OK, she finished lamely. It seemed a totally inadequate way to sum up the utter euphoria she was feeling, but Lou would see that for herself when Eve returned to London.
Joyfully she clasped the phone to her chest and twirled around. If she returned to London. Being separated from Raphael for a few hours today was bad enough, and the thought of being apart from him for any longer was appalling.
Suddenly deflated, she collapsed onto the bed and expelled a long breath.
That attitude was neither healthy nor attractive, and she had always had a strong disdain for clingy women. Come to think of it, this morning he’d seemed a little cold and distant, so she must be careful not to irritate him with suffocating adoration.
Outside the ancient windows of the palazzo Venice glittered in the summer sunshine—while she waited in the bedroom like some drippy girlfriend.
Purposefully she got up. No more lovesick mooning. She would go and explore.
Within minutes of leaving the palazzo Eve was lost.
She’d thought she knew the way to Piazza San Marco, but after wandering through two narrow and unfamiliar calles she had to admit that she was wrong. Each time she had been with Raphael, she acknowledged with a shiver of remembrance, her mind had been on other things.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 47