by Abby Green
‘You didn’t hurt me, Rafaele, I enjoyed it. You’ve obviously developed a kinkier side since I knew you... Was it any mistress in particular? Or is it just a sign of the times—routine sex is too boring?’
Rafaele gritted his jaw. He knew that Sam had been with him all the way because he’d felt the excitement in her body pushing him on...her distress had come afterwards...
‘I’ve never done that with another woman,’ he admitted reluctantly. He’d never felt the need to.
Sam emitted a curt laugh and raised a dark brow. ‘So it’s just me? I should feel flattered that I made you so angry you felt you had to restrain me...?’
Rafaele frowned, losing the thread. ‘Angry?’ Had it been that obvious? His fit of jealousy and vulnerability?
But Sam was continuing. ‘I know you’re angry about Milo, Rafaele, but you can’t take it out on me like this.’
Half without thinking, Rafaele said, ‘But I’m not angry about Milo.’
He realised in that moment that he truly didn’t feel angry about that—not any more. It had faded and been replaced by a much darker anger...stemming from this woman’s unique ability to make him lose his self-control and lose sight of what was important to him. Anger that he felt so vulnerable around her.
But Sam seemed not to have heard him. She came closer to put the empty glass down and Rafaele could see the tantalising curve of her breast through the haphazardly tied shirt. Instantly his lower body was on fire, reacting. He had a momentary revelation: he was never going to get enough of this woman, not even in a lifetime. It would never burn out between them, only grow brighter.
Rafaele was stunned, his head expanding with the terrifying knowledge that he would never be free of this insatiable need. He was barely aware of Sam walking out of the room. His brain was working overtime, trying to take in the knowledge that had come to him earlier, before he’d really been ready to deal with it, that he couldn’t let her go. And now it was the most obvious thing in the world.
* * *
Sam gripped the bannister as she went up the stairs. Rafaele might have just said that he wasn’t angry about Milo...but he was still angry with her. It was as clear as day. Maybe it was because he wanted her and resented himself for it?
Any control she’d clawed back before Rafaele had appeared and during that brief conversation had drained away again, leaving her feeling shaky. Somehow she got to her room, closed the door behind her and sagged against it. Tears pricked her eyes. Again. More tears for the man downstairs whom she would probably never be able to read.
Sam was too drained to deal with buttons. Her body was made weak from pleasure and sensation. She ripped Rafaele’s shirt, making buttons pop and fall silently to the ground, and crawled into bed. In the morning she would shower and wash the scent of sex off her skin, but right now—treacherously—she didn’t want to. In spite of what had happened.
* * *
‘Rafaele said that we’ll be leaving in an hour for Rome.’
Sam looked up with a studied air of nonchalance at Bridie, who had just come into the dining room. ‘Oh?’
Bridie had Milo by the hand and he ran over to Sam, who picked him up and hugged him close, revelling in his sturdy body and sweet baby scent.
Bridie helped herself to some coffee and asked, ‘How was the function last night?’
When Sam had woken that morning and come downstairs Bridie, Milo and Umberto had evidently already eaten, because the detritus of breakfast had been at the table but they had not. To her intense relief it appeared as if Rafaele had eaten also, as his place at the head of the table had already been used.
‘It was...very swish,’ Sam replied, knowing Bridie would love to hear about all the gowns and luxury. She took the cowardly way out and detailed to Bridie all of those things, while trying to ignore the disturbing memories threatening to spill into her mind at any given moment.
* * *
It took less than an hour to get from Milan to Rome and they arrived by lunchtime. Rafaele had arranged for one of his assistants to meet them at the airport with a car, and Bridie was whisked off in it to the Vatican, for the private tour Rafaele had arranged for her—much to her delight.
Another car was waiting for them, and Sam saw that Rafaele was going to drive them himself as he deftly secured Milo into the child’s car seat installed in the back. It made Sam think once again of how seamlessly Rafaele had incorporated Milo into his life and her heart ached to think of what might have happened if she had told Rafaele from the start about her pregnancy.
Sam got into the car and her heart thudded heavily when Rafaele settled his powerful body behind the wheel. So far this morning she’d managed to avoid saying anything more than yes or no.
He glanced at her now and she had to acknowledge him. She turned and his gaze on her was intent. Her face grew hot as lurid images from the previous night came back.
‘Okay?’ he asked, disconcerting her because there was a quality to his voice she hadn’t heard before. It sounded intimate. Concerned.
Sam was sure she’d imagined it so nodded quickly and looked back at Milo, who smiled, showing his small teeth. He was clutching a floppy teddy bear that Umberto had gifted him on their departure. Sam had been surprised to see what had looked suspiciously like tears in the old man’s eyes as they’d left, and also a lingering glance or two at Bridie, who had looked a bit more flustered than she usually did.
As Rafaele negotiated their way out of the private airfield Sam said, ‘Your father...was not what I expected.’
Rafaele’s mouth tightened, but he said, ‘No...I was surprised at how he welcomed Milo so instantaneously.’
‘It was nice,’ Sam admitted. ‘After all, he’s his only living grandparent now. My father was only alive to see Milo as a baby, so they didn’t really connect and Milo won’t remember him. Bridie is like a granny to Milo, but it’s different when it’s blood...’
Rafaele looked at her, his face inscrutable. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It is.’
For the first time Sam didn’t feel that Rafaele was getting in a dig. He was sounding almost as if he was realising the same thing himself.
‘We should...’ Sam blushed and stopped. ‘That is, I should make sure to try and let Milo see Umberto as much as possible. Do you think he’d come to England?’
Rafaele’s mouth quirked and he slid another glance to Sam. ‘I think he could be persuaded—especially if Bridie is going to be there.’
Sam smiled, rare lightness filling her chest. ‘You noticed it too, then?’
Rafaele looked at her and grew serious. He took her hand from her lap and held it. Immediately Sam’s body reacted. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. Memories of the bondage of last night came back. Arousing her. Disturbing her.
He said something crude in Italian and had to let Sam’s hand go to navigate some hairy traffic. When it was clear again he said, ‘Sam, we need to talk...’
‘No,’ Sam said fiercely, panicked at the thought of dissecting what had happened last night. She looked back at Milo, who was still happily playing with the toy, and then back to Rafaele. ‘There’s nothing to discuss.’
‘Yes, there is, Sam,’ he asserted, ‘whether you like it or not. Tonight we’ll go out for dinner.’
‘Rafaele—’
But he cut her off with a stern look.
Sam shut her mouth and sat back, feeling mutinous. But deep down she knew Rafaele was right. They had to talk, but she would make sure that it would centre around the future and what would happen with Milo and also on the fact that she didn’t want to sleep with him again. Liar, a voice mocked her. But she quashed it. Last night had almost broken her. She’d nearly revealed just how much Rafaele made her feel. And if they slept together again...she wouldn’t be able to keep it in.
‘I’ll drop
you and Milo off at the apartment and show you around, and then I’m afraid I have to go into the office for a couple of hours.’
‘Okay,’ Sam said, too quickly, seizing on the fact that she’d have a few hours’ respite from Rafaele’s disturbing presence. Maybe then these memories would abate and give her some peace.
* * *
Rafaele’s Rome apartment was situated in a beautiful crumbling building just streets away from the famous Piazza Barberini, right in the heart of Rome’s bustling centre. A smiling housekeeper met them and conversed easily in English for Sam’s benefit. Rafaele showed Sam to her room, which was stunning, with parquet floors and delicate Rococo furnishings. There was another door which Milo was already reaching up to try and open, but the handle was too high.
He turned around, comically frustrated, and Rafaele scooped him up. ‘First you have to grow a little more, piccolino.’
Rafaele opened the door and walked through, leaving Sam to follow them. It was a room for Milo, and once again Rafaele had obviously given instructions for it to be decked out for a three-year-old. It was a kiddie’s paradise, and Milo was already jumping out of Rafaele’s arms to explore all the treasures.
Rafaele looked at Sam, as if expecting another diatribe, but she could only smile ruefully and shrug her shoulders as if to say, What can I do?
He came closer then, blocking out Milo behind him, and cupped her jaw with a hand, his thumb rubbing her lower lip, tugging at it. Instantly Sam craved his mouth there, kissing her hard, pressing his body against hers.
Heat flooded her and she had to pull away with an effort. She shook her head, warning him off.
He said silkily, ‘Tonight, Sam. We’ll talk then.’ He turned back to Milo. ‘Ciao, piccolino. I have to go to work now.’
Milo stopped what he was doing and for the first time since Rafaele had entered their lives, ran to him and gave him a kiss when Rafaele bent down to hug him.
‘Bye, Daddy.’
Milo’s easy and rapid acceptance of this whole situation made Sam’s chest ache, and that emotion threatened to bubble over. She’d never in a million years envisaged that it could be this easy...or this cataclysmic.
Rafaele left and a long, shuddering breath emerged from her mouth. In truth, she’d not known what to expect if she’d ever plucked up the courage to tell Rafaele about Milo, but it had ranged from complete uninterest to his storming into their lives to take over, demand to take control.
It had definitely veered towards the latter end of the scale, but also not. For one thing she hadn’t expected Rafaele still to want her. Or to admit that he had thought about her—that he’d never stopped wanting her.
Questions made her head hurt... So why had he let her go, then? If he’d wanted her...? She knew instinctively that she’d got too close. Was that why he’d pushed her away?
‘Mummy, play with me!’ came the imperious demand that sounded suspiciously like someone else.
Sam looked at her son and smiled. She got down on the floor beside him and devoted herself to the fantastical world of a bright, inquisitive three-year-old and welcomed the distraction.
* * *
That evening Bridie was still brimming over after her trip to St Peter’s and the Vatican. ‘I was the only one looking at the Sistine Chapel—the only one! And I think I saw the Pope walking in a private garden, but I couldn’t be sure... A lovely priest said Mass in Latin. Oh, Sam, it was gorgeous.’
Sam smiled indulgently as she went to pick up her bag. Rafaele had called to say he was sending a car to pick her up and he’d meet her directly at the restaurant.
Suddenly Bridie broke off from her raptures and said in a shocked voice, ‘You’re not going out like that?’
Sam looked down at her outfit of jeans and a plaid shirt. Trainers. Suddenly she felt gauche. Of course Rafaele would have probably booked somewhere extremely fancy and expensive. She should have realised.
Bridie was bustling off. ‘I know you packed that black dress, Sam. You have to change.’
Sam followed Bridie, knowing that she couldn’t leave without changing now. Bridie seemed determined to throw her and Rafaele together, clearly believing that a fairytale ending was in the making.
When Sam walked into the bedroom Bridie was shaking out the plain black dress that Sam had packed just in case.
‘Now, put this on and do your make-up. I’ll let you know when the car gets here.’
Milo came barrelling down the hallway. Bridie caught him and said, ‘Right, dinnertime for you, young man, and then an early night. We have to go home tomorrow so you need to be fresh.’
Sam quickly changed clothes and grimaced at her reflection, finally putting on some foundation to take away the pallor of her cheeks and then some mascara.
Home tomorrow. No wonder Rafaele wanted to talk now. He would have strong ideas about how they would proceed from here, she didn’t doubt it, and she felt a shiver of trepidation that he would want to change their routine utterly.
This was all an exciting holiday to Milo now, but it couldn’t continue like this. He needed routine and stability, and his life—their lives—were in England.
Sam heard Bridie call out, ‘Sam, the car is here!’
Taking a deep breath and slipping on the one pair of low-heeled shoes she’d brought, Sam went to meet her fate.
* * *
The restaurant was nothing like Sam had expected. The car had taken her across the river to the very hip and bustling Trastevere area and the building looked small and rustic, with tables outside despite the cool early February air. Golden light spilled onto the pavement and the smells coming out of the door were mouth-watering.
Sam went in and immediately her eye was drawn to the tall man who’d stood up. Her heart kicked betrayingly, as if she hadn’t seen him just hours ago. She felt ridiculously shy all of a sudden too—which was crazy, considering what had taken place in Rafaele’s bedroom last night.
By the time a solicitous waiter had taken her coat and she’d made her way through the small tables to Rafaele her face was burning.
He held a chair out for her and Sam felt self-conscious in her dress, hoping that Rafaele wouldn’t think she’d gone to any extra-special effort.
In a bid to deflect his attention she said quickly, ‘Bridie thought I should dress up a bit...’ She looked around the restaurant. ‘But I don’t think I needed to. I thought you might choose somewhere more upmarket.’
‘Disappointed?’ Rafaele’s voice sounded tight.
Sam looked at him quickly and felt her hair slide over her shoulder. ‘Oh, no! I love it. It’s just...I never expected you to like a place like this.’
Something relaxed in Rafaele’s face and seeing the faint stubbling on his jaw made Sam feel hot for a second as she imagined the abrasive rub of it between her legs. She pressed them together tightly under the table, disgusted with herself.
‘This is my favourite restaurant. They specialise in cuisine from the north and they’re world renowned. But they’ve remained humble and haven’t sold out...’
Just then a man with a huge barrel chest came over and greeted Rafaele effusively, before taking Sam’s hand in his and lifting it to his mouth to kiss. She couldn’t help smiling, even though she couldn’t understand a word he was saying. She caught ‘bellissima’ and blushed, which only made him gush some more.
Eventually he left, and Rafaele indicated after him with his head. ‘That’s Francisco—the manager... I’ve known him since my student days when I used to work here.’
Sam’s eyes widened as she recalled Rafaele telling her about his working three jobs to get through college. ‘You worked here?’
He nodded and broke some bread to dip into oil and balsamic vinegar. Sam took some bread too, a little blindsided at imagining a younger, driven Rafaele working here, wit
h women drooling over him in his waiter’s uniform of white shirt and black trousers.
She admitted wryly, ‘That’s a little hard to believe.’
Rafaele arched a brow, mock affronted. ‘You don’t think I’m capable of taking orders and clearing tables?’
Sam felt a flutter near her heart and looked away, embarrassed. This was so reminiscent of before, when Rafaele had been intent on wooing her.
She looked at him. ‘You never...talked about this stuff before...’
Immediately his expression closed in and Sam wanted to reach out and touch him. Her hands curled to fists.
‘Before was different...’
Sam’s mouth twisted and old bitterness rose up. ‘I know. You didn’t want to be seen in public with me.’
Rafaele looked at her, his jaw tense. ‘It wasn’t like that—’
A waiter interrupted them then and asked for their orders.
Another couple entered the restaurant, hand in hand, and Sam felt a bittersweet yearning rise up within her. Damn Bridie for making her wish for something that would never exist. She’d been foolish enough to hope for it in the past. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
When the waiter had left with their menus Sam sat back and looked at Rafaele. ‘What was it like, then?’
For a second he looked so like Milo did when he was reluctant to do something that he took her breath away and she felt tenderness fill her.
‘I didn’t want to share you...that’s the truth. I wanted to lock you away in my palazzo. It used to drive me crazy that you worked all day surrounded by men who would look at you and want you.’
Sam had to bite back a strangled laugh and ignore a very treacherous swooping of her belly to hear the evident jealousy in Rafaele’s voice. ‘No, they didn’t!’
‘They did,’ Rafaele growled. ‘You didn’t notice, though—oblivious to your effect on them. I’d never met another woman like you, and certainly not one who could match any man around her for knowledge and expertise. One who managed to turn me on more than I’d thought was possible.’
The swooping sensation intensified and Sam felt increasingly out of her depth—as if the rules had changed and she wasn’t sure where she stood any more. Their starter arrived and Sam concentrated on it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She was in uncharted waters with Rafaele, and not sure where this conversation was headed.