A Deal with Di Capua

by Cathy Williams

  There were times, too many to count, when all he could see was the girl he had taken to his bed three years ago. Then, he had to remind himself of the woman lurking behind the girl, the schemer who had so nearly conned him into a relationship which would have eventually ended in tears because sooner or later he would have found out what she was all about. He had been spared that outcome, but he had to keep reminding himself of its existence, especially when, like now, her laughing, teasing eyes made something wrench inside him.

  He was, by now, very familiar with the cottage. Her bedroom was the one directly above the small kitchen. She had made him put up an old-fashioned, flowery porcelain coat-hook behind the door and he knew that if he turned round her bathrobe would be hanging there.

  Two weeks ago he had bought her a new bathrobe to replace the one she had, which was falling to pieces. Hell, it was only one thing, practically without value; she certainly wouldn’t be able to pawn it for thousands of pounds! Where was the harm in that? She was his woman, at least for the time being, and as such he would rather not be affronted by the sight of her in something that should have been consigned to the dustbin years ago. It made complete sense. What wouldn’t have made sense was the delicate jewellery box with the stained-glass sides and the diamond beading which he had happened to see in passing a few days previously. He was extremely glad he had resisted the temptation to buy it for her.

  “I’ve never been good at nursing,” Rosie quipped lightly, when she wanted to tell him that, yes, she would love nothing more than to take care of him, to have him spend a night in the cottage with her instead of dashing off whatever the time, as though he would turn into a pumpkin if he didn’t. Rosie wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly what this was all about, just as she knew that if she started trying to make more of it than it really was then he would disappear in a puff of smoke and she wasn’t ready for that.

  As he deposited her on the bed, her heart picked up speed as she wondered when she would ever be ready for him to disappear in a puff of smoke. She had dumped her reservations and jettisoned her misgivings to climb back into bed with him and now, as the need to hold him close and really talk to him swelled inside her, she was realising that she had made a colossal mistake. She had kidded herself that she was like him, that she could have sex with him and clear him out of her system once and for all. She had been a fool, because she was more embedded in this than ever before. Sleeping with Angelo was not diminishing her desire, it was stoking it.

  Like it or not, she was at his mercy, as useless as a piece of flotsam bobbing along dependent for its direction on the ocean currents.

  “Not true,” Angelo admonished, half-smiling as he got undressed. “I distinctly remember you sorting out a cut on my finger once upon a time.”

  He frowned, annoyed with himself for having taken the conversation into the past. He never had, not even when he had sensed her trying to engineer it in that direction. He might occasionally have to remind himself of the sort of woman she really was, and of the reasons he had chosen to bring her back into his life, but the past remained out of bounds, a taboo subject.

  “Sorting out cut fingers goes hand in hand with cooking.” Rosie continued to keep it light while she chewed over the dawning horror that somehow feelings she had had for him, which had never gone away, were clawing their way back to the surface, ignoring all common sense and wreaking havoc with her pride, which insisted that she play the game the way he was playing it.

  “There are all sorts of rules and regulations concerning cuts in the kitchen!” she chirruped, while feasting her eyes on the magnificent sight of his body. How could she still care about someone who didn’t want her? How could those feelings stubbornly persist in the face of his emotional detachment? How could she long for a man who closed up every time the conversation became too personal? Who walked away, back to his own house at the end of every evening, when once they would spend nights together, making love whenever they woke up. A man who would one day tire of her, who would consider his appetite satisfied and who would stroll off into the horizon without a backward glance to find another woman, possibly a woman he would truly care about.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that I wasn’t all that interested in the rules and regulations of what happens in a kitchen?” He settled on the bed, straddled her glorious, supine body, offered himself to her and arched back as she took him in her mouth. He had his hand behind her head, fingers clasped in her hair. When she did this, his mind always went blank. Only she knew how to do this, to take him out of his body and transport him to another place, another time, another whole dimension.

  He removed himself before he could topple over the edge and eased himself along the length of her body. When she had lived in London, she had never exercised. Now, however, she had started jogging round the lanes. He was always in danger of being dragged along for the ride, despite his frequent protests that there were other far more pleasurable forms of exercise. He now knew more about the landscape of where he owned his house than he ever had. Thanks to her jogging, her body, always slender, had become highly toned and he could feel the firmness of her stomach as he tasted the salty tanginess of her perspiration. He spread apart her legs and buried himself in the apex between them, licking and teasing until she was groaning underneath him.

  He had laid down all the ground rules for this strange thing they had going on between them, and she was assiduous in obeying them. Which was exactly what he wanted, naturally, but he had to admit to himself that it gave him a kick of immense satisfaction when he could feel her lose control as he explored her body. Just as she was doing now as he sucked the honeyed moistness between her legs.

  When he looked up, he could see her small breasts pointing upwards, nipples pinched, and it was a massive turn-on as she looked down at him and then deliberately took one nipple between her fingers so that she could tease it, rubbing it and pinching it until he had no option but to rise up so that he could brush aside her hand and put his mouth where it had been.

  He could feel her ribcage under his palm and the beating of her heart. He suckled fiercely on one nipple, loving the sense of timeless peace it gave him. He could stay there for ever, tasting her, quietly going crazy with the anticipation of entering her and feeling her tightness wrap around him.

  When neither of them could stand it any longer, he straightened, and for one fleeting moment, caught up in the momentum of the moment and gripped by a passion that made his whole body feel as though it was burning up, Angelo was tempted to forgo the contraception. She had suggested going on the pill. He had shrugged and told her that she could if she wanted, but there was no way he would be taking any chances so he would carry on using protection. He trusted no one but himself.

  He knew that she was leaving the whole business of contraception to him and it rocked him even to allow the thought of taking a chance to find space in his head. And yet it had.

  “Two seconds,” he breathed roughly, reaching across her to the bedside drawer where he now left a packet of condoms.

  Rosie wriggled up, licked his rigid shaft and felt him shudder and still as he did his utmost to control the need to spill his seed over her.

  Then, with a little sigh and closing her eyes, she lay back down as he thrust into her, fully protected, taking no chances.

  Their bodies moved to the same soaring rhythm. She could feel every inch of him in her, moving and pushing and bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. There were times when he was down there, between her legs, teasing her with his mouth, when she couldn’t hold on and, wonderful though it was to come against his mouth, having him in her was pure ecstasy. Her nails dug into his back. Hands on either side of her, he pushed himself up so that he could increase the friction between them. She wrapped her legs around his waist and lost herself in the moment, soaring higher and higher until she cried out and gave in to the long, shuddering climax and the r
ipples and waves in its aftermath.

  “Very nice.” Angelo sighed with unhidden satisfaction as they both subsided, fully replete. He pulled her to him so that her head was resting on his chest, just how he liked it; this way he could stroke her hair and he enjoyed the fine, silky texture sifting through his fingers.

  “Is that all you can say? Nice is such an ordinary word.”

  “Very earth-shattering, if you prefer.”

  “I shall have to get up in a minute. I have those vegetables to see about. I don’t suppose you’re interested in hearing how I intend to cook them?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Well, I’m going to steam them in the usual way, but then I’m going to refine the dish with some coconut milk, curry powder and cheese. Hopefully they’ll be spot-on by the time I perfect them and I won’t have to endure John Law in the kitchen pretending to be a chef when all he wants to do is...well...you know... Pretty disgusting, when his wife is outside chivvying the hired help into dressing the table just the way she likes it.”

  Rosie reluctantly sidled off the bed and, with her back to Angelo, she missed his sudden stillness.

  “No. I don’t know. Tell me.”

  Rosie glanced over her shoulder to find his eyes on her and she gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

  “You met me when I was a waitress in a cocktail bar. You know the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

  Angelo could feel white-hot fury building in him like a volcano but he kept his voice calm and neutral.

  “Who is this John Law character?” He could have destroyed her stalker at a whim. He had chosen not to because the threat of ruin was sometimes even more powerful than actual ruin itself. John Law? A married man? Making a play behind his woman? Threat of destruction almost seemed too good for any man like that.

  “Oh, just someone who hired me a couple of weeks ago to cater a dinner party.” Rosie had wandered off into the bathroom. Angelo heard the sound of the shower but for once he had no desire to join her under it.

  “And he and his wife have asked me to cater for another dinner party in a few days’ time!” she called, stepping under the shower when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to join her.

  “How do you get back from these things?” Angelo had made his way into the bathroom, and through the frosted glass he could make out her long, slender shape as she vigorously soaped herself and shampooed her hair. He slung a towel round his hips, closed the lid of the toilet, sat there.

  “What?” Rosie poked her head around the shower door and looked at him.

  “Simple question, Rosie. How do you travel back from these dos that you cater for at night? You don’t have a car.”

  “I know. It’s a nuisance but I just can’t afford to buy one at the moment.” She switched off the shower and stepped out, riffling her fingers through her wet hair and then drying herself as he continued to watch her with brooding, lazy intensity. “I’m doing pretty well at the moment. In fact, better than I thought I would be. There are lots of rich people in this part of the world, and not nearly as many people around to cater to their needs as there are in London. But I’ve still had to put out quite a bit of money for kitchen equipment. Also, the decorating took a chunk out of my savings.”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “What’s wrong?” She paused, frowned at him and then stalked out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom to change into some fresh clothes. She was beginning to feel nervous but that was something she didn’t intend to share with him. Had she done something wrong? She hated questioning herself, saw no reason for it, yet she was. They had made love, and it had been brilliant, but he hadn’t jumped into the shower with her the way he usually did; hadn’t reminded her of his insatiable appetite while they were dripping wet under the water. And the way he was staring at her now...

  She slipped on her jogging bottoms, rolled them twice at the waistband so that they rode down low on her slim hips, doing this with her back to him just in case she saw something in his face she didn’t want to see. She could feel herself getting angry because she hated the helplessness that overwhelmed her whenever she thought of him ending what they had.

  “What makes you think that there’s something wrong?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Angelo. Why does it matter how I travel to work or back from work? Why are you making such a big deal of this?” Unless it’s a cover for something else. Unless you’re trying to engineer an argument so that you can use it as an excuse to break up...

  “Tell me more about this John Law character.” Angelo flung aside the towel, strode to the shower and turned the water to cold, which he thought might lower the temperature raging inside him. He didn’t look at her as he emerged a minute later to resume the conversation.

  “He and his wife, Jayne, were one of my first customers,” Rosie explained. “They live about half an hour away in one of the large new-build houses on that estate by the river.”

  “What does the man do? Aside from making passes at you?”

  Rosie’s brain sluggishly began to grasp what was going on and her eyes widened. “Are you...jealous?”

  “Have you done anything for me to be jealous about?” Angelo’s face darkened as he stared at her. “Do you reciprocate when he’s touching you, as he stands in front of the chocolate mousse making helpful suggestions?”

  “I’m not going to bother answering that question.” She began swinging out of the room and he reached out, caught her arm and pulled her back against him.

  “What does he do?”

  “Angelo, you’re over-reacting. He makes the odd remark and he leers a bit, but he’s never touched me, and if he did I would know how to take care of myself. And how can you suggest that I would ever do anything with someone else? Do you think I would be sleeping with you if...if...?” If there was the slightest chance that I could feel something, anything, for someone else? Do you think I wouldn’t run as fast as I could in the opposite direction from you if I could because I know you’re going to hurt me? If I hadn’t gone and fallen madly in love with you all over again?

  “If what?”

  “If nothing. Let me go, Angelo. I’m going to go downstairs to start doing some food. If you want to eat here, then fine, but if you’re going to start arguing with me over nothing then I would rather you left.”

  It was the first argument they had, and Rosie knew that if she tolerated him trying to dictate to her then she would set the precedent. She was in his thrall sufficiently as it was, without becoming even more feeble and pathetic. He had no right to question her integrity and if he was jealous, which he surely wasn’t, then it didn’t spring from any tender loving feelings. It sprang from the fact that, whilst they were in this situation, he considered her his possession to be tossed aside as and when he chose, like a toy he could discard when he got sick of playing with it.

  She took the stairs two at a time and wasn’t aware of him following her until she looked around to see him lounging indolently in the doorway. He had dressed in a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt. He always carried a change of clothes with him when he came down from London and he always took them with him when he left. Her heart lurched but she looked at him coolly and with complete composure.

  “So I believe you when you tell me that the man hasn’t laid a finger on you nor you on him,” Angelo gritted. Just the thought of anyone else touching her made his blood boil. He should have paid more attention to her job. He should have realised that she would be coming into contact with lots of different people, lots of rich people, and she was nothing if not susceptible to men with deep pockets, he grimly told himself. Furthermore, she was sex on legs, even with her hair half-wet as it was now and completely devoid of make-up. In the world of the rich and the beautiful, her natural, pure beauty stood out like a beacon in the darkness. Of course there
would be lechers wanting to grope her over the minestrone soup. Hell, why had that never crossed his mind? He suddenly would have liked details of every man she had encountered at every party she had catered since she had moved to Cornwall. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and glowered.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Rosie stubbornly stuck her chin out and glowered back.

  “You’re here in this place on your own without transport. It’s remote. So who wouldn’t be worried about anyone in a situation like that?”

  “You’re worried about me?”

  “I think you should get a car,” Angelo prevaricated. “And you never answered my question.”

  “I’ve forgotten what the question was.”

  “How do you get to and from these events?”

  “Beth has a little runaround—she’s the girl who helps me now and again. So if we’re working on a job together we’ll always drive there in her car, and if she leaves before me in the evening then I call a taxi.”

  “So you don’t accept lifts from any of those creeps who try to manhandle you?” He fought to get a grip but still found himself scowling darkly at her.

  Rosie turned away and laughed lightly. She didn’t want to give house room to that warm feeling she got when she thought of him being jealous and possessive over her. “You know my background, Angelo. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what men can be like. I value the jobs I get here, and there’s no way I would ever jeopardise any of that by accepting a lift from someone who might make a pass at me. One client who’s pregnant at the moment and not drinking has given me a lift twice, and that’s okay, but I know where to draw the line.”

  “You should still get a car.”

  “I’ll carry on saving.”

  He wasn’t going to offer to buy one for her. No way. Been there, done that, when it came to buying things for her. He decided not to think of her travelling back in winter, when the days would get shorter and shorter. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be with the woman when winter rolled round!